Page 16 of Wedded to the Deviant Duke

They’d been walking for mere minutes, drawing farther and farther from Charlotte and the gazebo, and Louise hadn’t spoken a single word. Thalia hadn’t either, but she hadn’t known what to say. She was certain she knew why she’d been chosen on this walk; it was only a matter of waiting for the metaphorical dam to break.

Finally, when they had put a good distance between themselves and the gazebo, Louise finally spoke. “You were the woman in the infirmary, weren’t you? During Orion’s Hunt; you were being tended to by Gabriel.”

There was no use in lying. Thalia nodded sheepishly. The pair drew to a stop before a long wooden bench, and Louise took a seat. Thalia followed suit, gloved hands wringing in her lap, and waited for the inevitable scolding.

“Are you alright, Thalia?” Louise gently took her splinted hand, cradling her wrist with genuine concern in her tone. “It wasn’t Gabriel who did this, was it?”

“Wh-what?!” Thalia sputtered, completely taken off balance. “Oh, gracious, no! He—he really was helping me, Your Grace.”

Louise’s expression was so warm, so inviting. “Refer to me by my name, please. I would like to think we can become friends.”

Thalia nodded, her ravaged nerves beginning to ease.

“That’s good to hear, though.” Louise released her hold, hands returning to her side. “My husband adores the man, but Gabriel has always been…” she paused, her lips pursed. “Well…I hadn’t expected to see such a private man in such a delicate situation. He’s not exactly known for his caring demeanor.”

That didn’t entirely surprise Thalia. And yet, everything she’d seen from the duke suggested otherwise. He wasn’t overly emotional, certainly, but the man did seem surprisingly open.

“I’m just saying that, if Gabriel has put you in an awkward position–” Louise began.

Thalia quickly shook her head, offering as reassuring a smile as she could. “On the contrary, he’s working to help me out of such a position. The mere fact that I’m no longer forced to be in Whitechapel is… is…” She blinked, then blinked furiously, surprised to suddenly find herself in tears.

“Oh, Thalia…” Louise offered her hand, and Thalia quickly took it, squeezing tightly as horrible shudders overtook her body. “You are safe here.” She gestured a hand, calling one of the gardeners to their side. “Why don’t you excuse yourself to your chambers? I’ll let Charlotte know you’re feeling unwell. The staff can escort you, and if you’d like, there’s a beautiful selection of scented oils for baths. I enjoyed one just the other day; the Hardings are quite renowned for their scents.”

Briefly, the smoky earth-scent of Gabriel overtook Thalia, pulling more tears from her eyes. “I-I couldn’t.”

“You absolutely could,” Louise insisted. “And you shall. Don’t fret; Charlotte may be young, but she is ever the gracious hostess. Besides,” she added, setting a hand gently against her bump. “She’ll hardly argue with a woman in my condition, and you shouldn’t either.”

That got a wobbly laugh from Thalia. Wiping her face, she finally relented and stood, giving a deep curtsy to Louise. “Thank you so much, Your Grace—ah, I mean, Louise.”

She offered that same, warming smile back. “Of course, Thalia. Take as much time to yourself as you need.”

* * *

She had forgotten how grand a room could be. As the waitstaff drew her bedroom door open, Thalia almost collapsed beneath the weight of her frame, gobsmacked by the size of it all. It easily filled the space of half of Robin’s rookery, decorated in beautiful cool colors of rich blue and faded lavender.

The sweet, almost woody scent of the aforementioned flower stood tall in a number of vases, intermingled with floral notes of jasmine and peace lilies. Thalia immediately found herself drawn to the king-size mattress, its plush comforter and array of soft pillows looking ever so inviting.

“Let us know if you need anything, Miss.” The maid gave a quick curtsy and gently closed the door behind her, leaving Thalia to bask in the vastness of it all. Her eyes stretched around the room, finally settling on her small collection of suitcases and wrapped frames brought over from Whitechapel.

Her belongings seemed so…insignificant, in comparison. With a gentle sigh, Thalia moved towards her things and began to unpack, feeling the need to tidy up a small amount before she explored the lavatory. Such a nice room deserved to remain nice, after all.

Suddenly, a knock came from her door, and she quickly stood upright. “Come in!” Much to her surprise, it was Gabriel Harding who appeared on the other side, and she quickly offered a curtsy. “Oh, Your Grace! Please, come in. I apologize for the mess; it seems my things from Whitechapel arrived without my knowing.”

The duke’s eyes immediately fixated on her small pile, and Thalia resisted the urge to block his view. “Yes, the footmen informed me a few minutes ago. I wanted to ensure nothing had been lost or damaged on the trip over. We’ll be taking a trip into town soon enough, in case anything needs replacing.”

“Oh.” Thalia’s face flushed, and she quickly nodded her thanks. “That’s very kind of you, Your Grace, but hardly necessary. Everything seems in perfect order. Thank you kindly again.” Silence hung between them, and Thalia couldn’t help but offer a nervous grin. “Um…would you like to see for yourself, Your Grace?”

He didn’t offer a reply, but did move towards her collection. Slowly, methodically, the duke began to unwrap frames and gingerly open suitcases, immediately abandoning them if any sign of cloth or clothing hid within. His attention turned to a pair of large canvases propped against the wall, and nerves knotted in Thalia’s stomach. “Th-those are mine,” she quickly offered. “My own—well, of course they are, but I meant to say–”

“You paint?”

Thalia nodded, biting her lip. “They’re… not very good. Or finished. It’s hard to find the time, as of late.”

The duke nodded, moving back towards her suitcases once more. Slowly, he opened a few latches filled with knick-knacks and personals, taking a particular interest in her collection of books. He held them aloft with great respect, glancing along the spine curiously. “The Romance of the Forest, hmm?”

Now Thalia’s neck felt hot. “It… it was my mother’s.”

The duke set the book gently atop the pile. “I have my own copy in my study, though I find poetry easier to read during my busy schedule.”

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