Page 49 of An Orphan for the Broken Duke

Rhys pushed that question down. Even now, he still refused to acknowledge the suggestion that he felt more for Violet than someone whom he was glad to have in his home for Lucy’s wellbeing. And still, he was convinced that this was for the best. Rose wanted her sister to be happy. Better that she have as little to do with Rhys as possible.

“Thank you, Rose,” he said. “I am glad we had this talk.”

“As am I.” She then waved at Violet and Lucy, and took a step towards them, but turned to look at Rhys. “Will you come and see them? I know they will appreciate it.”

He wanted to… but he resisted that urge, lying to himself once again; the false belief that they were better off without him interrupting.

“No, I have work to be getting back to.” He took a step back. “But give them my best.”

“I will, Your Grace. Believe me when I say that.” She looked at him knowingly before turning and hurrying down the garden path.

Rhys watched for a moment as Lucy sprinted ahead, arms held wide for Rose to hug her. He then looked further down the path; his gaze found Violet, and she watched him standing there. A shared smile was all he allowed—an acknowledgement that he saw her before he turned and walked back toward the manor.

Rhys might never be truly happy, but if Violet was, and if Lucy was, then that would be enough.

Eighteen

There was no need to point out that Rhys was stubborn. That was as much a part of him as his hair and his skin, and he doubted that it would change anytime soon. This stubbornness could be most seen in his refusal to accept any feelings that he might have had for Violet, always insisting that what he did was for the sake of Lucy.

However, just because he was stubborn did not mean that he was stupid. And if he wanted Lucy to be happy, it meant that he had to ensure that Violet was the same.

Also… it made him feel good, knowing that he was doing a good thing for Violet, someone whom he was coming to care about.

I care for her as a friend, a companion… someone who wants a peaceful household to exist. That is all.

For that reason, he began to do as Rose had suggested. He would offer Violet help in the guise of small, seemingly insignificant gestures. Nothing elaborate. Nothing that would raise questions. Merely the actions of a man who was paying attention.

It started the following morning when they broke their fast together. It was not a common practice, as Rhys was often busy dealing with estate matters, so he could not always join Violet and Rose and Lucy. But he had a reason for wanting to do so on that morning.

“How are the ball preparations going?” he asked once he sat down.

“Oh, they are going well…” Violet said the words as if they had weight to them, and she let her shoulders drop to show how exhausted she was.

“Sounds convincing,” Rhys noted.

She chuckled. “It is a lot more work than I assumed it would be, though I am enjoying it,” she hurried to explain. “And the closer the ball comes, the more I agree with you. Hopefully, it will go some way towards lessening the hate that the ton feels for me.”

“They do not hate you, Violet,” Rhys said. “Do not think such a thing.”

“Oh, perhaps not hate,” she agreed. “But they certainly judge me and think that I somehow tricked my way into this marriage.” She winced.

Rhys flinched as if her words had struck him across the face.

He had wrestled for some time with the suggestion of the seasonal ball, unsure if it was right, while certain that it was necessary. Weeks later he could still remember the way that Violet had been spoken to at that supper, and while she might have dismissed it as something that did not bother her, he knew differently.

The irony was that Rhys cared not what other people thought. Let them judge. Let them mock. It mattered not to him. What did matter, and what he refused to allow to happen again, was the vile way that his wife had been spoken about.

Hopefully, the ball would show his peers that Violet was as good as they were, that she belonged, and that she was not to be looked down on because of her birth.

“That will change,” he assured her. “I promise you.”

Her smile was weak but hopeful. “I suppose we shall see—Lucy, do not use your hands,” she pivoted from the conversation as she directed her gaze across the table at Lucy. The little girl was indeed using her hands to eat her eggs.

Lucy smiled mischievously. “I… it is easier. And more fun.”

“Your knife and fork, please.” Violet gestured to her own. “Like this.”

“Here, allow me…” Rhys stood up quickly and walked to where Lucy sat. There, he knelt beside her and picked up her knife and fork. She leaned back slightly, but she did not cower. “Would you like some help?” he asked her.