Page 80 of Her Bear of a Duke

"I prefer it this way," she explained. "I do not like to explain why I left London, you see."

"I suppose, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. Surely you must know that?"

"Oh, I am not ashamed of my actions at all. I am simply aware that I am very different to the people here, and I prefer not to have that pointed out."

They had spent their first few days visiting different taverns in the area, and after hiding herself away the first few times forfear of being seen there, Dorothy began to enjoy herself. Nobody recognized her there, and it was wonderful. She could simply be Dorothy, and that was enough, rather than the Duchess of Ulverston that was not quite as good as expected.

Their days were spent with Eleanor's children, and Dorothy preferred that part. She liked to be around her nieces and nephews, though her heart ached to see Catherine again. There had to have been a reason, she thought, for Catherine accusing her of such awful things, because she did not hate her enough to lie of her own accord.

"Are you questioning yourself again?" Eleanor asked as Dorothy looked at the table in silence. "You should also know that you have no reason to feel shame. They gave you no choice but to leave."

"I know, but I still do not understand. I did not say what I was accused of, and yet he did not believe me."

"Then he is a fool, as I have already told you. Now, do you plan to return to him and grovel or would you rather enjoy yourself here with me?"

It was not as easy as she wished it was. She was enjoying her time with her sister, and she had missed her so much, but she still longed to be home with her husband and niece. They would have to mend a lot of things, but she still wanted it. It had been the first time that she truly felt like part of a family, and she did not want to give that up, especially because of something that did not happen.

"Did you feel loved by our parents?" she asked suddenly, and Eleanor faltered.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, as a girl I was always compared to you. I had every part of me picked at and scrutinized. I was not as tall as you, my hair and eyes were different, I was… less slim."

"I know, and I have always envied you for that."

Dorothy looked at her, confusion etched in her brow.

"That is impossible. You were always so perfect!"

"Indeed, and it was awful. I know that things were difficult for you when we were children, but I suppose that made me feel even worse. I had to be perfect, as I had always been. I had to do everything that I could to be the very same lady that thetonadored, never making a mistake. You, on the other hand, seemed able to do as you pleased."

"Which, I might add, I never did. I was always trying to reach you, to be as liked as you were. It was exhausting."

"It was no easier for me, especially when I had to watch you struggle alongside me. I knew that comparisons were made, and my heart ached to see you so saddened by them, but I did not know what else to do. I had to keep the facade going."

"Until you stopped."

"Yes," she smiled, looking at her oldest child sitting beside her. "Until I stopped."

"I am not so fortunate. I married a duke, and so I shall always be scrutinized."

"Or, perhaps, you could come to Scotland?" she suggested. "If you ever tire of theton,you will always have a place here. As will your husband and niece, of course. Little Catherine would likely benefit greatly from being near other children, as from what you told me, it has never happened."

"No, she was always too unwell. I do not believe that will change, either, as my husband is ardently against her being seen. He says there will be too much judgment, and that he wants to protect her from it."

"Then I hope that he knows he cannot," she laughed, sipping her tea. "Whether he likes it or not, the girl will grow. She will one day be a lady with her own thoughts and her own desires and she will chase after them, no matter how much he tries to stop her. If she ever wishes to be seen, then she will be."

"Is that what happened to you?"

"Of course. Father told me that I could not marry the man that I loved, as he was not worthy of me, and that I would be marrying some wealthy man twice my age, and I ran. You are no different;your husband told you he was unhappy and you did not like it, and so you ran."

"That is not– I did not do that."

Her hands clenched, her jaw tightening. She loved that her sister was the sort of person to talk about her feelings directly, but sometimes that bluntness was not what she liked.

Perhaps, however, it was what she needed.

"You did. If you had wanted to stay, and to make it known that you were innocent, then you would have. Instead, you thought it would be easier to run all the way to Scotland to hide from it. Is that not true?"

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