Caught in the Storm of a Duke's - Abby Ayles Page 0,44

could not say that she did not suspect the same. Yet, hearing it said aloud was frightening. Her first impulse was to refute Amy’s claims.

“Care for him? However so? I hardly know the man. Today is the very first we have spoken more than a handful of words to one another since we arrived. There is nothing but gratitude in my heart for him.”

Amy’s response was a snicker, which displeased Judith even further.

“The lady doth protest too much, don’t you think?”

She would have replied if any witty words had come to mind.

“You say there is nothing in your heart but gratitude. I, too, feel gratitude, my lady. I admit that His Grace is a fine man, all the more handsome for the mystery that so evidently shrouds him. But I must say, my belly does not flutter when he is near. My heart does not tremble. I am curious, yes, but not overly concerned about what secrets he holds dear to his heart. I do not worry about him or spare him much thought when I am not in his presence.”

She paused to admire the work she had done with Judith’s hair. After a warm smile, she added, “Can’t you see? You care for him, and from what you have told me of his character and words today, I daresay, the feelings are returned. He cares for you, too.”

Judith broke into laughter. It was a gale, it was loud, but it was not quite from her depths.

When she recovered, she was quite as surprised as Amy by her outburst.

“My lady? Is all well?”

Judith dabbed at the corner of her eyes, drying the tears that had escaped.

“Certainly, Amy. It’s only … I could accept that perhaps, I have come to care for the duke, but I do not think he cares for me at all. He was simply being … gracious.”

“I see…” Amy said again. “Oh well if you insist. Who am I to say differently? At the very least, you have accepted the truth of your feelings, and it is now that you must be most careful.”

Judith grew somber as she caught the seriousness in Amy’s voice.

“How so?” she asked, truly needing to know.

“You have meandered onto a cliff, and you must take great care, lest you trip and fall.”

This time, Judith groaned as she rolled her eyes.

“More riddles, Amy?”

“Forgive me, my lady. You may think of it as poetry.”

“Indeed. In simple words, tell me, what do you mean?”

“Love comes from care, and now you know you care for him. If you are not cautious, it is only a matter of time before you come to love him.”

Love?

Judith had loved before. She loved her family, she loved Amy. Despite wanting to leave Charleveaux, she loved her home, as well. But none of them made her feel the way the duke did.

As though Amy could read her thoughts, her maid added, “The kind of love that exists between a man and a woman, my lady. I do not suppose it is anything you have ever experienced.”

Judith looked at Amy then, holding her gaze as understanding dawned.

Love. The word resounded in her head, filling her with wonder.

Could Amy be right? Did this kind of love truly come next? And if it did, whatever was she to do?

Chapter 17

It should have been him, not Abigail.

Abigail would not have easily betrayed him so, for that was what he had done.

In his chamber, away from Lady Judith, his ghosts returned in the darkness, haunting him for his sins.

He had spent the whole day with another woman, sharing his music with her.

He had not shared his music with anyone since Abigail. After their marriage, he had played for her only, and, when she had conceived his child, his unborn heir had become his only other audience.

When the cold hands of death snatched them away from him, for many months, he did not play.

At first, he simply could not, as he had been bedridden, healing from all the physical injuries the accident had left behind. When his strength had returned, he had still refused to play, unable to bring himself to.

However, as the months turned into years, he found comfort only behind the pianoforte. It had become his special way of speaking with Abigail, feeling her presence and that of their child, who had never been born.

It had become sacred, almost a ritual, meant for only him and the family he had lost.

Yet, after one look at that woman’s face and he had forgotten all of that.