Chapter 25

CHAPTER 25

G raham had been scolding himself since the moment she left the room.

He had never, and would never, raise his hand to a lady. It was not who he was, and he had been so sure that Samantha had at least thought that much of him. When she ran, however, he realized that he had been wrong. She saw that he was quick to anger, willing to raise a hand at her, and thought the worst of him. It had pulled him out of his outburst, for he was only trying to point to the curtains, but it had been too late.

She was gone, and he did not want to do any damage by following her.

It did not matter how much he had wanted to. He had frightened her, and it was now for him to sit and wait as punishment for what he had done. He did not have the right to storm over to her and demand a continuation when he had been so beastly.

And so he went to his study and waited. He waited to hear her leave her room so that he could speak with her. He wanted to apologize, for he had not meant to have such a strong reaction. Now that he was in his study, he wondered why he was even so angry. She was right, he had told her to change everything, and it was unfair of him to expect her to know what he wanted when he had not told her.

He waited and waited, but there was no movement. She did not come to dinner, and the next day, she did not come to breakfast. Graham did not want to disturb her, and so he did not go directly to her room, but the more he waited, the more agony he was in. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about how she must have felt, and how his presence in the house seemed to make her a prisoner in her own home. He had so wanted her to feel as though it were her home, too, and now…

By nightfall, he had had enough. If she was not going to come to him, then he decided that he had to go to her. He did not wish to intrude, but she had left him with no other choice. When he arrived at her room, however, there was no answer. He knocked and knocked, wondering if she had simply fallen asleep, but still there was nothing.

If she was ignoring him deliberately, he had to admit that he deserved that, but something told him that it was not right. Something had to have happened because she had never been the ignoring sort. Against his better judgment, he tried to open the door, and it was not locked.

The room was empty.

Thus began the worst hours of his life. She could have been anywhere, for he did not know when she had left, and therefore he could not go and find her himself. He simply had to sit and trust that she would return. He did not sleep, of course. One could never sleep when someone they cared so deeply for had abandoned them under the worst of circumstances.

The following day, he wandered the halls, eyeing the dreaded drawing room that he wished he had never seen. It had ruined everything, and he did not know if he could fix it.

Suddenly, that evening, there she was. She seemed rested and yet exhausted all at once. She was standing in front of him, staring right at him, and he did not know what to do. He did not dare approach her for fear of scaring her off once more, but he did not want her to think that he wanted her to keep away from him.

"I believe we need to talk," Samantha said quietly, and he simply nodded.

She walked to his study, and he followed after her. He did not want to speak; he wanted her to tell him everything that was on her mind, and all of the ways he had been awful so that he could apologize to her.

But he also had to ask her something, and he did not know how to.

"I wish to begin by apologizing," she said, and he froze.

"Do not."

"I must. I acted without asking you first, and it is no wonder that I angered you."

"But you did ask. I was not precise in what I told you. In truth, I do not know what came over me. That man was not me, and I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I must."

She put a finger to her lips, and he obliged.

"We will handle this matter later," she said firmly, "But first, I want to tell you that we will never speak to one another like that again. I will not stand for it, and I would hope that you feel precisely the same. It will not make a good marriage, and above all, that is what I want."

"I feel the same way, believe me."

"Then it is settled. We shall not raise our voices at one another again, nor will we raise a hand."

"Samantha, that is not — I was so afraid that you had thought that of me. I would never do that to you. I would not even threaten it. Why did you think that was what I was doing?"

She froze.

"Was it truly not what you were doing?"

"God, no. I would never do that to a lady, especially not you. Samantha, I wanted to ask you since last night about this. I do not know how to say it. Has someone ever — has someone ever been violent towards you?"

Her silence said it all. Her unwillingness to lie to him was clear, but so was her unwillingness to tell him who it had been. She simply nodded her head.

"It was your father, wasn't it?" he asked, and suddenly, she lurched forward.

"Only on a few occasions," she said quickly, "And never to Diana. It only began after she was married, likely because he had this scheme planned for her, and it did not work as he expected it to and —"

"I do not care for his reasoning. Did he hit you?"

She was silent for a moment, looking at the ground before nodding slowly.

"Well, it will never happen again," he promised, "and I will make that bastard pay for what he did to you."

"No! You cannot. I do not wish for anyone to know, not even Diana, and if you were to go over there and deal whatever justice you believe to be prudent, then I can guarantee you that there will be consequences. He is an old man. You would look like a villain."

"I am more than happy to be a villain if it means you are safe."

"Then be glad that you do not need to become one," she said gently. "I am not there anymore. I am here with you, and we need not ever see him again if we do not wish to, and I can assure you that I do not."

"And you are sure that that is how you feel?"

"Completely and utterly. I wish only to put it all behind me."

"Then I will do so. Samantha, I could not feel worse about what happened between us. I will not allow it to happen again."

"That is just as well, for nor will I. I apologize for changing it at all."

"I never needed the material things," he sighed. "I have the memories of her, and I should have thought of that before I reacted. It is I who should apologize."

"Then our apologies have been made, and we can move forward. I should like that very much."

"As would I, but I fear that words from me simply are not enough. I told you that I was afraid of becoming my father, and when I saw how frightened you looked, I… I thought it had happened."

"It did not. It never could because you are not your father. I do not care what became of your brothers and how alike they all are. You are different. You are your mother."

"You do not know that. You never met her."

"I do not need to have. You told me that she was good and kind, and that is the man you are. It is quite easy to see that you are her son. Besides, I saw a painting of her, and believe me, you cannot have looked anything like your father. You are her mirror image."

"A painting of her?" he echoed. "You cannot have. Father had them all taken away after her passing."

She seemed to eye him carefully for a moment. He wondered just what she was thinking. There had been no other ladies in the family, and so it was unlikely that she had seen someone else, and yet he had been there when the paintings of her were discarded. He knew that they were gone.

"You did not look at the drawing room, did you?"

Graham tried to think back to it, but he could not picture the room at all, only the way he felt upon seeing it. He shook his head, and she smiled at him.

"Well," she continued, "you may still loathe it entirely, but allow me to show you again."

He followed her to the drawing room, dreading having to see it a second time. He believed in his wife, however, and knew that he had to give her a chance to show him what she had done.

And how glad he was to have done so.

His mother might have sat in the drawing room all those years, but for the first time, it truly felt as though it was her room. Her favorite colors were everywhere, and a pianoforte was in pride of place. He went to sit at it, and there he saw it. A painting that his mother had made years before. It was his favorite of hers, and he did not know how they had kept it for so long, but he couldn't be happier that they had.

But that was not all. As he looked at another wall, he saw his favorite painting of his mother. She was sitting in an armchair, and it was a formal portrait, but even so, she was smiling. The late Duke was not there, and Graham was quite sure that her husband's absence had been what made her so happy. She was beautiful, and he realized that Samantha was right. She looked just like him.

"I do not know what to say," he said gently.

"I know that it is a change," she replied, "and should you want anything back to how it was before then we can do that."

"No. This is perfect. It is exactly how she would have wanted it, had she been allowed to have something of her own. Oh, Samantha, how could I ever repay you for this?"

"By being here," she said softly. "By spending time with me in here. I know that you have your duties and things that you must do that I could never comprehend, but I want you to find time to sit with me. We need not do anything, only enjoy the company of one another."

His insult rang in his mind.

"Samantha, I never meant to make you feel incapable. You are one of the most intelligent people that I have ever met, and I plan to speak with a university lecturer soon about how we can find you a place. I would never truly think that you could not understand what I must do."

"I was hoping that you did not mean it."

"I truly did not. Samantha, say the word, and it will be done, no matter what it is that you want. I will find a way to do what you ask of me, even if you think it is impossible."

"Graham, it is all fine. You do not need to cross oceans to make me feel better. You need only stay and be a friend to me. That is all that I am asking of you."

"Then I shall be the best friend that you could ever ask for. I will do everything in my power to ensure that you are taken care of in every sense. I have been meaning to tell you something for a long time, and now is quite possibly the worst moment to say it, but —"

But he did not get to speak. He was silenced by Samantha's lips pressed softly against his. He stepped back, alarmed, but she was looking up into his eyes with a faint blush across her cheeks and a smile playing on her lips.

"Was it something like that?" she asked. "I have been trying to express it myself for a long time."

And so he gave in to her. He pulled her close and kissed her like he would never see her again, and he almost did not let her go at all. He did not want to. He wanted the two of them to stay there forever, perfectly frozen in that moment. Everything was wonderful and full of hope again, and he was determined to make it stay that way.

"Samantha," he said breathlessly as they pulled apart.

"I know. No more running away, no more anger, no more sadness. Only good things for the two of us from now on."

"No, it is more than that. I need to tell you that I —-"

But the door swung open, and in walked a gentleman that Graham only faintly recognized. He had seen him once before, he was sure of it, but he could not quite put his finger on it.

Samantha, however, could. She sprung out of her seat and rushed towards him.

"Get out," she thundered. "You have no right to be here. I do not even know how you found us in the first place, but you are not welcome. Leave."

"Samantha, I —"

"No," she snapped, "You shall refer to me as my title dictates and refrain from such informalities."

"Very well. Your Grace, it is urgent."

"I do not care. I shall never care about what you have to say to me. You have caused enough misery, and I want you gone. Now."

The butler came, trying to escort the man away, but Graham was far too confused to have that happen. He needed to know who the man was first and then deal with him accordingly. Then again, he did not wish to go against his wife.

"Samantha," he said gently, going to her side, "who is this man?"

"Do you not recognize him?" she asked. "Well, I cannot say that I am surprised. He is hardly a man of any importance to our lives. He was, however, at our wedding, as all half-brothers are expected to be."

Graham looked at the man more closely, and at last, he understood completely.

"Have him taken care of," he instructed the butler before turning around, but the man pulled away from him.

"Samantha, you have to listen to me. It is about our father."