by Marian Tee
Something about the woman’s tone made Jenny swallow in trepidation. She sounded so sure. Had the fight between the duke and Ms. Mary been that serious?
“I don’t believe you—”
“You don’t have to. Once the true lady of the house comes to live with us, you shall be the first one I’ll ask her to sack. She hates nosybodies like I do, and you’re the worst of the lot.”
“At least I’m not a liar like you!” Jenny held her breath the moment the words slipped out, but Mrs. Emerson only cackled once more.
“It’s true, what you say. I lie all the time, and I get paid for it, too,” Mrs. Emerson said smugly.
“That’s quite interesting to hear,” a voice suddenly said.
Mrs. Emerson froze at the sound, and she could feel herself shaking in her shoes when Jenny gasped, “Milady!”
Please let it be Ms. Camilla—
But all her hopes were crushed when the next person to appear by the doorway of Mary’s bedroom was instead the Dowager Duchess of Flanders, and behind the lady was her husband, Warren Wellesley.
“I...I...” She couldn’t think of any excuse to explain the pearls in her hands or the words she had just foolishly spoken to Jenny.
“It’s all right, Mrs. Emerson.”
It was a very gentle voice. But somehow, the gentleness was what made Alyssa Wellesley’s voice even more frightening, and Mrs. Emerson began to wail in earnest.
“Poor woman.”
Mrs. Emerson wailed more loudly. It was like having a beautiful witch talk to her even while she was being eyed like she was about to be the witch’s next meal.
“P-please d-don’t send me to jail.” Mrs. Emerson threw herself down on her knees. She tried to wrap her arms around the dowager duchess’ legs, but it was suddenly the former duke standing in front of her.
Shock caused Mrs. Emerson to lose her balance and fall back, legs up in the air.
Outside the room but able to see it all, Jenny quickly covered her mouth to smother a laugh. She knew it was impolite to laugh at her elders, but this time she hoped God would forgive her for doing so. Surely this was proper justice, for all the abuse they had suffered under Mrs. Emerson’s authority?
When Mrs. Emerson opened her eyes, it was to see Alyssa’s beautiful, merciless face looking down on her. It was enough to set her crying again.
“Enough.”
Mrs. Emerson quickly shut up.
“Now. My husband and I have heard more than enough to have you persecuted. I may consider a more lenient punishment if you were to answer me quickly and honestly.”
“Anything,” Mrs. Emerson swore zealously as she forced herself up. It took a lot of effort, and by the time she was up, she was tired, only able to remain seated upright on the floor.
Alyssa glanced at her husband before asking quietly, “Is Wilson Daughtry in league with his daughter with whatever she’s planning?”
“It’s all his plan, milady.”
Warren bit out, “If I find out you’re lying—”
Mrs. Emerson shook her head profusely. “No, milord. It’s all true.” She took out her phone from her pocket and thrust it to the former duke’s hand. “It’s all in there. You’ll see, I get texts from Miss Camilla and Mr. Daughtry, too.”
Taking it like he had just been handed a snake that could bite him anytime, Warren slowly scanned the messages.
A disappointing sense of betrayal threatened to crush him when he saw Wilson’s number, which he had long memorized in case of emergency.
“I’m sorry, my love.” Alyssa knew just by seeing her husband’s drawn face that he had realized the same truth she had known long ago. “If it’s any consolation,” she said softly, “I think he’s just crazily convinced his daughter deserves to be Rathe’s wife and he deserves to have a duke for an in-law.”
Warren shook his head.
“You don’t agree?” Alyssa asked.
“No. It’s not that.” Lines of worry appeared on Warren’s forehead as he met his wife’s gaze. “We must contact Rathe right away.” He handed the housekeeper’s phone to Alyssa. “I just read Camilla’s last text. It seems she’s somehow convinced Rathe to enter into a fake engagement with her. We must find a way to stop it before Rathe ends up breaking Mary’s heart for no reason.”
Chapter Twelve
Pick up the phone, Rathe Wellesley. For your own bloody sake, pick up the damn phone. Warren glared at his iPhone’s screen as his son’s phone continued to ring, willing the fates to help him and make his son realize this was the most important call in his life that he was ignoring.
His gaze momentarily strayed to the road, his frown worsening when he saw the gridlock ahead. “Find an alternative route,” he told his driver. “I don’t care what you do, just make sure we get to the hotel as soon as possible.”
“Yes, milord.”
Warren turned to his wife, who was busy trying to contact Mary. “Any luck so far?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid, Warren. What if we don’t get to talk to them in time?”
“Shh. Worrying will not get us anywhere.” He pulled her close, pressing a kiss on his wife’s forehead. “Whatever happens, we’ll find a way to make things right.”
Releasing her, he asked tersely, “But are you certain it’s better that I’m the one who speaks with Rathe? You know how the two of us are—”
“If we switch roles, do you think you’ll have a better chance talking to Mary?”
He grimaced. “Probably worse.”
“Then we have no choice.”
****
Warren: Son, please answer the phone. I need to talk to you.
Over a dozen similar messages followed, making Rathe frown in concern. Clicking on his father’s name on speed dial, his call went through immediately, and his concern deepened when he heard his father’s anxious voice from the other end.
“Thank God you answered,” Warren exclaimed.
The words had Rathe pausing in the middle of shrugging into his evening jacket. “What’s wrong? Is it Mother?”
“No. She’s safe.”
He hesitated. “Then...it’s you?”
“No. We are both all right.” Warren took a deep breath. “I hope I’m mistaken about this, but...are you planning to have a fake engagement?”
Rathe stilled. “How did you know? Did Wilson tell you?”
The questions were enough to make Warren swore. “Don’t do it.”
His voice chilled. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Does it matter how I found out? The point is, you mustn’t go through with it!”
Rathe’s face hardened. “Relax, Father. It’s not going to be with Mary. Thanks to you, I don’t have the right to be with her—”
Warren cut his son off, saying grimly, “You do.”
“If only that were true, Father. But you see, I can’t be selfish as you are—” He broke off, the sheer unfairness of the situation suddenly getting to him. Why couldn’t he have the same chance as his father? Why couldn’t he have the right to be with Mary without risking having his mother become a pariah?
“Rest assured, Father, I’m not going to be as selfish as you were.”
“No, dammit, listen to me—”
“My engagement with Camilla will be pushing through, and I may even marry her for real, just so I can be certain that I will never be tempted to go back to...” He found himself unable to say her name, feeling he had lost the right to do so.
“Son? Rathe?” But it was too late, Rathe ending the call.
Slowly, he turned to face his wife. “I’m sorry, Aly. I fucked up. I didn’t get to warn our son.”
****
“I can’t thank you enough for this, Cam.” Mary blinked back tears as she gazed down at the invitation Rathe’s friend had handed her. This was really it, she thought. This was her one final chance to make the duke take a chance on them.
“What are friends for?” Camilla asked lightly.
Mary smoothed a hand over
her silk gown, another thing she had Camilla to thank for. “You’re like a godmother.”
A tinkling laugh. “I’ll do my best.” She feigned a frown. “I’m just sorry I don’t have a clutch or bag to lend you.” She did, of course, but her plan would work better if Rathe had no way of contacting Mary.
“Oh, it’s okay,” Mary hurriedly assured her companion. “I’m not expecting any important call anyway.”
That’s what you think now, Camille thought, but wait until I have your heart crushed into pieces. No matter how much you want to talk to the duke, you won’t be able to.
Checking her watch, she realized that it was finally time to put all her plans into action. Turning to Mary with a smile, she asked, “Shall we go?”
Leaving the hotel room she had reserved under her name, she and Mary took the lift to reach the ballroom encompassing the hotel’s entire fourth floor. The party was already in full swing by the time they arrived, and after waving to a couple she knew, Camilla whispered to Mary, “I need to find my father. Is it okay if I leave you here for a moment?”
Mary nodded quickly. “Please don’t mind me.”
I’m not, Camilla thought as she left with a swoosh of her skirts. Excitement coursed through her as she made her way to the stage. This was going to be epic. She should make sure someone record the entire event and zoom in on Mary’s face once she heard of Camilla’s engagement to the duke.
Father and daughter met at the wings. “All set?” Wilson asked.
“Naturally.”
Her father nodded in approval. “Then all we have to do is wait.”
****
As Mary nervously scanned the crowd for any sighting of the duke, she began to hum to a Carpenters song to herself, a way for her to cope with her rising anxiety. Her guts were telling her that this night was all wrong, but she forced herself to ignore it.
It’s just your fear talking, Mary told herself, trying again to stop you from fighting for Rathe.
And then she saw him.
It was as if he suddenly appeared like magic, the crowd fading into obscurity while he remained startlingly vivid and sharply defined in her sight. He was dressed in a black tuxedo, and looking so exquisitely beautiful it had Mary sucking her breath.
This reaction of hers to the Duke of Flanders?
Her loss of vocabulary?
Her bout of incoherence?
They would never go away, she realized. Rathe Wellesley’s gorgeousness would always turn her into a blabbering idiot because he was, ultimately, the love of her life. And even when he was old with greying hair, she would still feel the same way every time she looked at him.
Now, it was time to find out if there was any way he could feel the same way about her.
Weaving her way through the crowds, half-running, half-dancing, it took Mary precious time to get close to him, enough for him to hear as she called out his name.
“Rathe!”
Rathe stilled. What the bloody hell was wrong with him, imagining that he had heard Mary’s voice calling—
“Rathe!”
He spun around, and to his shock he indeed found Mary standing just a few feet away from him, dressed in an icy blue Grecian-styled gown, her hair pinned up with barettes on one side while the rest was left to cascade down her shoulders and back.
He asked hoarsely, “What are you doing here?”
Déjà vu, Mary thought numbly as she did her best to thicken her skin and pretend that Rathe’s unwelcoming tone didn’t hurt. Forcing a smile, she asked him, “Isn’t it...o-obvious?”
He couldn’t find it in him to return the smile, not when all he could think about was this was the worst possible time for them to meet. Although the objective was for Mary to know about his engagement, he absolutely didn’t want her to know in his own damn engagement party.
In a few moments, he had closed the distance between them, and Rathe said harshly under his breath, “You have to go.”
Mary’s eyes widened.
“I mean it. I need you to go.” She had to leave, as quickly as possible and before he forgot all his good intentions.
Forcing himself to look away, Rathe tried to search for Camilla. Normally, her model-like height and eye-catching fashion made her easy to spot. It was just his bloody luck she appeared as good as a chamelion at hiding from him tonight.
“I just want to t-talk—”
“We can talk next time,” he said brusquely. “But not tonight. So can you go now? Please?” His gaze switched back to his surroundings. Where the hell was Camilla? He had left all the planning to her. He had to warn Camilla that Mary was here and so she would refrain from making any announcement.
“W-who are you looking for?” Mary asked, unable to help noticing the way Rathe constantly searched the crowd of guests milling about.
“Camilla.” The swift, unhesitating answer almost had her swaying on her feet.
A second later, Rathe realized what he had just said. Remembering how Mary had become jealous of his friend, he swore under his breath. When he turned to Mary, the pain in her eyes made him grit out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Is she the reason why you’ve become so cold to me?” Mary whispered. “Did you suddenly realize that you love her—”
Seeing her in pain, hearing the hurt in her voice, tore him apart, but he forced all words of comfort back in his throat. This was for the best, he reminded himself. And one day, she would thank him for this.
“R-Rathe? Do you—”
Rathe shook his head. “Enough.” He had to get her out of here, blast it. If she was already suffering this much over something so trivial, then he didn’t want to see what the announcement of his engagement to Camilla would do to Mary.
“Please. I’m begging you.” Rathe jerked his head towards the exit. “Leave this place right now.”
His every word ripped into her, wounding her, scarring her for life. He spoke to her like he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. Like he couldn’t wait to throw her out of his life.
Why?
What had made him change?
“Rathe—”
Hearing her cry, every cell in his body went wild with the need to heed her. But instead, Rathe forced himself to do the opposite. Fists clenching, he slowly turned his back on her, the only thing he could think of now that would convince Mary he wanted her gone.
Behind him, Rathe heard Mary let out a tiny cry, one so broken it had everyone nearby turning towards her.
And then he heard her speak.
“I don’t really have much to say, Rathe.” Whispers clogged in tears, making each word feel like a laceration in his heart.
Mary struggled to breathe, struggled to get it all out one last time. “All I wanted...w-was to let you know...that I love you. But more than that...” God, this was so hard. But she had promised herself she would fight for him, and so she would finish this.
“I just...” Sucking her breath in, she made herself say the last words. “I just wanted y-you to know h-how proud I am to l-love you.”
Her head dipped, her shoulders shaking as she cried her heart out with silent, endless tears.
She was proud to love him. She was. But she was done fighting for him, too.
****
I wanted you to know how proud I am to love you.
Mary’s last words ravaged his soul and gouged his most painful memories out of the shadows, reminding him of the times she had tried to tell him the same things without saying the words.
He remembered the time Mary’s class found out about her, the rumors bordering on disgusting and vile, but her only thoughts then had been of defending him. “T-there’s nothing lewd o-or obscene about us. I d-didn’t choose to be with h-him because of m-money or w-whatever.”
He remembered the time he had caught her studying a list of names of prominent members of British society, and Mary telling him, “I just want to make sure I don’t embarrass you again.”
He remembered the time he
had asked for her forgiveness by giving her a chance to snub in front of his own mother. “I’m going to kiss you.” But instead of making him pay, she had closed her eyes instead and waited for his kiss.
Because in Mary’s eyes, he had always been his prince.
The truth of his feelings blinded him then, and Rathe turned cold at the way he had acted like a foolish arse all this time.
Once, his mother had told him, “The heart…it doesn’t always listen to rhyme or reason. It just…loves and when it’s found its mate, it will love forever and there’s no stopping it.”
He had been sixteen then. At that time Rathe hadn’t understood it at all, hadn’t even been able to believe in love. But now, every word was crystal clear. Now, it all made sense.
Mary was just eighteen years old, practically orphaned, both her heart and body finding its first taste of love in Rathe’s arms. Once, he had thought she was too young for him, that he was taking advantage of her. But it hadn’t ever been that between them, and he knew that now.
She loved him. She was proud to love him. And because she loved him, everything had become inconsequential to Mary. Nothing had been able to hurt her, nothing had been able to diminish her love for him...nothing could have stopped her from loving Rathe unless he himself chose to turn his back on her.
Like he had done a while ago.
Bloody hell, what had he done?
Spinning around, panic clawed inside Rathe as he tried to look for Mary. He found her trying desperately to get to the exit a second later, but even that fraction of a time felt like an eternity to him.
Pushing his way through the crowd, Rathe made a desperate lunge for her and managed to catch her wrist. “Mary.”
The shock of having someone suddenly capture her wrist from behind was nothing compared to how her whole world spun out of control when Mary heard the duke’s voice calling her name.
She couldn’t be hearing that, Mary thought dazedly. But a moment later, she was being whirled around and she found herself face to face with the duke once more.
No, God, no! She didn’t want him to see her like this, her face spoiled by tears that couldn’t stop falling, her foolish, foolish heart on her sleeve for every damn person to see.
