Page 81 of When He Was a Duke
“I hope you’re right. He and his siblings have suffered greatly. Because of my father.” Her voice caught. “If I were in a position to make it right, I certainly would.”
Stephens smiled, his brown eyes warm. “These things have a way of working themselves out, one way or the other. One must not lose faith that good will come to the pure of heart.”
Rose blinked back tears, overwhelmed by his kindness. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, including the arrangements about my father. I feel so uncertain about everything.”
“I do beg your pardon, my lady, but there’s nothing uncertain about your character. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
“You’re too kind.”
Stephens rose, settling his hat back on his head. “If there is anything further, I will let you know. In the meantime, keep your wits about you.”
He turned to leave, pausing just before the door. “And if anyone comes asking questions about what your father left behind, send for me. Do not hesitate. Day or night.”
Rose remained on the sofa long after his footsteps faded, watching the afternoon light creep across the floor, and thinking about Sebastian.
*
Rose sat atthe window seat in her room, almost numb. So much had transpired in the last few days it was hard to comprehend how drastically her life was about to change.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Come in,” she called, expecting Prudence.
Instead, Mary stepped inside, her face pale and her hands twisted in her apron. The young maid had been with the household for years, but Rose had never seen her look so distressed.
“Lady Rose,” Mary began, then faltered. “I… I wondered if I might have a word?”
“Of course. What can I do for you?”
Mary perched on the edge of the chair by the window, her back rigid. For a long moment, she stared at her hands before finally meeting Rose’s eyes.
“Mrs. Blythe says you remember everything now. About… about that night.”
Rose’s chest tightened. “Yes.”
Mary’s face crumpled. “Can you ever forgive me, Lady Rose? I’m the one who told you to forget.”
The anguish in Mary’s voice made Rose’s heart ache. She took Mary’s cold hands in hers.
“Mary, we were both children. Very frightened ones at that.”
“But I should have done better.”
“But how?” Rose asked gently. “Spoken up? Who would have listened to us back then? Not with Constable Morrison in charge.”
Mary’s eyes filled with tears. “I heard it all. Every terrible sound. And when I found you…” She shuddered. “You were so small, so terrified. I thought if I could just get you to forget, maybe you could heal. Maybe you could be safe.”
“You were trying to protect me.”
“I was trying to protect myself too,” Mary whispered. “I was so afraid he’d come for me if he knew I’d heard.”
Rose squeezed her hands. “Of course you were afraid. You were barely older than I was.”
“I’ve carried it all these years, my lady. Knowing what really happened, watching you struggle with those nightmares, wondering if I’ddone the right thing.” Mary’s voice broke. “When Mrs. Blythe said you finally remembered, I thought you’d hate me for making you forget.”
“Oh, Mary.” Rose felt tears prick her own eyes. “I could never hate you. You tucked me into bed that night when I was falling apart. You stayed with me until I stopped shaking. You showed me kindness when I desperately needed it.”
“But if I’d spoken up sooner, maybe everything would be different.”
