Page 57 of His Forsaken Duchess
“I am so sorry,” she whispered, though she knew no one could hear her. The diary grew heavier in her hands as she turned to another entry.
June 3rd, 1802
I cannot escape the whispers. No matter where I go, they follow me, clinging to my skin like a stain I cannot wash away. Even Cedric avoids my gaze. He means well, I am sure, but his disappointment is harder to bear than the cruel gossip. I do not know what I will do, but I know this: I cannot remain here. I cannot remain anywhere.
Audrey paused, the ache in her heart sharp and sudden. She thought of Cedric, his reserved manner, his deep and hidden pain. How had he endured this? Watching his sister’s torment, knowing he could do little to shield her from it?
She turned the page, her pulse quickening as she read further.
June 20th, 1802
It has been weeks, and still, I have missed my courses. At first, I thought it was the stress, the humiliation. But now I am certain. I am with child. My disgrace is complete.
Audrey gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth. The candlelight flickered as if it, too, had shuddered at the revelation. She stared at the words, the ink seeming to burn into her mind. Cecilia had been pregnant. She had carried the child of the man who had ruined her, only to be abandoned and scorned by Society.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the diary, her knuckles whitening. The shame, the fear, the utter hopelessness Cecilia must have felt—it was overwhelming to imagine. Audrey’s vision blurred as tears welled up in her eyes.
“How could they have done this to you?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “How could they all have turned their backs on you?”
The candlelight flickered again, casting dancing shadows over the room. Audrey wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, forcing herself to turn to another page. She needed to know more, to understand how it had all come to this.
July 5th, 1802
The child grows, and with it my shame. I cannot bring this innocent life into a world that will hate it before it takes its first breath. I cannot. I have thought long and hard, and there is only one way to end this suffering. Perhaps then, I will find peace. Perhaps then, Cedric will forgive me.
Audrey froze, the words sinking into her like a blade. The room seemed to tilt slightly, the air growing heavier. She closed the diary carefully, her hands trembling, and placed it back on the desk. Her pulse quickened as she sat back in the chair, staring at the faintly glowing candle.
Her breath hitched as the full extent of Cecilia’s tragedy settled over her. She could picture it vividly—the shame, the isolation, the despair that had driven her sister-in-law to such a final decision. And Cedric… how had he borne the loss? How had he carried this burden, alone, for so long?
Audrey’s thoughts turned to Lilianna again. She saw her sister’s tear-streaked face, heard the tremor in her voice as she had begged for help.
I will not let this happen to her.I will not let history repeat itself.
The flame of the candle wavered once more, and Audrey quickly blew it out, plunging the room into darkness. She rose from the chair, her knees unsteady as she moved toward the door. Her hand rested on the doorknob for a moment before she glanced back into the room.
“Rest in peace, Cecilia,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I promise, I will make this right.”
Audrey did not know how, but she would try.
Nineteen
The words in Cecilia’s diary haunted Audrey, etching themselves into her mind like lines on a page.
The shame I carry is too heavy to bear. Would that I could vanish entirely, and perhaps the world would be better for it.
She sat at the breakfast table, her fingers tracing the delicate rim of her porcelain teacup. The room was quiet save for the soft clinking of silverware against china and the distant murmur of wind beyond the frosted windows. Yet, in the silence, her thoughts were deafening.
She swallowed hard before forcing herself to take a sip of her tea. She had spent half the night poring over the fragile, faded script, each entry revealing a young woman who had loved too deeply, trusted too wholly, and paid dearly for it. The rawness made Audrey’s chest tighten with both sorrow and indignation. And now, as she glanced across the table, her gaze fell on Cedric.
He sat rigidly, his broad shoulders hunched slightly over a newspaper spread before him, the morning sunlight catching the unruly waves of his black hair. His plate lay half-forgotten at his elbow, steam lazily curling up from his tea. He looked absorbed, his brow furrowed in concentration, though now and again his gaze darted toward her, as if he felt her attention on him.
Was this man—this brusque, enigmatic duke—truly the same boy Cecilia had written about? How much of the Cedric she knew had been shaped by the tragedies that had unfolded within his family? The man before her, so guarded and stoic, suddenly felt more like a riddle she yearned to solve.
“You seem distracted this morning.” Cedric’s voice broke through her reverie, smooth, deep, and faintly inquisitive.
Audrey blinked, her fingers pausing on the rim of her teacup. “Am I?” she replied, a polite smile gracing her lips. “I was merely contemplating the journey ahead.”
Cedric raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching faintly. “The journey? Surely not daunting for someone like you.”
