Chapter 22

Twenty-Two

“ Y our Grace, you’re awake!”

A face was hovering above her, and it took Cherie several moments to realize it was her lady’s maid, Emily. The girl’s expression was overjoyed, and her eyes were full of tears.

“How do you feel? Do you remember what happened?”

“I—” Cherie was still disoriented and unsure of what was happening. She blinked and tried to sit up, but Emily put a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t try to sit up,” she said. “Just rest.”

“What happened?” Cherie asked. “Did I—where is Thomas? I saw him here; he was speaking to me.”

“The duke is out, Your Grace, but I believe he will be back shortly.”

“I drank poison,” Cherie muttered, as pieces of what had happened began to come back to her. She stared at Emily. “That’s what happened, isn’t it? The bottle was poisoned.”

“That’s what the inspector and the duke think, yes,” Emily said, nodding her head. “The doctor has been attending to you night and day, and His Grace has hardly left your side.”

“How long have I been out of it?”

“Three days, Your Grace.”

“It was Lord Rochford! He gave us the poisoned bottle of cognac. We must get a message to His Grace at once, so that he can have him arrested!”

“That’s where they’ve gone, from what I was able to glean,” Emily said. “His Grace figured it out as well and is on his way to have Lord Rochford arrested.”

“Good. Good.” Cherie relaxed against her pillow, closing her eyes briefly. When she opened them, Emily was watching her nervously.

“Shall I fetch the doctor, Your Grace?” she asked. “He will want to check you, now that you’re awake, to make sure the poison has left your body.”

“Yes, please do,” Cherie said. “And I’d like to know the moment my husband returns.”

“I’m sure he will be up here the moment he comes back,” Emily said, smiling shyly. “He has been most attentive.”

Cherie felt her chest tighten, and she was sure this had nothing to do with the poison.

I was about to leave him. I was about to tell him that we had to live separately.

“There is also a great deal of correspondence for you,” Emily said, motioning at a stack of letters on the nightstand. “Your friends have been visiting every day and writing you letters of support, although the doctor told them you wouldn’t be able to read them.”

“They wanted me to wake up to messages of love,” Cherie said, smiling slightly. “Those are the kind of friends they are.”

“Would you like to read them?” Emily asked.

“First, I’d like to send them letters telling them I’ve woken up. They must have been worried sick.”

“I’ll fetch you some paper and ink.”

“No, go get the doctor,” Cherie said, “that’s more important. I’ll find some paper in here.”

“Should you get up?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

Emily left the room, and Cherie sat up. Gingerly, she pushed back the covers and swung her feet out of the bed. Once she was sure of her strength, she stood up. Her legs shook slightly, but after a moment or two, she was steady. Then she looked around. There was a desk in the corner of the former duchess’s room, and she walked toward this. Surely there was paper and ink inside.

Sitting down at the desk, she opened it and began to root around in the drawers. She found paper quickly enough, but ink and quills took a bit longer. There was a small door right in the center of the desk that opened up to a small compartment where ink was usually kept, but it was empty. After several minutes of searching, she reached into it again, although she knew it was empty. This time, however, she felt a small knob near the back.

What the…?

Cherie pulled the knob upwards, and to her shock, the floor of the compartment popped up.

It’s a secret compartment!

Her heart hammering, Cherie reached down into the secret compartment and felt a small book. Her fingers curled around the edges, and she pulled it out.

It was a small leather book, tied with a string to keep it shut. Frowning, Cherie untied the string and opened the book.

But it wasn’t a book. It was a diary. Written in perfect, beautiful cursive, the kind of penmanship that betrayed the high education of the writer. Cherie read the first few words, and she knew at once whose diary this was.

The late duchess! Thomas’s mother’s diary! This is the diary he was searching for in the library.

Cherie knew she probably shouldn’t read it, but she couldn’t help herself. This was maybe her one chance to learn about Thomas when he was a child, to discover parts of him that he hadn’t told her, and which might explain why he was the way he was.

She began to read, and as she did, her astonishment only increased. Astonishment—and understanding. She began to skim ahead to relevant passages, to turn the pages of the diary feverishly, looking for more information. Her palms began to sweat, and her heart began to race.

This explains everything! But he doesn’t know the truth! I have to tell him!

She wasn’t sure how much time passed while she read the diary, but all at once she was startled out of her reading by hurried footsteps coming towards her down the corridor.

Then suddenly the door of her room was wrenched open. She turned quickly, covering herself as she was only in her shift, but it wasn’t the doctor who strode through the doors. It was Thomas.

There were no words to describe how Thomas felt the moment he burst through the door of his wife’s bedchamber and saw her, alive and well, sitting at his mother’s desk. Emotion welled inside of him, and for a moment, he swayed on the spot, not sure if he was about to burst into tears or run straight to her.

He chose the latter.

In a few long strides, he had crossed the room, and then he was pulling her gently up from the seat and wrapping his arms around her. Tears springing from his eyes—all right, he chose both—he buried his head in her shoulder.

“You’re alive,” he whispered. “I thought I had lost you forever. But you’re alive.”

“Thomas,” his wife murmured, and she returned his hug with fervor. For several minutes, the two of them stood there, hugging one another, tears pouring down Thomas’s cheeks. He wasn’t sure if she could hear him crying, but he suspected that she could feel the wetness through the thin fabric of her night shift.

But he didn’t care. She was alive, and he would cry about it if he wanted to.

At last, he released her, and then he held her at arm’s length to get a good look at her.

“You look well,” he said, taking in her ruddy cheeks and sparkling eyes. “Not at all as if you were just poisoned.”

“I feel well,” she said. “A little unsteady still, but otherwise fine.” Her stomach rumbled, and she laughed and put a hand over it. “And ravenous, apparently.”

“Well, you’ve been eating nothing but spoon-fed broth for the last few days, so that makes sense,” he said, laughing. “But don’t worry, I’ve already had Cook begin preparing some food. It will be up shortly.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” she said, smiling.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up,” he said. “I promise you I barely left your side before today. But Aidan and I were at Lord Rochford’s house. He was just arrested, Cherie. For putting cyanide in the cognac you drank. It was him?—”

“Yes, I assumed so.”

“Well, he won’t be able to harm you ever again. He is behind bars, and he won’t be hurting us ever again.”

Cherie nodded. She looked suddenly very tired, and her legs began to tremble, so he led her over to the bed and sat her down.

“Tell me truly,” Cherie said, once she was leaning back against the pillows. “How bad was it? ”

Thomas swallowed the lump that had once more risen in his throat, and then he nodded. “Things were touch and go for a while,” he said. “I was terrified we were going to lose you.”

The tears once more sprang to his eyes, and he reached out and took her hand.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” he said, and even though fear of her rejection fluttered in his chest, he also felt resolute and brave. There was no way he wasn’t going to say what he had to say, now that they had been given a second chance. “I love you, Cherie.”

Her reaction was swift and touching, she gasped, then clapped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears. He squeezed her hand tighter, fighting the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes as well.

“I have loved you ever since that morning in the parlor when you walked in wearing your riding clothes. I have loved you every day since then, and probably every day before, although in a different way. There is no woman on earth I could love like I love you.” He reached forward and brushed a lock of her hair back from her face. “I love your stubbornness,” he murmured. “I love your fierceness. Your loyalty to your friends and family. I love that you devised a plan and ran away from home rather than marry Lord Rochford.”

“You were furious about that!” Cherie cried, lowering her hand from her lips.

“I was worried you would be ruined,” he said, “but I love that you are so brave and spirited. I have always loved that about you. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have told you that day in the parlor, and I should have kept telling you, every day since then. I should have courted you properly. I should have proposed to you in the most romantic way possible, and I should have married you in the happiest, most loving ceremony imaginable. I should have done everything differently. But I didn’t, because I was sure I wasn’t good enough for you.”

He took a deep breath. “I’ve told you already how my father made me feel unworthy of love. But what I didn’t tell you, and which I should have told you right away, is that on his deathbed, my father told me I was a bastard.”

The word rang out through the room, but to Thomas’s surprise, Cherie didn’t look that shocked. She continued to stare at him with a calm, understanding expression, so he took another deep breath and kept going.

“My mother died when I was young, so I could not ask her if it was true. What my father said was that she had never admitted it, but that he had always known. He said he wished he could have proven it so that he could have disinherited me and taken away my dukedom. And his confession confirmed everything I’d always felt that he had never loved me. That I was unworthy of the dukedom. And that I was unworthy to love and have children who would share in my shame of being illegitimate.”

“That’s why you didn't want to have children,” Cherie breathed. “You thought you didn’t deserve the duchy or to pass it on to your heirs.”

Thomas nodded. “But Cherie, I don’t care about any of that anymore. After Lord Rochford poisoned you, and I thought you were going to—” his voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “When I thought you were going to die, I realized that none of that matters. I have loved only one woman all my life, and she is mine. What was I doing, wasting that love and pushing her away? I realized that I had been a fool. My father is gone, and with him, all evidence of my birth. I don’t want to let the shadow of that stop me from loving you and building a happy life with you.”

He paused, then shook his head. “I don’t even care anymore if it’s true or not that I’m a bastard. I am more than what my father thinks of me. I am more than an affair my mother might or might not have had. I am your husband. That is the most important identity I have ever had. And I would do anything to make up to you for all the pain I’ve caused you. I’d do anything to start over and show you that I am worthy of you. I would do anything to live as your husband, to give you children, and to shower you with love and adoration for the rest of our lives.”

Cherie’s eyes were shining with tears. Her hands came to his shoulders, and she pulled him towards her. Once their noses were touching, she smiled softly.

“I love you, Thomas. I think I may have always loved you, even when I was a child, but was too stubborn to realize it. And I want all that as well. I want to start over. I want to live as your wife, to have children with you, and to grow old with you.”

Thomas’s heart felt as if it was going to burst. He couldn’t wait a moment longer. Pulling Cherie to him, he kissed her with all the passion that he had ever felt for her. His arms circled her, and hers circled him, and they held one another for a long time, their kisses burning through him and consuming every remaining doubt and lingering fear.

At last, they broke apart. Cherie looked half-dazed, and she couldn’t stop smiling. Thomas couldn’t believe the happiness coursing through him. He hadn’t known it was possible to be this happy.

“There’s something I have to tell you as well,” Cherie said. She pointed towards his mother’s desk, and he turned to see a small leather diary sitting on top of it. “I found your mother’s diary. And I hope you forgive me, but I read it.” She smiled broadly. “In it, she talks about your father’s accusations, and she swears that they aren’t true. She is adamant, Thomas, that his accusations came from a place of deep insecurity because he was sure it was his fault that she couldn’t conceive for many years. And it’s a private diary, Thomas. She didn’t leave it for you to read, she hid it away in the desk. So, I think she’s telling the truth.”

Thomas’s heart was in his throat. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying… I think you were your father’s legitimate son. He hates you because of his insecurities about himself and his inability to produce an heir. But your mother was faithful. And you are your father’s trueborn son.”

Thomas laughed. He couldn’t help it. It was all too perfect.

“Well, that’s good to know,” he said, shrugging. “But honestly, I no longer care.” He reached out again and touched her cheek, and they both smiled radiantly at each other. “Nor does it matter if I’m his trueborn son, because in all the ways that matter, I am nothing like him, and I never will be. From now on, you are my family, Cherie. You, and all the many, many children we have.”

And he kissed her again. Hopefully, he thought, as she kissed him back, the doctor wouldn’t arrive too soon.