Page 3 of Healing the Duke's Desires
Three years. Three long, pain-filled years have passed,Alexander Blackwood, the Duke of Ravenswood, thought as misery gnawed at him little by little, chipping away at the heart he had locked up deep inside. Eventually, he knew, there would be nothing left to gnaw at, but he didn’t care. Maybe that would be for the best, to be completely empty, devoid of any emotion.
Alexander’s study was enveloped in a hushed stillness, the only sound permeating the air the soft scratching of his quill against parchment. Usually, it soothed him. But his mind was far from the ledgers before him. Today marked the solemn three-year anniversary of his beloved wife Amelia’s passing, and the weight of her absence bore heavily upon his heart. Much more heavily than usual, in fact.
Every single day since her untimely death, Alexander had been haunted by memories of their love, their dreams, and the profound emptiness that now resided within him. The pain had etched deep lines upon his face and cast a shadow over his once-bright gray eyes. He had vowed never to open his heart to such vulnerability again, shielding himself from the possibility of another devastating loss. Once had been more than enough.
He inhaled deeply, putting down the quill pen and getting up from his escritoire. Slowly, he walked over to the window, which overlooked a blossoming garden, his late wife’s pride and joy. Now, it seemed to him that winter had settled in every corner of this house, as well as in every corner of his heart.
As if that in itself wasn’t enough, fate had dealt him a new role—a guardian to his young cousin Rose, left in his care after the passing of his late uncle, along with the inheritance of the prestigious dukedom.
Alexander had shouldered the responsibilities of his newfound position with unwavering dedication, diligently fulfilling his duty to find a suitable match for Rose. At least it was somewhat of a distraction from his own troubling thoughts. It was a new purpose, to lead someone into the next phase of life, to help young Rose find happiness.
His mind wandered, and thoughts of Rose’s future mingled with memories of Amelia. The weight of his dual roles—vigilant guardian and grieving widower—proved to be an overwhelming burden, threatening to shatter his resolve.
However, as he watched the gentle sway of the trees, a renewed determination stirred within him. He could not let his own grief overshadow Rose’s chance at happiness. It would be unfair to allow that to happen. He would fulfill his duty to find her a suitable match, guided by his late uncle’s wishes and his own sense of responsibility.
A knock on the door brought him back to the present moment.
“Yes?” he called out, his back to the door and his hands locked behind his back as he gazed at the garden beneath him.
The door pushed open only slightly, and the aged visage of Alexander’s butler, Mr. Stirling, appeared before him. Time had etched deep lines of wisdom upon his face, testament to the years of dedicated service he had rendered to the aristocratic household he had faithfully served. His silver hair, neatly combed and perfectly styled, spoke of a bygone era.
With each measured step, he exuded an air of authority, his posture exquisitely poised as if his very presence commanded respect. Every movement was calculated and deliberate, a testament to his meticulous attention to detail.
“I apologize, Your Grace, but your aunt is here,” Mr. Stirling informed him courteously.
Alexander raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember being informed of her visit.”
“You know how your aunt is, Your Grace,” the old butler allowed. “She usually forgets to call ahead.”
“Indeed.” Alexander sighed, knowing well what that meant. She expected him to drop whatever it was he was doing and spend some time with her. He raked his fingers through his hair, wondering what to do. Although he had a ton of work to focus on, his aunt was a woman who loved spending time with family. And sadly, they both had so little family left.
“Should I inform her that Your Grace is unavailable right now?” Mr. Stirling offered, always the considerate servant to his master.
Alexander shook his head, appreciative of the gesture. “That won’t be necessary, Stirling. Thank you. I cannot focus on work anyway. I might as well spend some time with her. Have them bring us some tea in the drawing room if you will.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mr. Stirling bowed courteously and, a moment later, closed the door behind him.
As soon as Helen Blackwood, Alexander’s aunt, laid her eyes on him, she welcomed him into a warm, loving embrace. Although it was actually her late husband, the previous Duke of Ravenswood, who was his blood relative, he had grown to love and respect Helen as if she were his own family, not merely family through marriage.
He returned the embrace cordially and they both settled on the chaise lounge next to each other. Despite her habit of not calling before visiting, Alexander had to admit that her company always managed to lift his spirits. She was simply like that, a positive, outgoing person who knew how to get someone out of their shell, if only for a short while.
“It is always nice to see you, Helen,” he greeted her with a smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your unexpected visit?”
Helen didn’t reply at first. Instead, she rummaged through her miniature reticule, boasting an intricately beaded exterior in a delicate floral pattern. His aunt had always been the one for showcasing artistry and craftsmanship. She proceeded to take out a small handkerchief, a scent bottle, and a handful of coins. The last item was a small, folded note.
“This,” she said, offering him the note while she tenderly placed all the other items back inside, storing them neatly before closing the small clasp, which ensured that the contents would remain safe and secure.
Alexander resisted the temptation to askwhat it wasas he unfolded the note and quickly skimmed through it. It was an invitation to Lady Ashfordshire’s ball, the same one he had received several days prior and had paid very little heed to. He folded it again and handed it back to her.
“I see,” he said, without any interest.
To be quite honest, balls were the last thing on his mind. He longed for solitude, for a quiet refuge where he could reflect and find solace in his memories. The idea of masking his grief behind a façade of social pleasantries seemed unbearable.
The weight of it bore heavily upon his shoulders, sapping his energy and dimming his spirit. But at the same time, he knew that with Rose, he had accepted a new responsibility—one that required of him, among other things, attendance on such occasions such as Lady Ashfordshire’s ball.
“You will surely attend, will you not?” Helen inquired politely as a knock on the door announced that their tea was about to be served.
As the delicate aroma of freshly brewed tea filled the air, two busied servants entered the room with a silver tray, gracefully placing the porcelain cups and saucers on the table before Alexander. The warm, comforting beverage offered a momentary respite, allowing him to collect his thoughts before responding to his aunt.
