Page 65 of His Godsent Duchess
Tears welled in her eyes as she whispered, "I don't want them to get hurt."
"They won't," he reassured her, squeezing her hand. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "Rest now. We'll speak in the morning."
Christina's eyes fluttered closed, her exhaustion overwhelming her once more as she drifted back into sleep. Victor stood, watching her for a moment longer, feeling the weight of his absence, the way it had burdened her. He had failed her, and Amelia, in ways he couldn't yet fully comprehend.
As he quietly left her bedchamber, he descended the stairs to the grand foyer, his thoughts still heavy with guilt. Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, Miss Peversly stepped out from the shadows.
"Your Grace," she greeted, her curtsy very low.
Victor gave her a curt nod, intending to continue past her, but she took a step forward, clearly eager to speak.
"I trust you do not think me incompetent, after what occurred these past few days," she began, her voice careful. "What happened with Lady Amelia—it was entirely the Duchess's fault. Her stories of adventure encouraged the child to wander into the woods. You always forbade such reckless?—"
Victor raised his hand sharply, cutting her off. His voice was cold and restrained. "Did you accompany them on the walk?"
Miss Peversly faltered, clearly thrown by the question. "Y-yes, Your Grace. I did."
"And where were you when Amelia wandered off? Should you not have prevented it?"
The governess paled, her composure slipping. "I... well, I did my best, but the children?—"
Victor's patience snapped. Anger surged within him, though not entirely at Miss Peversly. He was angry with himself—angry that he had left, angry that Amelia had fallen ill, angry that Christina had been left to shoulder the burden alone.
"I will hear no more," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You are dismissed, Miss Peversly. I will not tolerate any further disrespect toward my duchess."
Miss Peversly's eyes widened, clearly stunned by the dismissal. "Dismissed, Your Grace?"
"Immediately," Victor replied, his tone final. "Pack your things and leave Kilton Castle. Tonight."
Miss Peversly sputtered, struggling for words, but seeing the unyielding resolve in Victor's expression, she curtsied stiffly and retreated without another word.
Victor gently closed Amelia's bedchamber door behind him, the soft click echoing in the quiet hallway. Relief had washed over him as he'd watched his daughter's fever finally begin to break, but it was a fragile relief, undercut by the weight of everything that had happened—the choices he had made, the distance he had forced between himself and his family.
As he took a deep breath, gathering himself, a maid approached, her expression uncertain as she held out a folded note.
"Your Grace," she said softly, handing it to him.
Victor frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion as he took the note. Who would be writing to him within the household? Breaking the seal, he unfolded the paper and instantly recognized Christina's handwriting. His stomach tightened with unease.
Victor,
By the time you read this, I will be gone.
I am sorry for everything. I thought I could make this work, that I could make us work. But I understand now that my place is not here, not beside you. I know that you want us to live separately, and now that you are home to care for Amelia, I thought it best to leave so that you can keep your vow. There's no need to prolong this any longer.*
Please give my love to the children. They deserve better than this.
Christina.
The letter trembled in his hands, the words blurring as his heart pounded in his chest. She was gone. The very ground beneath him seemed to shift, the world falling apart in a way that made him feel utterly untethered. He could hardly breathe.
No. It couldn't be. She couldn't have left him. Not like this.
Without another thought, Victor turned and ran, his feet pounding down the hallway and toward the stairs. He had to find her. He had to stop her before it was too late. The house was coming alive with the early morning bustle of servants, but he paid them no mind as he descended the grand staircase two steps at a time.
As soon as he reached the foyer, Smith appeared before him, looking grave.
"Your Grace," Smith began, stepping forward.
