London, May 1885

The silence stretched unbearably, until Sabrina became the first to recover from her state of stupefaction.

„But, Rod, are you quite certain—"

"Yes, I am!" Rodney interrupted, gesturing sharply toward Damon. "This is Mr. Silver, a man of considerable repute as a, um, companion, famed for his... prowess in bed sport."

Damon remained silent, his jaw visibly clenched with tension at the sudden revelation.

Henry finally crossed the distance between himself and the group, and might have laughed at the absurdity of the whole scene if it hadn't been for the nagging feeling in his gut that there would be no quick end to all the truths that were surfacing that day.

„I would have recognized him, though, wouldn't I?" Sabrina murmured rhetorically, her voice laced with incredulity.

How had she not seen it... or suspected...?

Damon locked eyes with her, seemingly incapable of uttering a single word in his own defence, as guilty as he was of this charge against him.

Sabrina's throat tightened as an ominous chill gripped her heart. "What about you, Damon?" she demanded, her voice trembling. "Have you nothing to say for yourself? Did you... did you know who I was all along ever since New York?"

Damon could discern clearly now that the best ships carrying his truth to either half of the ducal pair had long since sailed, leaving him stranded, bitter, and defeated. His mask was crumbling, and there was nothing to be done but to be honest.

"Answer me!" Sabrina's voice cracked like a fine whip, her fury rising to meet the blackguard's silence.

"No," Damon finally said, his voice taut with strain. "No, I did not know who you were back in New York."

Rodney's gaze darted between them in confusion over the apparent familiarity. "What in Heaven's name is going on between the two of you?!"

Sabrina turned to him, frowning. "We're lovers, Rodney."

Her friend's mouth fell open as though he were a fish plucked from water, while Sabrina's attention returned to Damon, her eyes blazing.

"And your earlier visit to Jamieson's—was that purely coincidental?" she pressed without relent.

Damon's features softened, and he briefly closed his eyes, as though bracing for the inevitable outcome. "No," he admitted. "I was... I was tasked to cross paths with you, Sabrina."

Rodney's brows furrowed deeply. "Who in Hades is Jamieson?" he muttered under his breath.

"Her other lover," Henry answered, his tone as calm as was cold, stepping to his wife's side.

Sabrina glanced at her husband and saw the vein in his forehead throbbing, a clear sign that the duke was seething inside with anger beyond any measure known to man. It made her momentarily unsure whether she was more afraid of his wrath or of the knowledge that had not yet been spilled by the golden-eyed rogue.

Rodney gasped. "Her other lover?" he croaked, but no one deigned to answer.

Sabrina's legs felt as if they were about to buckle, but she needed to know the truth, for the dark cloud of suspicion weighed heavily on her conscience. "Who instructed you to... such a task... and to what avail?"

Her chest heaved as she watched Damon's lips part, the answer hovering there, unspoken. She almost wished he kept silent, for fear of what she already knew in her heart.

The warnings had been there, had they not?

„My mother, did she not?" Henry asked in Damon's place, his voice tense as he fought hard not to let his anger go unchecked.

Sabrina turned to him, her disbelief plain. "But why would she—?"

No, the dowager's penchant for scheming came as no surprise at all, but the motive for putting this man in her bed had eluded Sabrina.

„Because," Damon's voice caught her attention, „she blackmailed me. To held the debt collectors at bay, she paid off my most serious debts, and in return, I was to do everything in my power to break your marriage apart—even if it meant fathering a child with you whether you willed it or not," he confessed, his voice trembling.

„And when she sensed my reluctance to proceed with such a vile scheme, she... revealed that she knew where my wife could be found. This information—or hope, if you will—was dangled before me like a prize she knew I could not resist."

„Jesus Christ," Rodney murmured scarcely audibly, utterly forgotten by the trio of actors in this upending scene.

A whimper of realisation escaped the duchess' throat. And though she felt a gentle touch on her hand, she was unable to return the gesture or do anything about it as her mind was flooded with the tide of Damon's confession.

„So it was all a game," she said hoarsely. „And a pretense... You also never went to the port, did you?"

„No, I did not. Your hat was given to me by the dowager's maid who obtained it from some footman. I was still in New York at the time."

„I see... it wasn't just a wistful remark from your child, you travelled to New York with regularity as a... as a..."

Really, how could she not have deduced it from her visit to his house?! Now every piece of the puzzle seemed to fall into place as never before, forming a final picture of betrayal that was set in motion the moment she set foot on English soil. What a foolish, disastrously naive goose she was!

Sabrina scoffed, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. „And the words you spoke—they felt so familiar..."

Damon's lips quivered. "Inspired by the books of Bryant Alsher. I had to be eloquent, Sabrina, as well as skilled in pleasure. But I swear to you, my feelings for you are true."

„...and I wondered how you could say all those words I've always desired to hear. It was all fiction," she added after his confession, taking a step back, her body shaking.

My fiction, she corrected herself inwardly.

"Sabrina, enough," Henry interjected softly, his voice pleading, though her gaze remained locked with Damon's. "Let me deal with him—and with my mother."

The traitor sighed and sniffed, his face revealing both relief at the end of this unbearable farce—though not on a high note—and deep anguish, "I tried to be the villain in your story to save my family, but I love you Sabrina, that was never a lie.

She shook her head slowly, her expression hardening. "You should love your children and your wife," her sharp voice revealed the finality of their agreement. "But knowing that you've had countless chances to tell me the truth, to reveal the plight you're in... you don't deserve to find her. Ever."

Damon's face contorted in pain. „Sabrina, please...," his voice broke. „I need you now more than ever. For what's holy, I swear I did not hurt my wife, and I only wish to find her, to make amends. But I cannot do it without funds, for I have made mistakes, grievous mistakes."

All of sudden, the entrance door opened, admitting the dowager duchess, Regina, who swept in after a servant and another maid trailing in her wake.

"Oh, what is the meaning of this solemn gathering?" she inquired sharply, her eyes narrowing as they landed on Damon Gray's face.

"Mother," Henry addressed her coolly, advancing toward her and motioning for the servants to withdraw. "This gentleman here," he gestured toward Damon, "insists that you are concealing the whereabouts of his wife."

Regina scoffed in disbelief. "I have no notion of what he speaks! I do not even recognise this gentleman by name!"

"You can dispense with the act, madam," Damon replied, his voice cutting through the air with an unflinching sternness. "His Grace is already apprised of the truth."

The dowager's lips thinned, as was her wont when things did not play her tune, but she maintained her charade. "Henry, I truly have no intention of discussing matters of which I have no knowledge. Now, if you will allow me, I have things to attend to," she said dismissively, moving to brush past him into the corridor. But before she could take a step further, his iron grip clamped onto her arm, and she recoiled with a sharp yelp.

„I shall allow no such thing, devilish woman," Henry said in a menacing voice—a tone that reminded Sabrina of the rage she had witnessed during their heated exchange months before.

And she knew she couldn't last in the hall any longer to witness her husband's rising inferno. Turning to the staircase, she cast a fleeting glance at Rodney.

"Do not follow me," she commanded firmly, and ascended with hurried steps, seeking the safety of her bedroom.

Her unfortunate friend, now stranded amidst strangers save for Mr. Gray, could only watch helplessly as the drama unfolded before his own eyes.

"Ouch, Henry! You're hurting me!" Regina cried, struggling in vain to extricate herself from his relentless grip.

„Oh, does it? I hope so," Henry growled, his nostrils flaring with unrestrained fury. "Perhaps you will consider your next words twice as carefully, mother, as they will determine your fate in this house. Do you know of Mr. Gray's wife, or do you not?"

Regina swallowed hard, her composure beginning to crack under the tightening of his hand. "I do not! I swear it!"

"You provided me with her handwritten note!" Damon exclaimed.

The dowager cast him a withering glare. "I took it from your children's nursery. Your daughter had it in her possession—her mother's diary, no doubt. But I know nothing of the woman's whereabouts, nor have I ever known."

Damon groaned, dragging a hand across his face as he staggered a few steps back, his despair palpable.

"You disgust me, mother," Henry snarled, still keeping her a prisoner of his might. "Why on earth would you squander money on such deceitful schemes?"

"Why?" she repeated, her tone rising with incredulity before it hardened into a scoff. "Because she is nobody! You deserve happiness, Henry—someone like Lady Amwych, a proper Englishwoman who can give you heirs! You already have that American whore's fortune. What more could you possibly want from her?! Ouch... Henry! Stop, it hurts!"

Regina nearly wept from the pain inflicted by her son, who now gripped her arm like an iron vice, his face betraying his deep-seated anger at this evil interloper who seemed to have no regard for the consequences of her actions.

„Your Grace, that's enough. Unfortunately, we do not choose who our parents are."

Never in his wildest dreams did Henry expect to hear a voice of reason from the scoundrel who had had his paws in Sabrina's honey pot for so long and brought his marriage to the brink of collapse, but surprises seemed to be lurking around every corner that day.

His grip on his mother's arm weakened, but not his determination to make amends immediately.

"You have wrought nothing but harm upon my life, but to harm my wife—or attempt to—crosses every conceivable boundary!" the duke hissed, his face dark with fury.

Regina tried to soften her tone. "Henry, my son, all I have ever done was for your benefit, never doubt that. I only seek to aid you in your newfound station."

„I am mature and capable enough to manage my station and benefits without your vile interference, you damned witch. You are in no position to control my life, you cannot manipulate me like as you did Andrew, and you also cannot backhand me into submission either—I am no longer a helpless child."

Raising a warning finger inches from her face, he delivered his verdict. "I have tolerated your presence here for far too long, mother. It is time you leave this house and take up residence at the dower house in Derbyshire. There, you may contemplate your wickedness to your heart's content."

Naturally, Regina protested with every feminine arm she wielded with honed expertise, her voice rising in defiance, then falling to desperate pleas and even curses—none of it swayed her son. Henry's resolve remained as steadfast as a seaman's fortitude in the face of the fiercest gale on the open sea, hence the arrangements for her departure were concluded in a rather swift manner. Against her will, the dowager departed Westhill, her pride bruised by the dismantled schemes.

Once the ordeal concluded, Henry took to the staircase with purposeful strides, ascending two steps at a time. Reaching his wife's chamber, he found Sabrina on her bed, her form wrapped in blankets reminiscent of a giant cocoon. A faint smile appeared on his face—the wounded butterfly sought its chrysalis, desperate for safety, reassurance and perhaps a gentle touch after learning it was a pawn in a cruel game.

She did not deserve to be manipulated almost to her downfall, her vulnerabilities notwithstanding.

Henry climbed onto the bed, and after some searching between the layers, Sabrina's tear-streaked face looked out at him, weariness and defeat etched into every feature of hers. Before he could utter a word, she spoke softly,

„Ever since I came to this place, I... I feel as though I no longer recognize myself. It is as if I have lost a piece of me. I became weak, gullible... susceptible to all this manipulation, not truly considering where my trust lay. I would still weep for the old Sabrina who never left New York, but I'm afraid I have no tears left for such an endeavor. My eyes ache so terribly, I can scarcely see you now."

Henry gently caressed her cheek, then placed a tender kiss on her forehead. „You have not lost yourself, nor are you adrift in New York, Sabrina. What has happened is that life has dealt you harsh lessons, ones not to your liking, I grant. But if it's any consolation, I am hardly faring better in this regard—I allowed my mother's teaching and influence to guide me for far too long, then I nearly destroyed our marriage because I trusted the twisted words of your lover instead of confronting you calmly. That will not happen again, I swear it."

His wife parted her lips, about to inquire what Damon had said, but Henry pressed a gentle finger to her mouth, silencing her with a slight incline of his head. "No, my dearest, we shall revisit that matter another time. For now, we both need to process what has transpired. And, judging by your puffy eyes, I hear cucumber slices work wonders for such a condition."

Sabrina scoffed, though her mouth curved into a smile. "Oh, Henry, your talent for uttering the silliest remarks takes the most inappropriate cue to shine, though I confess it amuses me."

His smile matched hers, though hers faltered all of sudden.

"Oh," she murmured, her expression twisted with pain. "Help me sit up, please."

The duke swiftly complied, and even unwrapped the layers of blankets that swaddled his wife. He had some inkling of what was to come around this time of the month. Once upright, Sabrina stood, moving toward the cabinet where she kept her necessities for her flowers, and grasping the linen suppository in her hand, she turned to her husband.

„Would you help me undress?"

Even the weight of the dress on her body now seemed unbearable.

Henry was at her side before she finished the sentence, and soon she reclined in the bed once more, her arms folded protectively over her abdomen as waves of pain surged and ebbed. Sabrina then looked up at him with a silent plea conveyed through moist, pleading eyes.

"Shall I administer the medicine, my love?" he asked.

She nodded rather emphatically. "And quickly, please."

After ensuring the task was done with care, Henry rang for the maid, requesting cucumber slices. The young maid ventured to the kitchen, where her unusual request drew a raised brow from the cook.

„A cut cucumber? What the devil for?" the cook inquired gruffly.

The maid shrugged. "His Grace said it is for Her Grace."

The cook scoffed, shaking her head. "I suppose Her Grace's thighs must be too plump for his liking, and now he's turned to treat her with vegetables instead of bread."

Back in the chamber, Henry settled himself beside his wife, her breathing even as she drifted into the blessed reprieve of slumber, with two slices of cucumber resting on her eyelids. It did not surprise him that her monthlies had arrived; after all, the rotten blackguard had shown his true colours at last, and Henry vowed never to trust a single word uttered by that man again. Everything Mr. Gray said about Sabrina he inwardly condemned and dismissed as the folly of a paid actor who shone brightly for a moment until he ran out of devious lines and the curtain inevitably fell to bury him under its crushing weight.

God, Sabrina herself said she didn't harbour affection for that stump of a man, so Henry could see it for what it was—some sort of ill dependency, either sexual or emotional, or simply that the leech knew how to manipulate her vulnerabilities, wielding them like a weapon to secure her attention.

And Henry did not trust her, based on yet another set of preconceived notions, thanks to his mother dearest.

This vicious cycle of distrust must end, once and for all, Henry resolved, his gaze lingering on Sabrina's sleeping face. Life was easier when one could take opiates and sleep away the pain and emotions, but it was not a sustainable long-term solution, he was aware of that. As he reached for the blanket to cover them both, a knock sounded at the door. Before Henry could respond, the door creaked open, admitting a gentleman who entered the room without a shred of shame.

"Is this a new habit of hers, sleeping at this hour?" the man inquired bluntly, causing Henry's brows to arch.

An indecent retort tempted Henry's tongue, but he swallowed it and replied evenly, "My wife has been given a sedative to alleviate the discomfort of her flowers. She will wake in an hour or so. And you are?"

"Rodney Scott," the man announced, moving a nearby chair closer to the bed.

"Ah," Henry said, recognition dawning. "The esteemed Mr. Scott—Sabrina's business partner."

Rodney nodded curtly. "I would shake your hand, but under the circumstances, it feels... inappropriate."

"We can defer that pleasantry," Henry replied dryly.

Rodney took a deep breath, his arms crossing as he surveyed the room, his displeasure evident. "Would you care to explain what devil is going on with Sabrina in this household? I suspect it would also clarify why she's wearing that vegetable on her eyes."

"The cucumber is to reduce puffiness," Henry said simply, though his tone betrayed a growing impatience. "As for the broader matter, it so happens that Mr. Gray is Sabrina's villainous paramour."

"That much I gathered from the earlier exchange," Rodney replied, his voice bristling with disdain. "And given how little it seems to ruffle your feathers, one might assume you condone it, Your Grace."

Henry's eyes narrowed. "I may have tolerated it at one time, Mr. Scott, but I hardly see how our intimate life is any of your concern."

Rodney inclined his head in agreement, settling back in his chair with an air of ease. "You are indeed correct—a marriage of convenience that devolves into two souls treading separate paths is a tale as old as time. Yet it seems that whatever arrangements you and Sabrina have devised are failing to perform as intended. Frankly, I was vehemently opposed to her embarking upon this ill-considered union with you. Had she remained in New York, so much needless drama and heartache could have been avoided."

"Fortunately, she did not heed your counsel," Henry rejoined sharply, his irritation at the man's presumptive manner bubbling to the surface. "And perhaps you do not know her as intimately as you presume."

Rodney smiled coolly, utterly undeterred by the duke's growing scowl. "Oh, rest assured, Your Grace, I know her well. Allowing her indiscretions, as you so graciously do, only feeds her self-combustible tendencies."

Henry's jaw tightened, his composure straining against the man's impertinence. "I believe this pertains to the 'secret' I am supposedly aware of," he said, his tone clipped and resolute. "I overheard your conversation with Sabrina in the drawing room. Yet I have no fucking clue as to what this secret is—until Mr. Gray revealed himself to be a dastardly knave, I was convinced Sabrina was carrying his child and scheming my downfall. Now, perhaps you would care to elaborate on the matter so that I might finally make proper amends?"

Rodney's expression shifted to one of contemplation. It was clear to Henry that the man wrestled with his thoughts, weighing his response carefully. At last, Rodney sighed deeply, running a hand through his dark hair as though the motion might alleviate his inner conflict. "I fear it is a matter far too sensitive for me to divulge," he said at length. "This is Sabrina's truth to tell, not mine. I am her friend, and she would feel deeply betrayed if I were to violate her trust."

Henry bristled at the response, though he found himself begrudgingly admiring the man's loyalty to his wife.

After a prolonged pause, Rodney continued. "Before I entered this room, I was prepared to unleash my ire upon you and make your day a veritable hell. But then I saw the way you looked at her... It is plain to see how much care and concern you hold for her in your eyes, in your very comportment. Whatever has transpired between you, Sabrina undoubtedly bears her share of culpability—and I trust there is no argument on that point—but I have not seen her so profoundly changed, nor so deeply sorrowful, in decades."

The American cleared his throat, concluding, „She came to this place blindly, Your Grace, clutching to perhaps naive hopes of happiness. Yet she did not find it here. My advice to you, then, is simple: either mend what has been broken between you or let her return home."

Rodney's words struck a chord deep within Henry, their weight pressing upon his heart like an iron vise. He turned his gaze to Sabrina's face, his chest tightening at the thought of a life without her. A lump formed in his throat as Rodney's words reverberated within his mind to no end.

She came to this place blindly, clutching to perhaps naive hopes of happiness. Yet she did not find it here.

The last chance it was then, to scoop up the tattered remnants of their marriage and to strive for what, in this moment, felt heartrendingly unattainable. But he had to try.