Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

" C ome in," Duncan called out, his voice laced with a hint of surprise at the soft knock on his study door that had startled him from his paperwork.

The door creaked open, revealing Lucy standing hesitantly on the threshold. A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes, and her smile hinted at a secret to be revealed.

"Wife," Duncan greeted, a genuine smile warming his features. "There you are. I was just about to send for you."

"Can it wait, Your Grace?" she asked, her voice bubbling with excitement. "I have something wonderful to show you!"

Earlier that morning, Lucy had discovered two mannequins adorned in the spoils of her recent shopping trip lying in wait for her in the drawing room.

One was the breathtaking icy-blue gown, a vision of delicate elegance that had stolen the show at Mrs. Hawthorne's. But her gaze had immediately snagged on the other – the gorgeous lavender dress Duncan had purchased. A surge of warmth washed over her. Determined to express her gratitude, Lucy had then set off in search of her husband.

"Okay, what is it?" Duncan replied, setting aside the document in his hand.

With a flourish, she held out a wrapped package, her voice bubbling with anticipation. "Close your eyes!" she commanded playfully.

Intrigued, Duncan complied, a chuckle escaping his lips. The rustle of paper filled the air as Lucy unwrapped the package, followed by a moment of teasing silence. Finally, she spoke, her voice laced with a barely contained thrill. "Open your eyes!"

Duncan obeyed, and his breath caught in his throat. There, before him, hung a stunning silk lavender gown. The light caught the fabric, making it shimmer with an ethereal glow. But it wasn't just the dress itself that stole his breath away; it was the way Lucy's eyes lit up with pure joy as she held it up.

A slow smile spread across Duncan's face. "Do you like it?" he asked.

He knew, with absolute certainty, that he had made the right choice. The dress accentuated Lucy's every curve in a way that sent a pleasant jolt through him. It was elegant yet playful, perfectly capturing her vivacious spirit.

"It's… it's beautiful, Duncan," Lucy breathed, her voice filled with awe. "But how did you…"

"Intuition, I guess," he replied. "We are man and wife now. Of course, I would give you whatever you desire."

Lucy's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. Overcome with a wave of emotion – joy, relief, and a deep appreciation for Duncan's thoughtfulness – Lucy rushed towards him.

Before he could react, she was across the room, her arms wrapping around him in a spontaneous hug. Duncan's breath hitched. The sudden contact was a jolt, sending a wave of disorientation through him. In that fleeting moment, his vision blurred, and for a horrifying instant, he saw not Lucy, but his younger sister, Gertrude, clinging to him in a desperate embrace.

Panic surged through him. He reacted instinctively, pushing Lucy away with a force that sent her staggering back a few steps. The look of hurt and confusion that washed over her face was a punch to the gut.

Her eyes welled up with sudden tears. "I… I just wanted to thank you," she stammered, her voice trembling.

He ran a hand through his hair, his expression a stormy mixture of guilt and anger. "There's no need," he muttered, avoiding her gaze.

Lucy, her heart heavy with a growing sense of betrayal, took a step back. "I apologize," she choked out, her voice laced with hurt. "I won't… I won't make that mistake again."

Each word, though intended as an apology, dripped with unspoken anger and resentment. It was entirely different from the warmth and enthusiasm she had felt only moments ago.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Lucy watched Duncan, desperately trying to decipher the turmoil brewing behind his icy blue eyes. Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, she turned and walked away, leaving a trail of unspoken hurt in her wake.

Duncan watched her go, a knot of guilt tightening in his stomach. He knew, deep down, that he had overreacted. The brief contact, the innocent hug, had triggered a torrent of unwanted memories – the warmth of his sister's embrace, the hollowness of her loss.

He had pushed Lucy away, not out of malice, but out of fear. Fear of the past resurfacing, fear of getting too close, fear of allowing himself to be vulnerable again.

But as the door shut softly behind Lucy, leaving him alone in the sterile confines of his study, another emotion washed over him – a fierce protectiveness. He had seen the hurt flicker across her beautiful face, heard the tremor in her voice, and a primal urge to comfort her coursed through him.

He slammed his fist against the mahogany desk, the sound echoing through the room. The anger at himself was a bitter pill to swallow. He had to fix this. But how?

The sound of footsteps approaching from the corridor gave him pause. He straightened his tie, schooling his expression into a semblance of calm as the door creaked open. It wasn't Lucy, however. It was Charles, his manservant.

"Your Grace," Charles began, his brow furrowed with concern. "Is everything all right? I heard a noise…"

Duncan forced a smile. "Just a minor frustration, Charles. Nothing to worry about."

"Very well, Your Grace," Charles replied, his gaze lingering on Duncan for a moment longer than usual. "However, if there is anything I can do…"

"Thank you, Charles," Duncan cut him off, appreciating the man's loyalty.

With that, Charles exited the room. Duncan used the moment to collect himself. He needed a plan. An apology. A way to bridge the chasm his overreaction had created. He admired Lucy to an extent, and the thought of her hurt because of him made his heart ache.

Nearly an entire week had passed since his outburst, and the once vibrant warmth in Northwick Estate felt shrouded in a veil of simmering tension. Lucy kept herself meticulously occupied, her laughter now a distant echo in the vast halls. Duncan, burdened by guilt, found his days consumed by work and his nights restless.

One afternoon, a carriage pulled up, bringing the familiar herald of a delivered letter. Duncan had just arrived from an inspection at the stables and was on his way to his study when he was approached by a young maid named Anna carrying a silver tray piled high with envelopes.

Duncan stopped, his gaze scanning the letters. "Good afternoon, Anna," he greeted politely. "The post has arrived already, I see?"

Anna bobbed a curtsey. "Yes, Your Grace. Fresh from the village this morning."

As Duncan moved closer to the tray, his fingers brushed against a letter with a London postmark. It was addressed to Lucy. Here, he saw an opportunity – a chance for a reconciliation, however fragile.

"Ah," Duncan murmured, feigning disinterest as he glanced at the remaining envelopes. "And is there anything else that requires my immediate attention?"

Anna scanned the tray. "No, Your Grace. Just the usual household correspondence."

Duncan cleared his throat. "Excellent. In that case," he said, picking up the letter addressed to Lucy, "Take the rest to the drawing room. I shall deliver this myself."

"Your Grace," Anna greeted, and departed, leaving Duncan to go in search of his wife.

He found Lucy in her favorite nook by the window in their private chambers. Sunlight streamed through the lace curtains, bathing the room in a soft glow. Lucy sat curled up in a plush armchair, a book open on her lap, but her gaze was distant, lost in thought.

Duncan hesitated for a moment at the doorway, the weight of unspoken apologies clogging his throat. Then, he cleared his throat softly.

Lucy's head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise. A flicker of something akin to pain crossed her face before she schooled her expression into a polite smile. "Duncan," she greeted, her voice slightly strained.

"Lucy," he replied, his voice husky with unspoken emotions. He held up the letter in his hand. "This came for you."

She rose gracefully and walked towards him, taking the letter with a murmured thanks. The paper was crisp and white, the familiar Pemberton family crest embossed on the seal.

Duncan watched her as she broke the seal, a pang of guilt twisting in his gut. He longed to reach out, to comfort her, but the memory of her hurt expression held him back.

"Everything all right?" he finally dared to ask, his voice gentle.

Of course everything could not be all right , Lucy thought.

"It's from Mother," she replied, her voice devoid of its usual warmth. "Just family news, nothing urgent."

The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Duncan knew he couldn't leave it like this. He took a deep breath, his resolve solidifying.

"Lucy," he finally choked out. "I owe you an apology."

She remained silent, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

"The way I reacted the other day…" he continued, his voice low and strained. "It was… unforgivable. I had no right to push you away."

Lucy finally turned back to him, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and defiance. "It was my fault, Duncan," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "I should have been more… mindful of your boundaries."

"Boundaries?" he echoed, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Yes." She took a deep breath. "Where I come from, we are open with our feelings, and we show our affection through hugs, kisses… ‘tis how we were brought up."

A pang of longing shot through Duncan. He'd grown up in a household where affection was a carefully measured commodity, dispensed with a stiffness that made warmth seem like a distant dream. He could only imagine a life where hugs were commonplace, where closeness wasn't a guarded privilege.

The image of Lucy, however, brought a different kind of ache to his chest. He replayed the memory of their last encounter in the fields – the way her body had fit perfectly against his, the unexpected jolt of his heart as he felt the warmth of another human being, a beautiful, intriguing human being like Lucy. The affection he'd harbored for her had grown steadily, making her sudden coldness all the more unbearable.

"But I am sorry. I shall henceforth refrain from such gestures." Lucy added.

"No," Duncan interjected, his voice firm. A pang of envy shot through him. He craved the warmth of a family, the comfort of uninhibited affection. "I know," he confessed, his voice rough with unspoken longing. "And… that's what I want. I don't wish for you to hold back, Lucy."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You… you don't?"

He shook his head, a reluctant smile playing on his lips. "No. The truth is, Lucy, seeing your openness, the way you express your affection… it makes me realize what I've been missing all my life."

He paused, his gaze drifting out the window for a fleeting moment. "People are shaped by their environment, Lucy," he continued, his voice thoughtful. "I grew up in a world of cold formality, where emotions were kept tightly under wraps. The warmth, the freedom you have with your family… it's something I've never known."

"In fact…" He hesitated, then took another step closer, the air crackling with unspoken desire. "I wouldn't mind if you hugged me again."

Lucy couldn't help but be bewildered by the duke. Just a few days ago, his harsh words and forceful push had left her feeling like a stranger, an unwelcome presence. Now, with a single phrase, he believed he had bridged the distance he himself had created. His voice tinged with a husky vulnerability that both confused and intrigued her.

His voice tinged with a vulnerability that both confused and intrigued her, sent a shiver down her spine. A flicker of doubt, bitter and unwelcome, bloomed on her tongue. The memory of his unpredictable actions was a potent reminder of the precarious nature of their connection.

Every time she thought they were making progress, their steps falling into a tentative rhythm, he would retreat, his actions shattering the fragile trust they were building. Bit by bit, they'd begun to construct a foundation for their love, only for him to come along with a figurative wrecking ball, leaving them amidst the rubble of confusion and hurt.

Why?

But even before the question had formed in her head, she had found her answer. He had told her. However, even before that, she had always suspected. His relationship with the dowager duchess was enough evidence to show the disparity in their upbringing.

And as much as she hated to admit, she wanted to help him, to guide him in overcoming the hole in his heart.

She also knew that if she were to open herself to him and accept him once again, there was a need for unbridled honesty.