Page 70 of Married to a Wicked Duke
Veronica looked at him hesitantly. “Are you not going to take it upstairs?”
“Not yet,” he told her. “I want you to see it first.”
Veronica took a tentative step forward, as though wary about what she might find beneath the cloth. She tugged at it gently and it slid off the frame, revealing the portrait to her.
She let out her breath. Brought a hand to her mouth as she stared into her own eyes.
“Oh…” she managed. “Frederick…” Tears began to well in her eyes and she turned to him, looking up into his face. “I am so sorry. I… I ought to have trusted you.” Her tears spilled and she let them fall unhindered onto her collar. “Can you ever forgive me?”
Frederick took a step towards her, cupping her cheek in his hand. “Of course I can,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He swallowed. “I know I have not made it so easy for you to trust me.”
Veronica shook her head. “That is not true. You have always been honest with me. Upfront. You never pretended this marriage was anything more than it is. You were very clear about how you felt and what you wanted.” She shook her head, as though scolding herself. “I should not have allowed myself to become upset when you did not give me more.”
Frederick took her hands in his and lowered his gaze. “I know I said all those things,” he began slowly, his thumbs tracing slow circles across the backs of her hands. “But…” He drew in a deep breath. “I think I may have been wrong.” He closed his eyes, feeling his heart thump hard against his ribs. The words were hard to get out; frightening almost, but he also knew that if he did not say them, he would come to regret it for the rest of his life. “I was afraid of getting close to you, Veronica, because I did not want to open my heart up to anyone. I could not bear to carry any more pain. I was afraid of losing you. Of failing you, like I failed my mother.” He swallowed heavily. “But I can see now that denying the way I feel about you is foolish. It is unfair to you, and to myself.”
Veronica looked up, her eyes glistening.
“I love you, said Frederick. “More than anything.” Now the words were out, he could hardly believe he had tied himself in knots over saying them. With Veronica’s eyes on his, with her hands intertwined with his, and that bright smile on her face,I love yousuddenly felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Veronica flew into his embrace, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding his tightly. “I love you too,” she said. She took a step back, meeting his eyes again. “And I swear that from now on, I will always trust you.”
Frederick smiled, his heart suddenly overflowing with happiness. “And I will always give you every reason to.” He bent to kiss her lips, holding her close for long moments. Then he stepped back, looking into the shining eyes of his wife. “Now,” he said, “we have a painting to unveil.”
* * *
Frederick picked up the portrait with one hand and held his other out to Veronica. This time, she slipped her fingers between his and squeezed. She never wanted to let go again.
As they climbed back up the cellar stairs and stepped back out into the old kitchen, she wiped away the last of her tears with her free hand. Her finger came back smeared with dark makeup. “Goodness,” she laughed, “I must look a right mess.”
Frederick glanced at her, smiling gently. “Would you like to take a moment to tidy yourself? I can ask Sarah to come and help you.”
Veronica shook her head. “No. I don’t care.” She laughed a little. “Everyone will just think of me as an emotional artist. I shall fit my role perfectly.” She dusted her skirts free of the earth she had collected from the floor of the cellar. Impulsively, she kissed her husband again. “The portrait is beautiful, Frederick,” she said. “I cannot thank you enough.”
He smiled. “The portrait is beautiful because you are beautiful.” A faint frown creased his forehead.
“What is it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I just wish I knew who had painted that other awful piece. I know Lady Juliet was behind it, but surely she did not paint it herself.”
Veronica giggled. “I think that is a fair assumption, given her efforts at your grandmother’s painting competition.” Her laughter died away. Though her anger at Lady Juliet had been lessened by her husband’s declaration of love, Veronica knew it had not disappeared completely. She knew Juliet had done what she had to shame them and destroy their chances at happiness—and on both counts, she had nearly succeeded. “I’m so sorry, Frederick,” she said. “Truly. I ought never have doubted you.”
“I know you are sorry,” he said lightly. “And I accept your apology. So please think no more of it.” He shook his head. “To be honest, I cannot blame you. Whoever Juliet found to create the work has a strikingly similar style to my own. Or at least, they are a master at copying another’s style.”
“Wait.” Veronica stopped walking. “Look.” Pinned to the back of the frame was a folded piece of paper. She pulled it off with a firm tug. Unfolded it and began to read aloud:
“Your Graces,
All I can do is offer my profuse apologies and perhaps attempt to explain myself.
I was approached by Lady Juliet Carfield outside your gallery a week ago and offered a substantial sum to paint her portrait in the Duke’s style. While I would like to say I had the strength to turn down such an offer, I am a weak man, and my family’s precarious financial situation did not allow me to behave as I might otherwise have liked.
It is my deepest regret that I have caused the two of you pain, after the generosity you have shown me in commissioning my work. More than anything, I regret that this farce had to mar the opening of your gallery.
If you see fit to remove my work from your collections, and request the return of the commission paid, I will of course understand.
Again, I offer my profound apologies and humbly request your forgiveness.
Sincerely,
