Page 8 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
“I am reluctant to say it aloud,” Ewan murmured, sliding into his chair. “But I daresay I am feeling more like myself.”
“Why are you hesitant to say?” Prudence tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. “That is news for the angels to sing from the—”
She abruptly stopped speaking and flushed a deep scarlet.
“Oh, forgive me, darling,” she muttered, her eyes watering.
“Nonsense, Mother.” He offered her another small beam. “In fact, I would like for you to forgive me. I have been incorrigible as of late. You have not deserved the harsh treatment I have bestowed upon you.” His words spilled out in a rush. He knew it was necessary, but it still burned to admit it. Again, his parents shared a look, and with this one, he felt an undercurrent of concern.
“Ewan, you are our son,” Prudence told him gently. “One in great pain, no less. We never did fault you for your grief. It was to be expected. There is nothing for which to be forgiven.”
“I concur.” The Duke patted his son’s hand resting on the table. “You must strike that idea from your mind.”
Ewan exhaled slowly.
“I am truly blessed to call you my parents.” He cupped his father’s hand on top of his. “I cannot imagine what I would have done if I had been alone in this world—”
“You will never be alone in this world.” The Duke cleared his throat and looked at his wife again. This time, Prudence avoided his gaze.
“Which brings us to another matter, Ewan.”
“Does it?”
“Phineas, perhaps now is not the time…” Prudence muttered quietly but the Duke only looked at her helplessly.
“If not now, then when? It is done.”
As he studied their faces, Ewan could feel his chest tightening.
“What is it? Is there a problem in the duchy? Has something happened?”
“No, no,” the Duke assured him. “All is well.”
Ewan returned his hands to his lap. “Well? What is it?”
“Darling, before we tell you, you must understand that we have been quite concerned for your health and happiness for some time,” Prudence jumped in as Phineas opened his mouth to speak.
“Yes?”
“We did all we could to bring you out of the pit of despair,” Phineas agreed. “You were too melancholic to hear reason. We were very concerned.”
“Yes, I understand,” Ewan insisted. “But what is it you have done?”
Silence. Ewan’s cautious sense of peace dwindling.
“Father? Mother?”
“We have arranged for you to be married.”
Certainly, he had misheard the Duke’s words—surely his father wouldn’t be so cruel. Time stood still… The Marquess turned to peer across the table and saw both parents waiting for a response.
“I assume you are jesting with me, testing the waters to see if I have reclaimed my good humor,” he said slowly, unable to comprehend what was happening.
“Ewan, I assure you, if we had foreseen an end of your suffering, we would simply have allowed your grief to run its course.”
“Instead you meddled in my personal affairs? You opted to replace my dead wife with one who breathes?” he growled—totally discombobulated. “What of my son? Have you found someone to replace him too?”
“Ewan, it is nothing as you make it seem!” Prudence shot the Duke a concerned look. “A wife’s job is to care for her husband in his darkest hours. You need someone at your side, someone on whom you can lay your head and unburden your sorrow.”
