Page 35 of The Noble Servant

“Don’t.” She should pull away from him, refuse his pity. But his hand was warm and, unfortunately, she wanted his comfort. “It isn’t your fault anyway. I suppose your uncle meant for me to marry his son.”

Her words were steady, thankfully, but they made the tears spill from her eyes down her cheeks. At least he couldn’t see them. She had her back to him.

“And now he’s gone and married your treacherous maidservant. Serves him right.”

Bitterness permeated his voice. He’d already forgotten about her. Good. Magdalen hoped she could get these tears under control before he realized she was crying.

She did her best to surreptitiously wipe the tears from her cheeks.

“I’m sorry for all that has happened to you, Lady Magdalen.” He patted her shoulder as someone might pat a sister.

The tears she wiped away were quickly replaced with more.

“I’m going to get a drink.” She practically ran to the little spring at the edge of the trees. She fell to her knees beside it, bent, gathering the cold water in her hands, and splashed it on her face. And still the hot tears squeezed from her eyes onto her cold cheeks.

She took deep breaths. Thoughts flitted through her mind.

Mother will be so angry that I’m not marrying a duke after all.

I was a fool to think a duke would marry me.

The handsome shepherd, who’s also the handsome duke I met years ago, doesn’t want me, isn’t even willing to do the honorable thing and promise to marry me.

Her heart ached, but her pride was injured the most. Foolish pride.

Why should I care if he doesn’t want me? I have to focus on getting back to Mallin.

But her mother would be furious and blame Magdalen. Somehow everything was always her fault. Such as the time when her mother’s favorite dress had become entangled in a thornbush after she alighted from her horse.

This is your fault, she had screamed after looking down at her ripped dress.You love these ridiculous bushes with their berries and flowers. Now look at my dress—it’s ruined!

Mother could not accept that anything was her own fault. So her dress had ripped because Magdalen loved the flowers of the thornbush that ripped it.

And now, whether Steffan was able to take back his rightful place as the Duke of Wolfberg or not, it would be Magdalen’s fault that he didn’t marry her. She would face the humiliation of having thought she was to marry a duke, as well as her mother’s many recriminations for allowing it to happen. Magdalen might as well face it and go home forthwith, even though she would have to walk the entire way.

And the Duke of Wolfberg would just have to solve his own problems.

These empowering thoughts completely stopped her tears. She took out her cloth and dried her face, taking more deep breaths as she reclaimed her dignity and stood up straight and tall, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. Without even a glance behind her, she turned and started walking toward the servants’ quarters.

“Where are you going?” the duke asked, much closer than she might have expected. He must have followed her to the spring.

“Home.” She flung the word over her shoulder and kept moving at a brisk pace.

“What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer. Let him figure it out.

“You cannot go. Not yet.”

“Why not?” She should have had the self-control not to ask him that, because she truly should not care. She quickened her pace as he caught up with her.

“I may need you to help me prove who I am. You are a witness.”

“But no one believes I am Lady Magdalen, so I am useless to you.”

They were climbing the path up the castle mount and would soon be in the bailey and among other servants.

“But I need you not to tell anyone what is happening here, not until I can prove my identity.”