Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

“ W ell, we did it.”

Nathan watched from the doorway as Rosalie whirled around. She’d been standing at the window, watching as Lord Redfield’s carriage pulled away, and now, at the sound of her voice, she turned, a magnificent smile on her face.

“Did we really?” she whispered. “I mean, I heard what he said earlier, but I still can’t believe it!”

“I can hardly believe it myself,” Nathan said, and he allowed himself a relieved half-laugh. “He gave me maps, Rosalie!”

It was the first time he had used her given name since they’d been married, and her smile slipped for a moment; she didn’t look angry, just surprised. Perhaps even a little nervous.

“He gave you maps? Of the production sites?”

Nathan nodded. “I couldn’t have asked for anything so comprehensive! If I had snooped through all his ledgers, accounts, and books, I never would have found as much information as he just readily gave me, thinking I was on his side!”

“Oh my goodness!” Rosalie clapped a hand to her mouth. “You really think so?”

“I really do.” He paused for a moment, calculating, and then he beckoned her toward him. “What do you say we celebrate this properly?”

She looked for a moment as if he had just propositioned her. “W-what do you mean?”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. That naughty girl, what does she think I mean? “Let’s have a drink in my study,” he said. “That’s how gentlemen celebrate their victories.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, blushing. Nathan shook his head and tutted, and she blushed even more. He loved the sight of her pink, flushed cheeks, and as he turned to head back to his study, he couldn’t keep a smile from spreading across his lips.

Once they were in his study, he went to the sideboard and took out the oldest and most expensive bottle of scotch that he had.

“This was given to me a long time ago,” Nathan said, studying it for a long moment, his back still to Rosalie. “I have been saving it for a special occasion.”

“Where did you get it?” Her voice sounded quieter in the study, surrounded by so many books. It was low and soft, one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard—not just beautiful but comforting. It actually made him want to tell her the truth.

“My brother,” he said at last. He stood and turned to face her, still clutching the bottle of scotch close to him. “He gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday so that we could celebrate my becoming a man. We had our first sip of it together that day. We each had a glass. But he was very clear in his instructions, and he made me four conditions: firstly, that I was only ever to open it on special occasions, secondly, that I was only to have one glass each time I drank from it, and thirdly, every time I had a glass, I was to write the special occasion on this little card here.” He indicated the card that had been tied to the neck of the bottle.

“That way, Ethan told me, I would have a record of all the best occasions of my life, and when I was old and having my final glass, I could read through them and remember all that I had celebrated.”

Rosalie’s lips were parted slightly, and her eyes were shining as she took a step toward him. “That’s very beautiful,” she murmured.

She reached out a hand and delicately traced a finger over the card. “How many occasions are written in it so far?”

“Two,” Nathan said. His hand came to the card and closed over hers, pulling it away so that she couldn’t open it and look for herself. She trembled slightly as he held her hand, but her eyes were still curious.

“Which two occasions?” she asked.

“Well, my eighteenth birthday, of course. And then when I returned from my stint in the Army. My brother was so proud of me and so happy to have me back that we decided to open it up again for the first time in many years. And yes, before you ask, we hadn’t had many happy occasions to celebrate in the intervening years. Ours was not an easy, happy life with a father like ours.”

“So you have only ever drunk this scotch with him before?” she asked.

“Yes.” Nathan nodded. “And that was his fourth condition: that I was never to drink the scotch alone.”

I’m sorry, big brother, but I had to break that, just once.

“Well then, I am very honored that you would open it with me,” she said, smiling slightly. They were still holding hands, and at last, very gently, Nathan released hers.

“I am honored to share it with you,” he said. Turning away, he made a show of grabbing glasses from the sideboard, hoping it would distract her from the flush on his own cheeks.

Once the glasses were ready, he uncorked the bottle and drank deeply. At once, the rich honey notes, complemented so perfectly by cinnamon, cardamom, and even a hint of anise, hit him. And with those smells also came a wash of memories.

It had always been like this for him: certain smells could trigger memories that were so deep and so intense that he would have to struggle not to cry. And now was no exception. As the notes of the scotch filled his nose, he was immediately transported back to his eighteenth birthday, sitting on the South Lawn with Ethan, uncorking this bottle for the first time, having that first, perfect glass.

And then again, six years later, when he returned from the Army, and they each had a glass in the orangery, overlooking the hillsides around them, laughing together as Nathan regaled his brother with stories of his adventures in the Army.

“What was he like?” Rosalie asked as memories swirled around Nathan as potent as fragrances. He opened his eyes and turned to look at her.

“Ethan?” he asked, stupidly.

“Yes.” She took another step toward him. “What was he like?”

“He was…” Nathan laughed as more and more memories of his brother hit him. “He was very funny. He could make me laugh like no one else, the way he could point things out about the world that were unfair or unkind but always in a way that was humorous, never cynical.

“In fact, he was one of the kindest men you’d ever meet. He loved animals, and he was always out with the horses whenever he could get the chance. And he had a whole crew of dogs following him all over the house. And of course, he was a great artist. He would draw sketches of all the animals in the forest, and he could sit for hours, just watching and drawing birds.”

Nathan shook his head. “But he was fragile, too. Too tenderhearted for this world. He hated when Father and I fought, when I would get into trouble and Father would tell me what a disappointment I was. He was so much like our mother, but he wasn’t able to adapt the way she could. It was also one of his strengths—he stayed true to who he was, and he never forgave my father for his cruelty the way my mother did. But he always hoped Father would change, right up until the end.”

He was expecting Rosalie to tell him how sorry she was that he had died. That’s what most people did when you told them about a loss.

Instead, she came and joined him at the sideboard and looked up at him. “I wish I’d known him,” she said simply.

Nathan tried to laugh. “If you knew him, he’d still be alive, and then I wouldn’t be the Duke of Carramere. I’d still be a mere marquess, and you wouldn’t be a duchess.”

Rosalie raised an eyebrow. “Do you really think I care about titles?”

“No,” he admitted. “But it certainly fits better into the idea you have of yourself as a heroine in a novel. Heroines marry dukes, not lowly marquesses.”

“For one thing, a marquess isn’t lowly,” she tutted, “and for another thing, I don’t see myself as the heroine of a novel.”

Now it was Nathan’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Well, now I know you’re lying. Of course, you do! That’s why you were so good at fooling Redfield. That’s why you read all those novels!”

Rosalie bit her lip, and Nathan paused. Is it possible she’s telling the truth—that she doesn’t see herself as the heroine? If that were true, he would have to rethink everything he thought he knew about her.

“Of course, I want to be the heroine of my own story,” she said softly, and her eyelashes fluttered as she looked down at her feet. “But for some time now, I have felt myself to actually be a secondary character in my own life.”

There was a long silence as Nathan absorbed this. He was shocked, to say the least. Of all her sisters, Rosalie had always been the most outgoing, the most spirited, the most likely to go and have an adventure. She had always seemed like the last person who would see herself as a secondary character in her life—as a sidekick instead of the protagonist.

“But… why?” he asked at last. “You always seemed to me as if you were the greatest heroine of all.”

“Perhaps I thought that about myself once,” she said, glancing up and smiling sadly. “But the last few years have hardened me. Growing up, I escaped my father’s bullying by reading. I admired the women in my books so much that I made myself into them: fierce, opinionated, and going after what they want. I longed for adventure to prove myself as the strong heroine I dreamed of.

“And then that mess happened with Lord Cain. He used me to kidnap my sister, and I realized what a fool I was for believing in fairytales, for letting myself get swept up in the story of romance without actually getting to know the man. And after that, I became cautious. I lost… something.”

“Your sense of self,” Nathan said, nodding. I know how that is.

“Yes,” she said, looking surprised. “And I retreated further into fiction. My sisters, on the other hand, began living their lives more fully. They got married; they had children; they fell even more deeply in love with their husbands. And I just… read books. I allowed other people to live the full lives I wanted, and I consoled myself that if I read great stories, I didn’t have to live a great life.”

There was a long silence. Nathan wanted to break it to tell her that she was leading a great life, that she was the leading lady of her dreams, but he also knew that he had to let her speak first. She was speaking truthfully to him, and it wasn’t the time to interrupt that with encouragement; he just had to listen.

“That’s why these past few days have felt so wonderful.” She grinned at him, and the sparkle came back on in her eyes. “Working together to fool Lord Redfield, and in order to stop a criminal enterprise, reminded me of what I always wanted out of my life. I channeled the heroine I have always wanted to be, and it worked.” Her grin grew even wider. “We did it! We’re going to bring down an opium ring, just like my sisters brought down my father.”

“I’m very proud of you,” Nathan said, and he raised the bottle of scotch high. “And I think you deserve a drink of this.”

He poured them each a glass then raised his own up. “To you,” he said. “To the Duchess of Carramere becoming the heroine of her life.”

Rosalie laughed and clinked her glass against his. “To finding my way back to myself,” she replied.

They both drank. This time, Rosalie coughed, and her eyes filled with tears.

“I’m sure that’s very good,” she said as she set her glass down on the sideboard, “but now that I no longer have to pretend to like it, I must admit that it is an acquired taste.”

“Fortunately, you won’t have to have it very often,” Nathan said. “Not until the next momentous occasion.”

“Oh yes, should we write it down?” she asked.

“I’ll do it later,” he said quickly. She can’t know. Please don’t let her insist. “I would rather we enjoyed a drink together first.”

Thankfully, she didn’t insist. She smiled, raised her glass, and took another sip then settled in the chair across from his desk. He did the same, smiling at her as he took a seat.

“You really were invaluable,” he said as they looked at each other over their glasses. “I can’t believe you knew so much about the opium trade.”

“Yes,” she said darkly, sighing. “An unfortunate side effect of growing up with my father.”

“I always thought you were saved from the worst of him,” he said slowly. “I was under the impression that your sisters got the worst of it.”

“They did,” she assured him, “but it was difficult for me as well. They were always sacrificing themselves to save me. Not that they always could, of course. He liked to torment them by threatening to marry them to evil men, but he found out rather quickly that marriage didn’t terrify me the way it did them, so he had to find other ways to bully me.”

Nathan’s heart had begun to speed up. The thought of the former Lord Carfield causing Rosalie distress, even if it was years ago, made his blood boil. It made him want to go to the prison where he was kept and give the man a piece of his mind.

“Like what?” he asked, his voice bone-chilling, even to him. “What did he do?”

Rosalie shrugged. “Oh, nothing too bad. He made fun of me for reading, that kind of thing.” But the offhand way she said it made Nathan suspicious. He had a feeling there was more to the story than she was saying.

However, he didn’t want to rush her. Instead, he found himself wanting to share some of his own stories. Not only because it might make her feel more comfortable to tell him about her father, but because he actually found he wanted to share.

“I know about bullying fathers,” he said, and her eyes widened in surprise. “My own father was not a good man.”

“He was the original owner of the epithet the Beast of Carramere, was he not?”

“That’s right. And he earned the name.”

“I wondered.” She shook her head. “Because of course, one cannot always believe what one hears. I had also heard rumors that you were beastly, but now, I no longer think that is the case.”

Nathan swallowed. “Well, you should believe whatever you have heard about my father and worse. He deserves it all.”

Rosalie watched him for a long moment then she set her glass down on the desk between them. The look she gave him was determined and decided, and suddenly, Nathan wondered what was coming.

Nothing could have prepared him, however, for his wife’s next question.

“He gave you the scars on your back, didn’t he?”