Page 58 of When He Was a Duke
She paused without turning. For a heartbeat, he thought she might come back to him. Then she continued walking, disappearing around the corner of the manor house.
Sebastian stood alone among the roses, his hands clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. He was losing her with every lie, every half-truth. And when she finally learned who he really was—when she discovered he was the son of the man her father had destroyed—he would lose her forever.
But he had to keep going. For James. For Sophia. For justice.
Even if it destroyed the only chance at love he’d ever known.
Chapter Fourteen
Rose went directlyinto the house and downstairs to the servants’ quarters to ask for Mary’s whereabouts. One of the scullery maids told her Mary was in the linen room. Rose paused outside the door, her hand on the brass handle, knowing that once she asked these questions, there would be no taking them back.
Mary stood at the worktable, folding linens with precise, mechanical movements. But Rose saw the tension in her shoulders and the way her fingers clenched just a little too tightly around the fabric when she saw that it was Rose.
“My lady.” She dipped into a stiff curtsy, eyes flickering downward.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your work.” Rose took a step closer, studying Mary’s face. “But I need to ask you something about my mother.”
Mary’s hands stilled for just a moment before resuming their folding. “Of course, my lady.”
Rose drew a breath, thinking of Baron White’s cold eyes across the dinner table last night, the way he’d looked at her like she was already his. If she was going to escape that fate, she needed the truth. All of it.
“The night she died. You were here, were you not?”
The linen slipped from Mary’s hands entirely. She bent quickly to retrieve it, but Rose caught the sharp intake of breath, the way Mary’s lips moved in what looked like a silent prayer.
“I—yes, my lady. But I didn’t see anything.”
Rose could remember when Mary had first come to work forthem. A thin, frightened girl with hollow cheeks who used to shrink into corners. Even now, grown into a capable woman, that old fear clung to her like smoke.
“What do you remember about that night?” Rose asked gently.
Mary’s knuckles went white around the fabric. “The constable came. We were told to stay away from the east wing.” She spoke too quickly, words tumbling together. “That’s all.”
“Mary.” Rose stepped closer. “Please. I think you saw something that night.”
“I didn’t.” But Mary couldn’t meet her eyes.
Rose felt her chest tighten. She touched the small locket at her throat. It was her mother’s locket. Her father had given it to her when she turned sixteen. Back when she still had hope of a happy life.
“I don’t believe that,” Rose said.
Mary’s hands began to shake. The linen trembled in her grip.
“I can’t.” The words came out strangled.
“Why not?”
For a long moment, Mary said nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Because I need this position, my lady. I have my sister to think of.”
Rose frowned. “Your sister?”
“Annie. She’s eleven, born with a twisted foot. Can’t work, can’t care for herself.” Mary’s voice cracked. “If I lose my wages, if Lord Wentworth dismisses me, we’ll starve. And he would dismiss me, my lady. He’d make sure I never found work anywhere. Or worse.”
The desperation in Mary’s voice made Rose’s throat ache. But she thought of Baron White again, of the marriage contract her father was so eager to sign, and pressed on.
“Mary, if you know something about my mother’s death, you must tell me.”
“Don’t.” Mary backed toward the wall, shaking her head violently. “Don’t ask me this. You don’t know what kind of men you’re dealing with.”
