Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

C hristine turned to Adeline, who was squatting and crying. "You had best think about how you want to deal with this and who you want by your side. And do not talk about running away. You are a woman, not a little girl, and I will not have that while I am the Duchess. You will have to face this head-on soon, and you will have to give your brother a name. I will stand by your side, but your brother must be the one who deals with this."

Adeline looked up and opened her mouth. Christine held up her hand to silence the younger woman.

"I don't want you to say anything right now," Christine said. "Take some time, and then we will talk again."

Adeline looked back down at the floor. Christine backed out of the room and closed the door behind herself. She saw the Duke standing at the end of the hallway, and she walked toward him. He looked at her as if expecting she had gotten the name already, but her face told him the truth.

"I have done it again!" he blasted. "I was supposed to protect them, but I have failed once again. I have failed! I can't protect my own family! What hope is there left."

The Duke looked deflated, but he suddenly grew in stature and swung a large, meaty fist at the wall, punching straight through the wood. It splintered, but when he brought his hand back, it looked unharmed. The Duke let out a cry and a grunt before storming off.

Christine stood still on the spot, shaking. She looked at the hole in the wall, and she felt afraid after seeing a side of the Duke she had not properly seen before, but she presumed must have always been there.

The Duke had been too furious, but his sister had been too stubborn. They would butt heads again, and if one did not back down a little, they would both get hurt, and the entire family would become splintered. Christine felt an ominous cloud floating over her head. It had been there since she had married the Duke, but she had not noticed it until the skies had darkened.

Her marriage was not the sort of marriage she wanted to be in, and it had suddenly become ten times worse.

But I stood up to both of them! I gave them both a piece of my mind and put a stop to the nonsense. Perhaps that is what being a duchess is all about.

Her chest rose a little as she thought about her actions in Adelie's bedroom. She had made the night a little better, and if she tried, she could do more.

Christine stomped off down the hallway and then descended to the ground floor.

"Your Grace," the butler said as she passed.

Christine stopped and turned around. "Would you have the kitchen cook some meat? I don't care which—whatever is available. Bring that meat with some cheese and bread to the Duke's study. He will need some nourishment."

"Of course, Your Grace," the butler said.

"Thank you." Christine continued on her way.

She went back to the waiting room where she'd had the initial conversation with the Duke, and she went straight to the drinks cart. She picked up the decanter of cognac and a glass. She was about to leave when she picked up a second glass. She was about to leave a second time when she put the glasses down, poured a small amount of cognac into one, and downed it.

The liquor burned in her throat, and she struggled to catch her breath for a second; the feeling in her throat was like a rich, minty iciness that lasted a few seconds. Christine took a deep breath and then picked up the decanter and two glasses and headed from the room.

She made her way upstairs and headed straight for the Duke's study. She did not knock when she got there, kicking the door open gently with her foot.

"What are you doing?" the Duke demanded.

Christine did not talk immediately. She walked over to his desk, paced the glasses down, poured two drinks (one much smaller than the other), and sat down in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

"Drink," Christine ordered.

"Telling me what to do again?" the Duke asked.

"You need to drink," Christine said.

"Did you get a name?"

"We won't get a name tonight, but we will get one when she is ready. I know you only want the best for her—believe me, I want that, too—and I understand your anger, but the more you push her, the more she will withdraw from you. I don't care if her man is tricking her or if he is on the level. It only matters that Adeline believes he loves her, and anyone who tries to convince her otherwise will only become the enemy."

"I'm supposed to do nothing?" the Duke asked.

"You are supposed to drink," Christine replied.

"And that will help me deal with the situation?"

"Yes, for a short while," she confirmed. "And I don't expect you to do nothing. I expect you to sort the situation out, but you can only do that if Adeline knows you support her."

"How can she do this when she knows I support her?" the Duke asked.

"Have you never done anything stupid in your life?" Christine asked.

Theodore finally took up his glass, wiggling the fingers on his sore hand a little before grabbing it. He downed half the glass. "How about we don't talk about my silly mistakes tonight?"

Christine smiled. She looked at the cognac before her and thought about taking a sip, but the strength of the drink in her throat and stomach was still playing on her mind, and it was starting to infiltrate her thoughts.

"I would have ruined it all if you had not been here tonight," the Duke admitted. "If Adeline had spoken to me first about it, I would have been a lot angrier. Your talk and drink before I stormed into her room didn't make everything better, but they helped. And if you had not been in the room with us, I would have said something I regretted. I wish to thank you for being there not only for Adeline but also for me."

"Of course," Christine said. "I am the Duchess now, and I should start acting like one."

"You have acted above and beyond." Theodore drained the last of his drink before pouring himself another. He sighed. "Our lives are changed forever. I want to find this man and beat the life out of him for what he has done to Adeline, but I also want to make him do the right thing. If she is pregnant, then she should be married, and he should be there for her. Ach! No man will want her after this. What are we to do? If there is to be a wedding, perhaps it can be next year, and that will give me time to beat the life from him and time for him to recover before the wedding. No, if she is with a child, it must be soon. I don't mind society talking about me, but I don't want people talking about her. What a mess… what a mess… what a mess."

"We will deal with it together," Christine said.

"I did not mean to get you mixed up in all of this," the Duke told her. He thumped his fist down on the table, and the decanter rocked. Theodore groaned, his injured first hurting more. He downed the drink and quickly poured himself another.

Christine wanted him to drink some to feel calmer and wash away his problems until the morning, but she did not want him to get too drunk and drown in his sorrows. Still, she could not begrudge him anything after the news he had just received. She would stay with him and ensure he didn't do anything rash. If he drank until the bottle was empty and passed out, then it was his right.

"You mentioned something," Christine said. "After you left the room, you said you had failed again."

The Duke shot her a glare, and it would have made anyone else back down, but she was the Duchess, and there was half a measure of cognac in her belly.

"What happened to you?" Christine asked. "What made you this way?"

A storm brewed in the Duke's eyes, and he sloshed the cognac around in his glass. The glare remained on his face, but Christine did not feel threatened by him.

"You did not fail with her," Christine told him. "And whatever happened in the past, I don't think it was your fault either."

"No?" He said it with a calmness that was far scarier than his glare. "You don't know the first thing about what was my fault or not. You don't know what this family has been through."

"No, I don't," Christine replied. "So, why don't you tell me what your family has been through? I am your wife, and I deserve to know."

The Duke drowned his third glass, but he did not refill this one.

"I killed my brother," Theodore said.

Christine was shocked, and she almost choked as she tried to speak. "You what? You killed your bother?"

"I let him die," Theodore said. He stared down into his glass as if the memories of his brother were contained there.

"I don't understand. You killed him, or you let him die?" Christine didn't like his tone, and she became worried that she had perhaps misjudged him completely.

Adeline would have said something if her brother was a murderer.

"He died when I was eight," Theodore continued, talking into his glass. "He was only eleven. He should have been the Duke. I'm not the Duke because I should be; I'm only the Duke because he died."

"What happened to him?" Christine whispered.

The Duke looked up from his glass and held her eye for a moment before he looked back down into his glass.

"He drowned," the Duke said, his eyes glassy. "We had gone down to the river to play, and he wanted to swim. I told him not to, but he never listened to me. I was far too scared back then, and he lived his life. He was too brave for his own good. Father had promised us something that day. He would take us to the seaside perhaps because we were doing so well in our learning."

The Duke closed his eyes as he spoke, lost in the memories.

"We were having fun together. He found an eddy to swim in, and he told me to come in. I was afraid of water back then, and I was not a very good swimmer. Still, he managed to convince me, and I got undressed. He was playing around and splashing me, and then he was gone. I still remember that feeling. He was dragged under the water, and it felt as if my heart was dragged with him.

"Then, he resurfaced, but he was too far out. He was a strong swimmer, but the current was too strong. I ran down the bank, trying to catch him, and I managed to get down on the bank and grab onto his hand, just my fingers locked with his. I still remember the look on his face; it's etched into my mind. He should have been scared or angry that I couldn't save him, but he was proud that I had tried.

"Then he slipped away." Theodore opened his eyes, blinking as the faintest sheen of tears appeared. "They found his body a few days later, and they buried him a day after that. I know what you will say to me, and it has been sad dozens of times throughout the years. You want to tell me that it was not my fault, but I will always blame myself for not being fast enough or strong enough or something else enough. I had him in my hand, and he slipped away."

Christine swallowed as she held her tears in check. She felt a rushing current dragging her heart back and forth as she thought about what something like that did to an eight-year-old boy. She could not imagine the pain of losing a sibling so young or losing them like that.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Christine said. "I have nothing to say that will make it any better, and I know I will not change your mind about how you feel. All I will tell you is to drink some more."

Theodore laughed through his nose.

Christine leaned forward in her chair and took the stopper from the decanter, pouring more cognac into his glass, fully expecting him to have a raging headache in the morning. She put the stopper back in and then placed her hand on his.

"There are some pains that cannot be taken away," she said. "The cognac will ease the pain for a time, but it will not help. I might not be able to help you, but I am here with you. I can stay with you as you drink, or I can leave you alone."

The Duke patted her hand with his. "I would like it if you stayed with me."

"Then I will stay," she said.

"Thank you."

The Duke was starting to slur his words a little, but he was far more relaxed than when she had entered the room. Christine did not like to see him how he was now, but she would stay with him still. She was happy to sit in silence for as long as the Duke wanted.

There was a knock at the door, and the Duke told the person to enter. A maid came in with a tray of hot meat, cheese, bread, and fruit.

"I never ordered that," the Duke said.

"I did," Christine replied. "You can leave it on the desk."

"Of course, Your Grace," the maid said. She smiled and curtseyed at Christine on her way out, not wanting to spend a lot of time around the drunken Duke.

"I thought you might be hungry," Christine explained.

The Duke shook his melancholic head and looked like he was about to weep out of happiness.

"I have a ravenous hunger," he admitted. "I did not know about it until now. You know me better than I know myself."

"What man does not want food when he is drinking?" Christine asked.

The Duke nodded and helped himself to the food. He picked up a piece of meat and dipped it in some mustard. Then, he popped a fresh strawberry into his mouth and followed it up with some bread dipped in oil. The food seemed to sober him, so he poured himself another cognac.

"I spoke to Percival recently," he said.

"Percival?" Christine asked.

"The Viscount Chiverton," he replied through a mouthful of apple.

"Ah, yes," Christine said.

"He has been my best friend for many years, and it was only recently that I discovered why he has been my best friend."

"What is the reason?" Christine asked.

"Because I dislike him."

The reason amused and surprised Christine. "Is that how you choose your friends? I hope it is not how you chose your wife."

"No, it is not how I chose my wife. My wife, who constantly surprises and amazes me."

Christine knew he was becoming drunk, but she still enjoyed the compliment.

"That is a pleasant thing to hear," Christine said. She finally tried the cognac again. It still burned like the last time but not as fiercely. She was not sure if she would ever like the drink as much as some others, like sherry or wine, but the Duke seemed to thoroughly enjoy it.

When he did not explain himself, Christine asked, "Why did you choose a best friend you despise?"

The Duke gestured with a piece of bread. His eyes were filled with sorrow. "Since Nathaniel drowned, I knew I could not let anyone else get close to me. I can't choose my family, but I can choose my friends. I could not go through again what I went through when I was a child. I could not get close to someone again and lose them. I would not let it happen."

Christine wanted to tell him that there was no way to save his brother's life, but she had not been through what he had, and she understood there was no changing his mind.

"I wanted a friend who would be fun but who would irritate me just enough to keep my distance from him. I spoke to him recently and made it clear that we should not spend as much time together. Percival is not a good man, and he was never a good friend, but it does not hurt to think about not seeing him again. I know that is a dismal thought."

"It is an understandable one," Christine said. "You do not want to feel loss ever again, and you have not with Percival out of your life. I think it a very sad way to live your life, but I must admit that it was a clever thing to do."

"I am the cleverest and most foolish of men." The Duke flashed a sad smile as he clinked his glass against Christine's.

He meant for her to drink with him, but she refrained. She wanted to watch over him and ensure he did nothing he would regret. The Duke drank most of his drink and then topped it up. He drank the next drink slower. He did not make much conversation after that, often smiling and shaking his head or rubbing his forehead sadly.

Halfway through his seventh drink, he placed the glass down on the table and lay back to look up at the ceiling. His heavy breathing soon after told Christine that he was asleep. She got up from her chair and rounded the desk to kiss him on the forehead.

After that, she left the room and went in search of a footman or two who could help the Duke into his bed. And as she wandered the halls, she could not help but think about what he had said about the Viscount Chiverton. He had chosen a friend that he would not get close to.

He had not chosen Christine; they had been forced together. He had been distant, and she had struggled to understand certain things, but they made more sense now. There was a reason why he had been distant, and it had nothing to do with her.

She could not help him with certain things in life, but perhaps she could help him overcome that.