When a Duchess Says I Do - Grace Burrowes Page 0,72

failed her. At first, I reasoned that continued life was to be my penance. I did not deserve the comfort of death.”

“Which is youthful, melodramatic balderdash. You did everything in your power to right a grievous wrong.”

He caressed her lips again, sweetly, gently. “So fierce, Matilda. I took years to come to that conclusion. The guilt has ebbed, though it will plague me all my days. My strengths and abilities as a curate were not equal to the challenge before me. I learned bitterness and rage, but I also learned that I love to teach. In the company of children, I took a small revenge against those who had betrayed Rachel. I taught the children well. I made sure they knew their letters and ciphering, that they could go out into the world with more than the ability to empty a chamber pot or recite rote prayers.”

Suffer the little children to come unto me.…“As revenge goes, that’s commendably farsighted. I hope the bishop died of dysentery.”

“He remains in his office. The vicar and his wife retired five years ago to a peaceful old age.”

“That must be galling.”

“I suspect this is why man turns to God, as a final arbiter of life’s unfairness. I dream of publicly denouncing the bishop, but what good would that do Rachel or her daughter? I am also still technically ordained—I was not defrocked—and vengeance is unbecoming of the clergy.”

“You tried to bring the matter to justice, Duncan. You offered the truth to those in a position to make amends. Few would have been as honest.”

He sat up just as Matilda reached for him. “And my honesty arguably resulted in two avoidable deaths.” He climbed from the bed naked and went to the fire, adding coal and poking the flames to life. “Truth always comes at a price. If you never explain how you came to be wandering in my woods, I will accept your discretion as the wiser course. Sometimes, the past should remain buried.”

Duncan stared into the flames, a perfect lance of a man in three-quarter nude profile. He clearly did not believe that philosophy of silence. He’d been forced into it by circumstance.

As Matilda had.

“Come back to bed,” she said, patting the quilt. “I’m sorry the church betrayed your trust. You deserved better.”

He did not deserve for Matilda to betray his trust, either, and yet she must, and soon.

* * *

Having told the story of his disappointed youth, Duncan hoped for some great insight into what he should have done instead or how he might have more effectively couched his accusations. Curled around a sleeping Matilda, no such revelations befell him.

Nothing had changed for having entrusted that tale to another, nothing except that Matilda had put her finger on the harm done. Rachel and her baby had been victims of injustice, and Duncan’s faith in his spiritual superiors had been betrayed.

If faith in those authorities was misplaced, then all faith was without grounds. Duncan’s innocence had been laid to rest as surely as Rachel and the child had. What did that leave but determination to avoid such entanglements in the future, and to move forward with an expectation of disillusionment?

Duncan kissed Matilda on the temple and rose, then drew the covers over her. He hoped she would join him in this bed from now on, but he would not voice that request. She must come of her own free will, as she had the first time.

He dressed and made his way to the family parlor, intent on creating a household budget. Matilda longed for a home of her own, and Brightwell needed a consistent hand on the reins.

Trostle’s successor—for he would have one—would be held to account, just as Mrs. Newbury and Manners expected to be. A budget wanted thought, and remaining at Matilda’s side was not conducive to anything but yearnings and conjectures. Then too, if Duncan remained with her, he’d awaken her, and she needed her rest.

The family parlor was warm, and Duncan’s knee was grumbling at him. To his disappointment, he was not to have solitude.

“Why aren’t you hammering and sawing away on your lift?” he asked.

Stephen had spread diagrams all over the reading table, a ruler, carpenter’s compass, and abacus among the documents. He was in his Bath chair poring over the drawings, and did not look up when Duncan posed his question.

“You really should set up a sawpit,” he said. “As much mature lumber as you have, as much coin as it would fetch on the market, you