Chapter 17

CHAPTER 17

A ll things considered, Colin had thought himself to be a forgiving husband.

He wanted his wife to be happy and had been willing to do anything to do that except open one door, yet with how Diana had acted in response, it was as though he had plunged a knife into her chest. It was but a door leading to a library and no more, and he could not for the life of him understand why she was so desperate to have her own way.

Then he wondered if she was thinking the same of him.

It was only a room. It was only a library. And yet he couldn't understand why she had been so persistent. He had not given her any reason not to trust him, but that was exactly what had happened. His word should have been reason enough—he was her husband.

He shook his head. To her, he had overreacted, and he had to remember that. It did not matter that he had his reasons because he was not going to share them with her. All that mattered was that she was kind about it.

"Miss Thornton showed me the library," she confessed at dinner that night.

"What?"

He did not use the more polite terms of ‘I beg your pardon,' or simply ‘pardon,' but ‘what.' In all honesty, he had expected her to find a way to know what was behind the door, but he had not thought that she would have done so that quickly.

"Do not scold me," she sighed. "I was unsure of whether or not to tell you at all, but I did not want to keep it from you. Besides, you would have found out about it, eventually."

"Need I have words with Miss Thornton?"

"No, not at all. She did not even wish to show me. I told her that I had your permission, and practically forced her hand. If anyone requires a scolding, it is me."

"Why did you do it?" he sighed.

"If you are angry with me, I would prefer it if you raised your voice now and had it be done with rather than you exploding later."

"I will not be raising my voice. I am not the sort of man to do that."

"Even if I have angered you?"

"Even if you have, although if I am being honest, you have not."

Diana blinked at him, but he held her gaze. It was the truth; he was not angry with her, not anymore at least.

"The thing is," he continued, "I have spent a long time telling you that you can trust me, and that what is mine will be yours. It is nobody's fault but my own that I have not kept to that and hidden something from you."

"But I did something behind your back."

"And you have told me a few mere hours after. I do not punish honesty. You did it, and you seem remorseful, so I suppose you will not do it again."

"No, Colin," she said gently, "I will not. I feel far too dreadful about this as it is."

"Then what is there to be angry about? The matter is settled. Do not worry yourself so."

"Then might I ask why you did not want me to see it?"

Colin froze. No secrets, he had promised her, and yet he couldn't bring himself to be honest with her. He was not lying outright, but even so, it felt like a betrayal. He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell her.

"I do not wish to discuss it," he said quietly. "It is from a painful time in my life. I cannot do it."

He thought that she might argue, or that her temper might flare, but instead, she simply rested a hand on his arm, nodding.

"Very well. I will not pry. It is quite alright, I have seen what it was, and now that I know there is nothing sinister to it?—"

"Sinister?"

"What I mean to say is—well, it could have been anything, really."

"Such as?"

He knew exactly what she meant from the way her face turned pale. She was not someone who believed the rumors, he hoped at least, but there would always be that small voice in the back of her mind tempting her with all sorts of questions, whether deliberate or not.

"We promised honesty," she sighed. "It is no reflection of you, but when you were so quickly defensive about it, I wondered if it might have pertained to what people have been saying about you."

"That I am a murderer, you mean."

"Yes," she whispered. "And I do not believe it, of course. I would not have willingly married a man if I thought him capable of such a horrific thing, but my imagination got the better of me."

"And now you are simply glad that it is not sinister?"

"The more I learn about you," she explained, "the more that my belief is justified. You are not the man that you are made out to be. You are so much better than even those that hold you in the highest esteem believe."

"That is far too bold a statement."

"Is it? Colin, you found me and my sister, and you welcomed us with open arms. Do you know the relief to Samantha that she can escape here at any time she needs to? Do you know how well she has been sleeping since you and I met? You have not only rescued me but the one person that has been a constant in my life. We shall never be able to repay you for that."

Colin smiled at this, but he couldn't help but notice how she was not referring to herself. It was about how her sister felt once more. Frankly, he was unsure whether that was because she had only ever thought of her sister's feelings rather than her own or because she did not wish to share her own. If it was the latter, he wondered whether that was because she had little to none at all, or that they were not at all what he would like to hear. Either way, he did wish to know, but he would not pry, not when he had just asked for that same respect from her.

"I am glad that you and your sister are comfortable," he decided to reply. "I had not thought that I would ever allow someone to feel such a way. It is rather nice, I must admit."

"Why didn't you?"

"It is as you know, I never thought that I would marry. I certainly didn't think that I would have a sort of marriage where my wife liked me, at least. It is quite the surprise, but a welcome one."

"Indeed, although sometimes I do feel… almost ashamed of myself."

"You have nothing to feel shame about."

"But I do," she sighed. "I was supposed to be Samantha's protector. I was supposed to mentor her, teach her everything that was necessary for her to succeed in all of the ways that I did not, and now here I am as a duchess, and there she is with no desire to marry, in a small and unorganized house, with the drunkard that we are forced to call our father. It is not fair."

Colin had been of the same opinion about her father, of course, but even so, he was quite surprised that she would speak of him that way. It was not the done thing to be so brutally honest about family. Then again, Diana had hardly ever cared for that sort of thing, from what he had seen.

"You must think me a horrible daughter," she said, looking up at him.

"On the contrary. I think you have been more than that man has ever deserved. Who else would see their father in the state he got himself into each night and still go to the trouble of caring for him?"

"It is my duty."

"It was mine, too, but had my father been anything like yours to me, he would have received cold water in his face to wake him up and stern instructions to go to his bed."

"As if he were some petulant child." She laughed softly.

"Precisely. I may not know everything about his treatment of you, nor all of the good you did for him in spite of it all, but I know that you have given him far too much. If you wish to call him a drunkard, in the privacy of your own home and only to your husband, then you are welcome to do so. Be as cruel about him as you wish."

"Do you truly mean that?"

"Of course I do. It might be good for you, too. Please just remember that I do not blame you at all for how you feel about your father. You were a child, and he thrust all of the responsibilities of a mother onto you so that he did not have to do it himself. No matter how he ends up, he has only himself to blame."

"But—"

"Diana, you did enough," he pressed. "You could not have done any more for him. This was his choice to make, and it is not your fault, nor Samantha's, that he has chosen this."

The inclusion of her sister seemed to be what she needed to hear to accept this.

They finished their meal in silence, but it was a far more comfortable one than he had been expecting when he went down that evening. He had expected some sort of dispute, or that she would have an attitude with him, but she had not. She had been more than willing to admit what she had done and then apologize, but it was not what he had truly wanted.

It was not Diana's nature to lie down and accept something if she did not like it. He knew that simply from looking at her. Truth be told, it did not make sense to him that she would simply apologize instantly and accept that it had been her fault, because it had not given him space to defend himself. Now, he felt as though he had been cruel, and that she was the one that had been wronged and then made to apologize, and even if he knew that that was not how it was, that was how it felt.

To put it simply, he felt like a monster.

"I would like to go out tomorrow," she said suddenly. "A picnic. It is to be a nice day, and I should like to make the most of my newfound freedom."

"That sounds wonderful. Will it be just the two of us?"

"I would like that." She nodded. "There has been so much happening around us recently. I would like a moment where the two of us can simply have a pleasurable time together and enjoy each other's company. Would that be alright?"

"It would be brilliant. It will also be a good time for you to meet my people if you wish. Then again, if you are hoping for a day where you need not be a certain way?—"

"No!" she squeaked. "No, that sounds perfect. I cannot wait to see them. Do you think that they will like me?"

"They will adore you. I am quite sure of it."

And it was true. They would love the beautiful and kind new duchess that they had. His concern, however, was how they would receive him. He had not been present in his role, and of course, there were several people who thought he was guilty of what he was thought to have done, and so it was entirely possible that they would not want him there.

Frankly, he did not wish to be there, but it was his duty, and Diana would be very much at home in a position of responsibility, and she would thrive and enjoy every moment, so he was more than willing to grin and bear it.

"Might we give the staff a day too?" Diana asked. "I know it is not the done thing, but I cannot bear the thought of them working all day in the heat, especially when we are not even there."

"I can suggest it to them. It is likely that they will not wish to fall behind and have to work twice as hard the day after."

"Then tell them that they may work slowly through it afterwards. There is no need for them to break their backs for me, and I doubt that you feel any differently."

It was very clear to Colin, even if she had not gone into detail about it, that Diana had worked incredibly hard her entire life. She knew what it meant to need time away from it, and she knew what it was to have to catch up afterwards.

He truly had been given the perfect duchess, one who would not be afraid of working hard, but also one who knew when to take some time to breathe and enjoy life, especially the kind that they were afforded.

"Of course." He nodded. "Very well. I shall speak with them this evening and see what they say."

"Perfect!" She smiled. "It shall be the most wonderful day, I am sure of it."

It had been so easy to tell her that he would protect her, slightly more difficult to make her trust him, but now that she did, he did not know what to do. He was responsible for her now—her happiness and health depended on him, and it was no longer this lovely idea that had formed in his mind. It was real, now, and he did not know how to handle that.

However he did it, though, he would do it well. His wife deserved that much. At least, he thought, they had discussed the matter of the library, and now it would no longer be an issue. She would leave it be, and the matter would be settled.

Even as he thought it, though, he couldn't help but disagree.