26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

A lexander Fitzwilliam, Duke of Somerton, sat in the dimly lit study, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows across his face. His head rested in his hands, fingers tangled in his dishevelled hair, as he grappled with the weight of the revelations that had been thrust upon him.

The existence of his illegitimate son was a complication he had never anticipated, a stark reminder of the consequences of his reckless youth. He felt his father's disappointment haunting him, a spectre of shame and regret.

Alex knew that acknowledging the boy would mean naming him as his heir, a decision that would shake the very foundations of his family's legacy. Yet, the thought of simply providing for the child and turning his back on him stirred a sense of unease within him, a nagging voice that whispered of the cruelty of such an act.

The boy, innocent and blameless, was still the son of a duke. A product of Alex's own actions, and as such, deserved to be treated with the dignity and respect befitting his lineage. The weight of that responsibility, though, was a heavy burden.

Alex's mind drifted to Rosalind, Alex's mind wandered to Rosalind, the woman he deeply loved and revitalised him. The memory of her tear-stained, betrayed face was a dagger to his heart.He had never meant to hurt her, to cause her such pain and anguish, and yet, here he sat, torn between the desires of his heart and the unyielding demands of duty.

He felt the bitter taste of regret as he recognized the consequences of his past actions. He cursed his wild youth, the reckless abandon with which he had pursued fleeting pleasures, never considering the ripples that would echo through the years to come.

His newfound responsibility was a heavy burden that refused to release him. The study felt now suffocating to Alex.He longed for the simplicity of days gone by, for a time when his only concern was the pursuit of his own desires, untethered by the burdens of duty and legacy.

A sharp knock on the study door pulled the Duke back to the present. Alex pinched the bridge of his nose as the footman announced the arrival of Miss Blackwood, his body tensing involuntarily at the mere mention of her name. He had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that he might be spared her presence this evening. He longed for respite from the storm of emotions she stirred.

As Mary swept into the study, looking stately and dignified in a grey walking dress, Alex's gaze was drawn to the tattered hem, a silent testament to the hardships she claimed to endure. Yet, despite her dishevelled appearance, there was a certain grace to her movements, a practised elegance that belied her supposed circumstances.

"Mary," Alex greeted her, his voice flat and devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the tempest that raged within him.

As if she had all the time in the world, she made her way to his desk and sat in one of the leather chairs opposite him without being invited. She fixed Alex with her dark eyes, eyes that he had once lost himself in. Her ivory face and large eyes looked the very picture of innocence.

"I...I need your help," she said, her voice holding a vulnerability that he had never heard from her before. "I know you must be tired of seeing me, and I do not blame you, but if it weren't for the child—" She cut herself off, fishing about in her reticule for a handkerchief which she pressed delicately to her nose. "We're hungry, we need a better place to stay. You wouldn't believe our lodgings, the landlord said—"

"Why?" The question burst forth, unbidden, as Alex struggled to maintain his composure. "Why now, after all these years, do you come to me with tales of a child?"

Mary's expression softened, her eyes taking on a misty, wistful quality as she spoke. "I didn't want you to feel trapped, ensnared by some clever scheme. I wanted you to be free, to live your life without rumours following you at every step. We may have parted badly, but I loved you. I love you still." Her words were like honey, sweet and alluring, but Alex could not help but feel a bitter taste lingering on his tongue.

Alex studied Mary's face, searching for any hint of deception or artifice, but found only a vulnerability that seemed almost foreign to her. The sight of her worn dress, the fabric fraying at the hem, stirred a sense of disquiet within him. Despite the tumultuous nature of their history, he could not bear the thought of his own child suffering from want or deprivation.

With a heavy sigh, he reached into the drawer of his desk and withdrew a small bag of coins. His jaw tightened as he extended the money towards Mary, his movements stiff and reluctant, as though he were relinquishing a piece of himself as he offered the pouch across the desk.

Mary's eyes widened, her hand darting out to snatch the bag from his grasp, her fingers closing around them with a desperation that betrayed her true nature. In that moment, her true nature was unveiled, reminding him of her heartbreak.

"This is not a handout, Mary," Alex said, his voice low and stern. "I will not provide for you indefinitely without proof of your claims."

Mary's lips parted as if to protest, but Alex held up a hand, silencing her before she could speak.

"Until I have met this child, until I have seen with my own eyes that he is indeed my son, you will receive nothing more from me," he continued. His tone brooking no argument. "I have been deceived by you once before, and I will not be made a fool of again."

Mary's expression hardened, her eyes narrowing as she clutched the banknotes to her chest. For a moment, it seemed as though she might unleash a torrent of accusations and recriminations, but something in Alex's gaze must have given her pause.

"Very well," she said, her voice clipped and cold. "I shall make arrangements for you to meet the boy, and then you will see the truth of my words." She rose and stood to leave, but turned back to the Duke with a slightly wounded expression. "You don't know what it's been like," she said, her voice low and surprisingly raw. "You don't know what it's like to be a disgraced woman, to raise a child on my own. The stares, the jeers... I've been called every foul name you can think of."

Alex felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry," he said simply.

"I don't need your pity," Mary said, leaning back over the desk, planting her hands firmly. "I need to know that should your inquiries be answered satisfactorily, what will you do to provide for us? How will you rectify this? I can't live as a pariah forever. No one will marry me now."

"I will see that you are taken care of," Alex said reservedly, refusing to give anything away.

"Which means?"

"I will see that you are taken care of," he repeated with finality.

Mary stood and nodded slowly as if she understood that was all that she would get from him for now. She withdrew from the study, and then it was as if she hadn't been there at all, except for the feeling of dread deep in the pit of Alex's stomach.

Alex leaned back in his chair, his mind reeling from the implications of Mary's visit. Her subtle hints about marriage were palpable.It was a stark reminder of the lengths she was willing to go to secure her future and that of their supposed child.

Alex knew that Mary's words held a grain of truth. Society could be cruel and unforgiving to unmarried mothers, casting them aside and branding them with a scarlet letter of shame. The thought of his own flesh and blood enduring such hardships stirred a sense of unease within him, a nagging guilt that he could not quite shake.

As he pondered the complexities of the situation, his thoughts drifted to Rosalind, the fiery and passionate woman who had captured his heart. He almost heard her voice, passionately denouncing the injustices faced by women in their world. The mere thought of her brought a faint smile to his lips, a momentary respite from the weight of his troubles.

Yet, the smile was fleeting, quickly replaced by a sharp sting of longing and regret. Alex knew that Mary's manipulative ways couldn't match his true love for Rosalind. The prospect of a loveless marriage, a union born of duty and obligation rather than true devotion, filled him with a sense of dread.

Alex sighed heavily, his mind drifting to the stack of unanswered letters that he had fired off to Rosalind, each one a testament to his desperate attempts to reach out to her. The lack of response from her was a constant source of pain, a gnawing uncertainty that ate away at his soul.

He longed to speak with her, to explain the circumstances that had led him to this moment, but the words eluded him. All he knew was that he missed her desperately, a deep and aching void that could not be filled by any other.