Page 62 of Married to a Wicked Duke
His grandmother smiled gently. “I am glad of it, my dear. Sometimes it is good to speak of these things. However horrible they may be. It is not healthy to just let them fester inside us.”
For long moments, Frederick did not speak. He had not intended to tell Veronica anything about his mother. Ever. The shame and regret was far too great for him to ever wish to speak about it. The truth had just come out in a rush of emotion after he had seen the painting of Mrs. Lane’s son.
He nodded faintly. “I know, Grandmother. But it is not easy.”
He could not deny that speaking of his mother’s death—for the first time in many years—had eased the weight on his shoulders. He no longer felt as though he had to hide things from his wife. She now knew of his greatest regret—how he had failed his mother—and still she had shown him warmth and affection.
But it was warmth and affection he felt unable to return. Even after he had raced home from the gentleman’s club to be with Veronica—and after they had engaged in such passionate lovemaking—he had still felt himself drawn into his shell, even in the face of his best intentions. Speaking of the emotions roiling around inside him terrified him. Not least because to speak of them, he would have to examine them. And he was more than a little afraid of what he would find if he delved too deeply into his own mind. Self-loathing, certainly. A damaged, unfixable man.
“I know it is not easy, Frederick,” his grandmother said. “Nothing you have gone through has been. But that does not mean you cannot find a way to be happy.”
Impulsively, he reached for a piece of gingerbread, more for an excuse not to talk than out of any desire to actually taste the thing. His grandmother watched him closely as he took a bite.
“What do you think?” she said, the moment it passed his lips.
Frederick chewed and swallowed. He had to admit, the gingerbread was rather divine, with an intense yet delicate mix of spices that lingered on his tongue. “It’s good,” he said.
His grandmother gave an airy life. “Oh Frederick, that is so like you. This gingerbread is a gift from Heaven. It is far more than justgood.”
He raised his eyebrows. “A gift from Heaven?”
His grandmother chuckled. Then the look in her eyes intensified again. “You are different around her, you know. I can see it.”
Frederick nodded resignedly. He knew his grandmother was right. Since Veronica had come into his life, hehadfelt different. He had not woken up each morning with overwhelming dread pressing down on him, but rather with a sense of curiosity for what the day might bring.
And yes, mixed in with that curiosity was also a hint of fear at what being around Veronica might cause him to do, to say. At the way she might cause him to feel. Because somewhere at the back of his mind, in a place he was trying very hard not to look at, Frederick knew he had the capacity to fall in love with Veronica.
“You know your wife could make you happy, don’t you, my dear?” said the Dowager Duchess. “You just have to let her.”
Frederick used his fork to break off another piece of cake, but he did not bring it to his lips. Somewhere deep inside, he knew everything his grandmother had said was right. But his grief and sadness had been a part of him for so long that he was almost afraid to rid himself of it. A part of him was afraid of who he would be without it.
“I do not know if I can do that, Grandmother.”
“Nonsense,” he expected the Dowager Duchess to say,“who would ever choose to be unhappy?”But his grandmother just reached across the table and placed a hand on his wrist. “I know it is difficult, my dear. But if you can find the courage to let down those walls you have built around yourself, your life could be more wonderful than you ever imagined. A loving wife… children…”
She looked at him pointedly, and Frederick knew his grandmother’s comment was an attempt at finding out whether he and Veronica had yet consummated their marriage. He kept his face even, determined to give nothing away.
Frederick could not deny that since he had begun to visit Veronica’s bed, the thought of children had been playing on his mind. In the past, he had not for a moment believed he would ever be a father. The very thought had filled him with dread and terror. But now, somehow, it did not seem quite so horrifying. The idea of having a child with Veronica was almost… well… exciting.
“I know that kind of life is what your mother would want for you,” the Dowager Duchess said gently. “It is what I want for you too. Besides,” she met Frederick’s eyes, “do you not think your lovely wife deserves better than to have to put up with day after day of your grumpy old self?”
Frederick sighed. “She does,” he agreed.
“If you ask me,” his grandmother said, reaching for a large piece of gingerbread, “that young lady deserves a statue in Hyde Park.”
And a smile came to Frederick’s lips. Because he could not create a statue of his wife to place in Hyde Park. But he could create something almost as good.
ChapterTwenty-Six
Veronica had had the distinct feeling that she was being watched. On more than one occasion.
As she had sat on the terrace reading her book last week, she had felt eyes on her, but when she had turned, there had been no one there. The same thing had happened when she had been sitting in the drawing room with an embroidery sampler a few days later. She had been fairly certain it was her husband she had caught a glimpse of when the figure had darted into the next room.
“Spying on me, are you?”she had asked him with a teasing smile when he had appeared at her bedchamber door that night.“You know if you wish to come and see me, there is no need to hide.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,”Frederick had said, in the world’s worst attempt at lying.
“Is that so?”
