Page 62 of Captured By the Cold Duke
“I’m sure he will be up here the moment he comes back,” Emily said, smiling shyly. “He has been most attentive.”
Cherie felt her chest tighten, and she was sure this had nothing to do with the poison.
I was about to leave him. I was about to tell him that we had to live separately.
“There is also a great deal of correspondence for you,” Emily said, motioning at a stack of letters on the nightstand. “Your friends have been visiting every day and writing you letters of support, although the doctor told them you wouldn’t be able to read them.”
“They wanted me to wake up to messages of love,” Cherie said, smiling slightly. “Those are the kind of friends they are.”
“Would you like to read them?” Emily asked.
“First, I’d like to send them letters telling them I’ve woken up. They must have been worried sick.”
“I’ll fetch you some paper and ink.”
“No, go get the doctor,” Cherie said, “that’s more important. I’ll find some paper in here.”
“Should you get up?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
Emily left the room, and Cherie sat up. Gingerly, she pushed back the covers and swung her feet out of the bed. Once she was sure of her strength, she stood up. Her legs shook slightly, but after a moment or two, she was steady. Then she looked around. There was a desk in the corner of the former duchess’s room, and she walked toward this. Surely there was paper and ink inside.
Sitting down at the desk, she opened it and began to root around in the drawers. She found paper quickly enough, but ink and quills took a bit longer. There was a small door right in the center of the desk that opened up to a small compartment where ink was usually kept, but it was empty. After several minutes of searching, she reached into it again, although she knew it was empty. This time, however, she felt a small knob near the back.
What the…?
Cherie pulled the knob upwards, and to her shock, the floor of the compartment popped up.
It’s a secret compartment!
Her heart hammering, Cherie reached down into the secret compartment and felt a small book. Her fingers curled around the edges, and she pulled it out.
It was a small leather book, tied with a string to keep it shut. Frowning, Cherie untied the string and opened the book.
But it wasn’t a book. It was a diary. Written in perfect, beautiful cursive, the kind of penmanship that betrayed the high education of the writer. Cherie read the first few words, and she knew at once whose diary this was.
The late duchess! Thomas’s mother’s diary! This is the diary he was searching for in the library.
Cherie knew she probably shouldn’t read it, but she couldn’t help herself. This was maybe her one chance to learn about Thomas when he was a child, to discover parts of him that he hadn’t told her, and which might explain why he was the way he was.
She began to read, and as she did, her astonishment only increased. Astonishment—and understanding. She began to skim ahead to relevant passages, to turn the pages of the diary feverishly, looking for more information. Her palms began to sweat, and her heart began to race.
This explains everything! But he doesn’t know the truth! I have to tell him!
She wasn’t sure how much time passed while she read the diary, but all at once she was startled out of her reading by hurried footsteps coming towards her down the corridor.
Then suddenly the door of her room was wrenched open. She turned quickly, covering herself as she was only in her shift, but it wasn’t the doctor who strode through the doors. It was Thomas.
There were no words to describe how Thomas felt the moment he burst through the door of his wife’s bedchamber and saw her, alive and well, sitting at his mother’s desk. Emotion welled inside of him, and for a moment, he swayed on the spot, not sure if he was about to burst into tears or run straight to her.
He chose the latter.
In a few long strides, he had crossed the room, and then he was pulling her gently up from the seat and wrapping his arms around her. Tears springing from his eyes—all right, he chose both—he buried his head in her shoulder.
“You’re alive,” he whispered. “I thought I had lost you forever. But you’re alive.”
