Page 117 of The Duchess Curse

She was crying in his arms, little tears that ripped him apart.

When she finally quieted, she wiped her nose on her sleeve and said with a small, bitter laugh, “The answer, the solution has been in this attic my entire life. I have believed a lie for so long, even when it made no sense. I never even went searching for the truth. I must be just as he said, a stupid girl.”

“No. No, no, Guin. Never. He was right. Fear is a powerful means of control. And they sent you away when you were old enough to begin asking questions.” Old enough to climb a set of stairs and read a trunk of documents.

She huddled deeper against his chest. “All the loneliness and loss—so much of my life wasted to it.”

“No more.”

She looked at him, every feature in her face firm and resolute. “No more.”

She pushed out Bran’s embrace, but he felt closer to her than before. She laughed and seemed surprised by the airy sound of it. A real smile stretched across her lips. She hid it behind a hand, embarrassed almost, by it.

“Well,” she said. “I guess I was wrong. There is no such thing as a curse.” Another chaotic bubble of a laugh that lifted his heart higher. “But there is a lie, Bran.”

“There is. One that stretches across too many years. I know how you feel about lies.” He lifted an eyebrow.

She laughed.

“Do you want to leave?” he asked.

She nodded, stood, held out her hand. “Let’s go home. I have much work to do.”

So did he, as her guardian, as her husband, as the man who loved her with all his heart, the shadows of it, and the light.

28

ALL BOUND BEAUTIFULLY TOGETHER

The carriage waited out front to take them back to London, but Guin stood before her father’s closed study door, Bran a steady warmth behind her, and knocked.

“Come in,” her father said, his voice muffled.

She pushed through and stood just before his desk, hands folded in front of her.

He paused over his ledger then finished a line and held his pen just above the page as he lifted his gaze to look at her. “Oh. Gabriella. Do you need something?”

“We’re soon to leave. But I wanted to ask you something first.”

He set the pen down and leaned back. “I suppose I cannot stop you from asking it.”

“You cannot.”

Her mother sailed into the room. “You wished to speak with me, Cairnsbury?”

“No,” her father said.

“I did.” Guin gestured to a chair in front of the desk. “Sit, Mother.”

“I… I don’t know if I should.”

“I think you should,” Bran rumbled.

Her mother sat.

Guin stood before both her parents and wondered at the misery of their lives. They couldn’t even look at each other. She didn’t want a bit of it.

Guin set her ancestor’s journal on the desk, opened it to the right page and pushed it toward her father. “Read.”