The Lady and the Duke

Part V

The following days and weeks settled into something of a routine for Mary. She was left to her own amusements most of the time, but was required to come immediately to the nursery when summoned for feedings at any moment of the day or night. The hours spent alone were an endlessly dull cycle of prayer and embroidery. She saw very little of Lord Lincoln; whenever their paths did cross he was courteous and proper.

She lived for the precious few minutes each day that little Henry was hers; the soft, snuffling bundle nestling against her body. She fell more deeply in love with him at every feed. She took comfort from the fact that she was more of a mother to him than Lady Lincoln; that, growing up, he would regard his mother with a kind of distant fear, and herself with a fond, filial affection. It was like having a child of her own again. He was more hers than the Duchess’s, she could no longer separate him from her own son in her mind.

Mary’s life fell into a comfortable, dream-like rhythm in which Henry was constantly in her thoughts. She lived for no other reason than to nourish him.

It was nearly two months after her arrival when she wandered back to her bedroom after Henry’s evening feed and started to find Lord Lincoln reclining lazily on her bed.

“Your Grace! You startled me!”

He tossed a careless smile, waiting for her.         

She swept her customary curtsey, “How may I serve you, my Lord?”

He gave a meaningful look, “I think you know the answer to that.” He stood and crossed the room, locking the door behind her.

“My Lord, I...”

“You what, Mary? You’re still grieving for that milksop husband of yours?” he grabbed her and crushed her against him, “I’ve given you time and kept a distance, I cannot wait forever. I have never been a patient man.”

Mary struggled to free herself and tried desperately to retort; Lincoln brought his lips down bruisingly onto hers as soon as she opened her mouth. He kissed her fiercely until she was short of breath and dizzy. He freed her as she was about to faint.

He shook her shoulders lightly, “are you telling me you don’t want me, Mary? If you can tell me, honest to God, that you don’t want me, I’ll walk out of this room and never set foot in it again.”

“I... I don’t... know...” she gasped, not sure what she would say when she could speak.

“You do know. Will you refuse me?”

“I... no...”

His eyes were dark with a smug satisfaction as he swept her from her feet and thrust her towards the bed, bearing down upon her with all the confidence of an indomitable lover.