Page 72 of His Unwanted Duchess

Theodosia let out a sharp laugh. “Misery for a principle? Youdoconsider yourself a martyr, don’t you?”

Stephen glared at her. “So, Mother, let me review our conversation so far. You came here to compliment my wife, and insult me, your own son, yes?”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic. Can’t you see that I only want you to be happy? I am yourmother. I want to see you thrive, grow. If you never have children, well, that is your business. But I would hate to see you miss out on things that might make you happy—such as true love and a family—because of misplaced spite. Beatrice is… well, she’s such a fine woman. Her good qualities are seen by everybody—everybody, it seems, but you—and I know in my heart that she would make you so, so happy. Why will you notlisten? Why will you not forgive yourself?”

He flinched at that. “Myself? Why would I need to forgive myself?”

Theodosia met his eyes squarely. “Because you believe you should have saved me, and you hold yourself as responsible as he is. Which, of course, is patently untrue. Do you not recall what happened the last time you tried to save me?”

Stephen flinched again, the memory tearing through him like a bullet through flesh. Of course, he could recall what had happened. He would never, ever forget it.

“A man’s business is his own, boy!” the Duke roared, dragging his son through the halls by his hair. “Nobody should come between a man and his wife! No one should give an opinion on how he chooses to run his family and his household.” He paused, turning to the boy and yanking his face up to his. “Not even his own son.”

At the age of fourteen, Stephen was tall but thin. He was beginning to fancy himself a man, a proper man, the sort of man who could protect his family.

Or he had been.

One side of his face, boasting a patchwork of bruises and a nasty black eye, was swelling diligently, impeding his vision on one side of his face. His ankle was twisted, perhaps sprained, the pain radiating up his leg in a steady, merciless throb. He was not entirely sure when or how he got that injury.

Theodosia followed behind them, limping, pressing a hand to her side. She had been kicked there when she lay curled up on the floor, he recalled. Blood trickled down from her nose, muffling her voice.

“Leave him alone, Thomas!” she called. “I am the one you are angry at, not him. Leave him alone!”

“Quiet, woman! I am not yet finished with you. Your disrespect is appalling, and not at all what a woman ought to offer her husband. To a woman, her husband ought to be like a god.”

Theodosia’s lips drew back, revealing bloody teeth. “Only God is like a god to me, you stupid man.”

Stop it, Mother!Stephen wanted to scream. He knew what she was doing. She was trying to rile his father up, to draw his rage back to her, instead of him.

Fortunately—or unfortunately for Stephen—it did not work.

They reached the narrow doorway that led up to the observatory, and he was dragged up the spiral staircase. The door was slammed in Theodosia’s face.

The observatory was meant to be Theodosia’s domain, her space, but it had not been such for as long as Stephen could remember. After all, what man wanted his wife to fill her head with astronomy and mathematics, when she should be downstairs, attending to him?

They reached the top, and the Duke tossed Stephen to the ground. Stephen landed with a painful thump, curling up into a ball immediately to protect himself from a kick.

It never came.

“You are a pathetic boy,” the Duke hissed. “A mewling, weak creature. You disgust me. Do not interfere in my affairs again, or you will be sorry. You’ll stay here until I feel you have learned your lesson.”

Without waiting for a reply—not that one was forthcoming, as Stephen’s acid wit had not yet taken root, even if he’d been brave enough to respond—the Duke turned on his heel. The door slammed shut, and after half a moment, Stephen heard the key turn in the lock downstairs.

He rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. At some point, the panels covering the glass roof had been pulled back, revealing a vast, midnight-blue sky, its velvet studded with countless, countless stars.

Stephen closed his eyes, letting the pain wash over him.

“Stephen?”

He flinched, coming back to himself.

Three days.He left me locked in this room for three days. If Mouse hadn’t brought me a carafe of water—he was just a footman, then—I might have died.

He turned around and found his mother eyeing him thoughtfully.

“I do wish I had done more to protect you from him,” Stephen said quietly. “But you can’t believe that I let it affect my life now.”

Theodosia returned his stare evenly. “Neither of us can ever pretend to be unaffected.”

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