Chapter 35

35

One week later, Patience walked into the soirée hall of Burlington House in Mayfair. Her hand was hooked through Dorian's bent arm, and her breath caught like she was on fire. Chastity walked right next to her. Lady Buchanan was on Dorian's other side.

Patience couldn't feel the floor under her feet and appreciated Dorian's strong arm supporting her.

The room before her was alight with candles, their reflections sparkling from gilded frames and mirrors. High ceilings were decorated with intricate frescoes, and glittering chandeliers cast a warm glow over the assembled crowd. There were at least fifty men there, with only one or two women. Some scientists were older, distinguished-looking gentlemen with graying hair and neatly trimmed beards while others were younger, with eager, bright-eyed faces.

"I am so proud of you, darling," murmured Lady Buchanan. "Goodness knows, this kind of recognition for a woman was simply impossible in my time."

Patience exhaled shakily. "I think I'm dreaming. And your support means so much to me. Dorian, Chastity, and you, Aunt, are my new family."

Chastity's hand squeezed around Patience's. "You deserve everything, sister."

Dorian leaned over and murmured, "Enjoy this, sweet girl."

The master of ceremonies announced, "The Duke and Duchess of Rath. Lady Buchanan. Lady Chastity Perrin."

A man in his fifties in a white powdered wig hurried towards them and gave a polite bow to Dorian, then to Patience, and to Chastity and Lady Buchanan.

Applause exploded through the crowd of men, and Patience felt like she was flying. To receive so much recognition and appreciation from the society that had very rarely accepted female contributions and had no female members at all, at her age… She simply couldn't believe this was real. A warm glow suffused her chest. She was seen, respected, appreciated.

Was this really her life? A man she loved was her husband. Her passion in life, her work, was being honored by real scientists. Would she at any moment wake up back in Rose Cottage?

"You're so very welcome, Duchess!" he exclaimed. "Duke, Lady Buchanan, and Lady Chastity, as well, of course! Sir James Edward Smith, at your service." He looked at Patience with great enthusiasm shining through his gray eyes. "I believe I had the honor of corresponding with you, Duchess."

"Pleased to meet you," said Patience, breathless, giving Sir Smith her biggest smile. "I'm very honored my paper was accepted and I'm very honored by this soirée."

"We all are eager to discuss your paper!" Sir Smith assured her. "Please, do come in."

As the three of them walked farther into the room, Dorian leaned to her and whispered, "I couldn't be more proud, love."

The glow in her heart got warmer. "Pinch me, Dorian," she whispered back. "I can't believe this is real. "

"It is." He squeezed her hand, and his reassurance allowed her to feel the ground under her feet again.

Sir Smith introduced her to several scientists, including Mr. Jay Essop, the other scientist with whom she had corresponded.

"And this is Sir Bertram," said Sir Smith, nodding to a man in his early thirties with a red face, who stared at Patience and at Dorian with a strangely burning gaze. "Sir Bertram was especially eager to meet you, given he knew your brother… Do I remember that right, Sir Bertram?"

A jolt shot through Patience. Why was he staring at her in that way, as if with some special meaning? Good God, did he by any chance know of John's assault on the barmaid and any other sins her brother had committed?

Dorian became as rigid as a log by her side. He rubbed his gloved hand so hard Patience ached to put her hand into his to calm him down. But she couldn't do so openly in public.

"Indeed. You were Miss Patience Rose, am I right?"

"I was," she said.

Dorian was breathing hard now. She could see color flush his cheeks. Oh goodness, was his wrath about to burst free? A bad premonition settled in her stomach like a heavy stone. Whatever was the matter, she needed to remove Dorian from Sir Bertram.

"Mr. Essop told me about your correspondence. It was I who gifted John the botanical illustrations book back in the day."

"Did you?" Patience chuckled nervously. "In a way, it was you, then, who inspired me to study botany."

He chuckled and reddened even more. "Perhaps. After what happened to John, I never expected the Duchess of Rath to be you, out of all women."

What did that mean? His dark, drunken gaze full of contempt landed on Dorian, whose teeth were bared. Patience's heart slammed. Something was very, very wrong. Chastity and Lady Buchanan both exchanged puzzled glances.

"Enough," Dorian growled.

Sir Smith and Mr. Essop both looked at each other uncomfortably.

"It is time to talk about your paper, Duchess," said Sir Smith as he gestured towards the fireplace, where there was an empty space.

Still puzzled, and her pulse racing, Patience followed him to stand in front of everyone for a scientific discussion. She clutched her shaking hands together.

Whatever Sir Bertram had referred to, she couldn't think of it now. While Dorian retreated into the shadows at the back of the room, she locked her eyes with Chastity, who smiled and nodded at her reassuringly, which gave Patience strength. She looked at the men around her, who didn't just tinker with roses in their gardens but did botanical and horticultural work for a living, working in universities and botanical gardens.

Just focus on your roses.

"Your discoveries will revolutionize the cultivation of species, Duchess," remarked Dr. Bellamy, a renowned botanist. "Truly remarkable work for anyone, let alone a woman. You must be immensely proud."

"You are too kind, sir," Patience replied, dipping her head modestly even as a bright smile lit her face. "I am gratified my humble studies may advance our understanding in some small way. Botany is my greatest passion."

As Patience basked in the praise and admiration of her colleagues, she forced her mind to turn away from the questions about John that kept running through her head.

A man with salt-and-pepper hair and a keen, appraising look stepped forward. "Your Grace," he began, his voice rich with curiosity, "your work on artificial fertilization of roses to produce a new hybrid is very impressive. I suppose we had not yet thought that creatures other than bees could do that. Could you explain the inheritance of specific traits from each parent variety?"

She could do this. She knew her method like no one. "Of course. From my readings and observations, it appears that certain characteristics from parent plants are more likely to manifest in their progeny under specific conditions. I employed Lamarck's theory of ‘the inheritance of acquired characteristics,' but he talks mostly about animals. I applied the same theory to plants—in particular, to the gallica rose and the damask rose."

Another botanist, a younger man, said, "Fascinating! How did you ensure that the artificial fertilization was successful?"

Patience nodded, her smile widening. "Meticulous manual approach. I realized they would pollinate themselves if their stamens were allowed to stay, so I had to remove the stamens before each flower opened."

As the botanists continued to pepper Patience with questions, Lady Buchanan and Lady Chastity stood a mere three steps away from her, their eyes alight with pride and support.

She tried to forget about the incident with Sir Bertram, but her gaze kept returning to Dorian. Why, oh why did she have such a bad feeling now? Like she had missed something vital. Why was Sir Bertram so condescending towards Dorian? And why had Dorian reacted with such fierce nervousness? She could sense his anxiety, and the wrath that he barely managed to contain.

He remained at the edge of the room, his eyes fixed on her. His tall, broad-shouldered frame was tense, his handsome face a brooding mask. There it was, the shadow in his eyes she'd observed in the past three weeks. The other guests gave him a wide berth, intimidated by his formidable presence.

A tangle of emotions rose within her as their eyes met—affection, worry, curiosity at what thoughts churned behind those dark hooded eyes.

Head high, Patience turned back to accept the botanists' accolades, trying to regain her genuine joy. This night was about her. She couldn't let some doubts spoil it.

As the discussion continued, she became more and more relaxed. It was her right to be here, she knew. She deserved every ounce of this. Of course, she wouldn't be here without Chastity's feedback and Dorian's support. But she shouldn't feel shy or guilty or that this might be a mistake. It wasn't. It had been earned through hard work and dedication.

Dorian's eyes remained on her face, but there was movement in the group of people where he stood, and Patience caught sight of Sir Bertram walking towards him.

She kept replying to the scientists' questions, her focus on her work, even though her stomach chilled with the certainty that something bad was about to happen.

In the middle of her reply to the next question, she became aware of raised voices. She trailed off when she saw Dorian looking wrathful, his jaw clenched and eyes flashing, facing off against Sir Bertram. The man jabbed an accusing finger at the duke.

"You have some nerve showing your face here, Rath," the man spat, slurring his words. "After what you did to poor John Rose."

Patience's hand clutched at her neck as her head spun a little. A puzzled murmur ran through the people. She felt Chastity's hand clutch hers. Lady Buchanan stood on her other side.

The feeling of impending doom grew inside her like a storm. Like she was seconds away from a disaster and could not do a single thing to stop it, only stand and watch the worst thing imaginable unfold.

"Sir Bertram, do calm down," snapped Dorian. "Our having been acquainted in Oxford does not give you the right to speak to me this way."

"What are you going to do? Challenge me to a duel like you do with anyone who angers you? Kill me?"

A collective gasp ran through the crowd. Dorian's eyes blazed in fury.

A chilling realization hit Patience in that moment: Dorian could actually kill a man.

Sir Smith hurried towards Sir Bertram, begging him to come outside and take some fresh air. But the drunk man only waved his hand dismissively.

"I suppose if you can't win fairly," mumbled Bertram, "there's always another convenient suicide to be arranged, isn't there?"

Patience's heart stumbled, her breath catching in her throat. The room seemed to tilt around her as the pieces fell into place with sickening clarity.

John assaulting Christine and Dorian protecting her. The mysterious Oxford incident. The treatment of Dorian's hand for a pistol wound on the day of John's death. Dorian's guilt-ridden eyes…

The truth was at her fingertips, but her mind refused to look at it too closely, refused to put the final piece in the puzzle.

"You go too far, sir," Dorian growled, his voice low and dangerous. "I demand satisfaction. Name your second."

An agitated murmur ran through the soirée. Patience had the sensation of falling into an abyss .

Sir Bertram scoffed. "Of course you do. Heaven forbid anyone speak the truth about the great Duke of Rath."

Dropping Chastity's hand, Patience walked through the crowd, feeling as if she were watching herself from above. She went to stand by Dorian's side. Her voice trembling, she said, "Dorian, what is he talking about? What does he mean about John?"

Dorian whirled to face her, his expression a mix of anger and anguish. "Patience, not here."

"It's never the right place or the right time, Dorian, is it? You can never tell me about what truly happened at Oxford. Can never explain to me…" she said, tears blurring her vision. "That you… That my brother… Oh God."

The full understanding of what must have happened hit her like a slap. Dorian was an angry man.

He used to challenge many men to duels.

But not after Oxford. Not after the Oxford incident involving him and John.

The puzzle pieces moved together in her mind, and this time she was unable to look away, to not see the image that formed.

John assaulted Christine and Dorian stopped him.

His hand was burned, pieces of metal needing to be removed from his flesh…because of a pistol explosion.

On the same day as John's death.

From a gunshot.

Convenient suicide to be arranged…

Her blood chilled and goose bumps rose on her flesh as she acknowledged the truth.

Dorian was not a hero who had protected Christine and walked away.

Dorian had challenged John to a duel. He killed her brother. Then he made it look like a suicide .

She pressed a hand to her mouth, fighting back a sob.

The hall erupted in whispers, curious eyes fixed on the unfolding drama.

Dorian reached for her, his voice urgent. "Patience, please, you don't understand. I never meant for any of this to happen."

She flinched away from his touch, her heart shattering. "Don't. Just…don't."

"What is happening, my darling?" asked Lady Buchanan from just behind Patience, her voice quavering.

"Sister, what is it?" Chastity asked, finally reaching her side after making her way through the crowd.

Gathering her skirts, Patience fled the hall, tears streaming down her face. The cool night air hit her like a wall as she burst through the doors, gulping in desperate breaths.

She heard quick, heavy steps after her and a hand caught her elbow and whirled her around. The courtyard of Burlington House was empty save for several carriages visible in the flickering lights of the gas lamps hanging from them.

It was Dorian. His gaze was haunted. He looked shrunken in on himself, like a cornered animal. "Patience, I— Please don't run away. I wanted to spare you the pain?—"

She tore her arm out of his grasp, tears escaping her eyes to run down her cheeks. "Do not dare to ever touch me again!" she cried. "You killed him, didn't you? You fought him in a duel and killed him and arranged it to look like a suicide?"

He closed his eyes tight, as though waiting to be struck, and hung his head between his shoulders. "Yes."

"And you lied to me! You let me believe you were an honorable man… You monster!" she yelled and shoved against his chest. "You selfish bastard! You couldn't control your anger, could you? That's why John is dead."

"Yes."

"And then you married me. Touched me with your hands. Oh God… Oh God… You made me fall in love with you! My brother's murderer!"

A chasm was opening in her chest, a ragged, bleeding wound.

His head snapped back up and he looked at her with a pained intensity.

"You have lied for years," she growled. "You have lied to me since our wedding day. You should have never married me! What is this, you've been using me to what…make yourself feel better? To atone by giving my family charity for the life you took from us?"

He was breathing so fast she thought he might be having an apoplexy. His eyes filled with tears. To her utter amazement, he dropped to his knees in front of her, grasped her hips, and pressed his head into her stomach.

"I am sorry," he muttered. "Do not leave me. Please, forgive me. My darling…"

"Forgive you?" she spat out.

Fury and pain she never thought she was capable of mixed in her chest like fire and oil. This rage was what he must have felt for years, his whole life.

"You were right, Dorian," she said as she stepped back. "Your father did create a monster. But what your father did to you doesn't excuse what you did to John! To my family! You could have atoned so many times before now! You took a man's life—my brother's! And then you lied to us. Do you understand how long my parents have wondered why he took his own life?"

He was silent. Tears fell from his eyes as he stared up at her, kneeling, his head hung low, as though ready for a final blow. For an executioner's blade. Her heart cracked all over. He stretched one arm out for her, but she stepped back, out of his reach .

"Do not try to find me," she said. "Do not write. Do not look for me. Do not talk to me. As far as I'm concerned, you're no longer my husband and I'm no longer your wife. I know the law won't let us separate, but in every other way, I do not belong to you. I wish I had never met you."

She whirled and ran towards their carriage.

Behind her, Dorian's anguished call of her name echoed in the darkness, but she couldn't bear to look back. The weight of the truth crashed over her, drowning out all else.

There would be no more hiding, no more pretending. Only the stark, painful truth, and the long road ahead to find her way through the darkness.

She was married to a murderer.