Page 62 of An Orphan for the Broken Duke

“Perhaps…” Violet turned and looked upon the manor; her eyes lifted to where his office was, which was likely where Rhys was currently hiding. “And maybe what he told me was true? Maybe he really does care for me?”

“I know he does,” Rose said. “I have seen with my own eyes how he treated you. That was not an act. It was real.”

“I will not beg him,” Violet said. “Nor will I force him to change if he does not want it. I…” Her throat tightened. “I do care for him. That has not changed. But until he is ready to change himself, I doubt that anything I say will make a difference.”

“It might?”

“No,” Violet sighed. “It will not.”

That was a truth that Violet had long since come to accept.

After Rhys had cut her off so coldly, she had wanted to refute those feelings shared, and those words exchanged between them. She tried to convince herself that they were lies, and that they meant nothing. Sadly, even stubborn Violet was not that misguided.

She knew that he cared for her, but she knew too the reason that he ran. He was terrified of hurting her, of doing to her what he had done to his sister, and she doubted that anything she said would make a difference.

My walls came down but Rhys refused to step over their wreckage. It is up to him to change… if he even wants to.

So, those days dragged on. Slowly. Painfully. With a sense that things were moving backwards. Violet stayed close with Lucy, and their relationship continued to grow in leaps and bounds. Rose was there too, and the three of them made a little family that was heartwarming and not to be ignored. But it was missing something.

Without Rhys, this house would never be a home, their family would never be whole, and always Violet would wonder what might have been…

Would things change? Did she think that Rhys might wake up one day and realize his mistake? She looked once more to the manor; she imagined him bent over his desk in the dark, working away as he forced himself to forget, and she knew the answer.

This was as good as things would get. Good, yes, but not perfect by any measure. And that was the greatest shame of all.

It was late in the evening, and Violet sat alone in the library.

Rose had been feeling tired all day, so she went to bed early. Lucy, only three, had been put to bed hours earlier. That left Violet on her own, and while she liked to tell herself that she was perfectly fine with such a state of being, never before had she felt so lonely as then.

She sat before the hearth, letting the flames warm her face and body. She had a book resting on her knees, but she had no desire to read. She simply stared into those flames, trying desperately to hang onto the threads of happiness that she wanted so much to feel… that she wanted to believe she not only deserved but had finally found.

Do you not have everything you ever wished for? A home. Rose’s future secured. Lucy taken care of. What more could you possibly need?

She knew the answer to that. She knew it deep in her bones. Yes, she finally had a house that she did not have to worry about losing. Rose no longer had to worry about being married off by her uncle. And Lucy would grow up never wanting for anything. All that Violet had fought for, she had found, and that ought to have been enough.

But there was a hole inside of her.

It had not always been there, of course. Likely, she had been too busy these past few years to notice it. Now that she was no longer fighting for survival, that hole announced itself, it grew larger with each day that passed, and there was only one thing that would fill it.

Why does Rhys have to be this way? What will it take for him to change?

She still refused to go and talk to him. She would not beg and argue and prostrate herself like that. For how much Violet loved to fight for that which she felt that she deserved, this was one battle she was not willing to take on.

So, she just stared into the flames, sadness her only companion, and that vague recognition that it would always be this way…

“Your Grace,” a soft voice spoke from behind her.

Violet exhaled and looked over her shoulder; a tired smile when she saw Mr. Marrow, Rhys’ steward, standing there. “Oh, Mr. Marrow. Is something the matter?”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” he said. “I just wished to ensure that you have everything you require.”

“I am fine,” she said. “Ought you not to be looking after His Grace?”

“I am here because of him, Your Grace,” he said. “He asked that I check on you.”

“He did?” she blinked.

Mr. Marrow was somewhere in his sixties. Small of frame, bent of back, but with a kindly face that made him impossible to not trust. And while Violet had little to do with the man, he was always there, as much a part of this home as the paint on the walls and the carpet on the floor.