Page 17 of Married to the Forbidden Duke
He told himself it was better that way.
Still, he thought of her often.
Her limp troubled him. He was no expert, but he rather suspected that if she had received different medical care, she might have found her symptoms lessened.
It was not his place, but he made inquiries in Harley Street regardless, seeking a doctor who had experience with old injuries such as this one, in rehabilitation.
No doubt it would take quite a bit for his new wife to agree to his aid, but he was prepared to push the point if necessary. Call it selfishness, call it redemption, but he did not want her struggling to walk and not do all the things other young ladies her age did.
And he rather thought that if he had a chair made up for her, she would not react well.
He lit a cigar in his study and offered Denshire some brandy. “I take it she is upstairs,” was how his oldest friend had greeted him.
“She is. And I doubt you’ll see her.” Frederick settled in the big armchair by the fire. “So far, she’s done an excellent job of avoiding me.”
Denshire accepted the brandy with an exaggerated exhale and settled into the armchair opposite. “I still think marrying her was a mistake.”
Frederick fixed him with a look. “You thought marriage at all was a mistake.” He lowered his voice to a breath, “Besides, it was my duty.”
“Pah. Time, and this would all have blown over. You’re a Duke, for heaven’s sake.”
Frederick shifted uncomfortably. Alice had commented several things to him—about how his station made him exempt from the usual punishments. According to her, he ought to have been hanged for his crimes.
That thought still itched, a still-healing scar.
“I may be a Duke, but you know the rumors abounding through London. It was marry her or live in disgrace for years. What mother would allow their daughter near me after the humiliation Lady Penelope suffered at my hands.”
“Allherfault! You should have her imprisoned for her crimes,” Denshire scoffed.
Frederick couldn’t help his flinch at the thought.
If he had suffered at her hands the way she had suffered at his, he would have been tempted to act in a similar way. Worse, even. Every time he thought about that time and everything he did, guilt threatened to choke him. Because of him, people had lost their lives.
A girl had lost her parents. She had been hurt. Even now, when he closed his eyes, he saw the way she had hobbled, leaning heavily on the stick under her arm. A mark of what he had done to her.
How could he condemn her for that? Throw her into gaol? It washimwho ought to be imprisoned for his crimes, as she had made very clear.
“Perhaps she acted rashly,” Frederick said instead, thinking of how her impetuousness would impact her, “but I cannot discount everything I did to her.”
Denshire huffed as he settled into his chair, but he knew better than to prod that subject. Frederick had made his views plain over the years; he would allow no one to speak to him of that dark time. And he had little inclination to discuss it now, either. But he had to make his friend understand his position.
Marrying her had become a matter of honor once he’d discovered who she was. Perhaps he could not turn back time and make up for what he had done back then, but he could improve her state of life now. Especially when her reputation was in danger all because she held a—rightful—grudge against him.
Marrying her was a necessity. One he could have done very well without, but a necessity nevertheless.
“What are you going to do now? People are wondering about you,” his friend remarked, reaching out distractedly for the nearest decanter.
“We shall have to appear in public. Throw a ball. Pretend everything is well between us and she harbors no ill-will toward me.”
Denshire arched a brow. “Will she play along?”
Frederick shrugged. “Unlikely. But surely she must understand that this is her life now, as well as my own—and she will hurt herself if she attempts to hurt me too publicly.”
“She didn’t care much about that when she interrupted your wedding,” Denshire noted wryly.
“No, well.” Frederick stared moodily at the visible bottom of his glass, empty now. He could not even remember finishing it off. After the accident, he had worked hard to get his drinking back under control. This situation would not get the better of him.
He would not allow it.
