Page 32 of His Forsaken Duchess
“And yet we seem destined to,” he replied, his voice weary but devoid of malice.
Audrey wondered if they would ever truly understand each other.
Before she could respond, Potts returned with the second course—partridge encased in golden pastry, surrounded by parsnips and carrots roasted to perfection.
The Duke raised his glass, and Potts quickly filled it from a crystal jug.
Audrey furrowed her brow. “Is that lemonade?” she asked, surprised.
The Duke set the glass down. “I don’t drink wine,” he answered curtly.
“You don’t?” she asked, the curiosity obvious in her voice. “Not at all?”
“Not at all.”
Her gaze lingered on him, her thoughts swirling. “May I ask why?”
His jaw tightened, and he avoided her gaze. “I simply choose not to.”
The finality of his tone stopped her from pressing him, but her mind was reeling.
Why doesn’t he drink wine? And why does it seem to matter so much to him?
Her thoughts drifted to the west wing, the forbidden territory in this vast castle, then to the raw anger in his voice when he spoke of his sister.
There’s so much he doesn’t say. So much he keeps locked away.
She glanced at him. His expression was stoic as he cut into the pastry with precision. The candlelight flickered, the shadows deepening around them.
Who exactly did I marry?
Ten
“Miss Smith,” Audrey said, watching her reflection as the lady’s maid fussed over a stray curl, “have you heard anything… oh, I don’t know… curious about the west wing?”
The maid’s hands faltered for the briefest moment, but her expression remained composed. “Curious, Your Grace?”
“Yes,” Audrey said with deliberate nonchalance, tilting her head just so. “I noticed that none of the servants ever mention it, yet they all seem to tiptoe around it as if it were the lair of some mythical beast.”
Miss Smith hesitated, glancing toward the door as though afraid someone might overhear.
“I did inquire once,” she admitted cautiously. “One of the chambermaids was returning from that part of the castle. WhenI asked, she grew quite nervous. Looked about as if the very walls might be listening.”
Audrey arched an eyebrow. “Did she say anything?”
“Only that Mr. and Mrs. Potts have explicit orders from His Grace,” Miss Smith whispered. “No one is to speak of the west wing. No one is to ask questions about it.”
Audrey’s frown deepened, her curiosity now well and truly piqued.
Explicit orders. Curious, indeed.
“And what do you think?” she asked, a smile playing on her lips.
“I think,” Miss Smith said carefully, pinning the last curl in place, “that it is not my place to think about such matters.”
Audrey smiled faintly, though her mind was already turning over the implications.
The best way to learn who I’ve married is to find what he keeps hidden. His rules say as much about him as his silence. And I’ve never been one to let a closed door deter me.
