Chapter Nine
Her Grace, the Duchess of Chase, was absolutely charming under the influence of champagne.
It was undeniable. It was all he could do not to laugh at her enchantment.
As they traversed the halls of his London house, she kept delighting at the strangest nooks, crannies, and evidence of those who had come before him.
How could he not adore her for that?
He loved his house as well.
As a child, it had filled him with wonder. He still felt awe when he paused and looked up at the great crenelated ceilings, the portraits hanging on the walls, the vast floors, the armor, the stories of all the people in his family that had lived in it and filled it with their dreams, their hopes, and their plots.
So to see her so completely pleased by it pleased him.
Once, he had entirely reveled in the house. It had felt so entirely his. It had been as much of an embrace as any embrace from a human could be.
Now it was bittersweet, for he felt he no longer deserved it.
He had not, of course, since his brother died.
And in bleak moments when he was brutally honest with himself, he did not deserve it.
The house was not his. He was merely a steward of it until he died and the rightful person inherited.
Still, he was entranced by her happiness.
Happiness was such a rarity that to see someone so full of it, at any particular moment, induced joy in him. He was grateful to witness it.
For he could not recall the last time that he was actually happy.
It certainly hadn’t been for years.
Given his privilege, he did the best he could to show the world that he enjoyed life. But inside he felt pain, emptiness, sorrow, unworthiness. Standing here with Victoria, he felt those things still.
For he was lying to her and he always would.
If one had to lie to someone, as he did, they could never feel entirely worthy of them. And she was clearly worthy of someone who was truly wonderful.
Derek was rather sad that she was stuck with him, but far better him than the alternative possibilities that her father had had arranged.
At least she’d seen the back of the marquess, who had stumbled out of this house and into his coach with his younger daughter.
Chase had been tempted to keep Catharine with them to ensure that her father didn’t marry her off in some ridiculous scheme. But he had a funny feeling that the marquess would not act too hastily. The young sister would likely have many offers, and no doubt her father would enjoy lording it over everyone as those offers came in.
He seemed to be that sort of man.
Poor Victoria, that she’d had to endure such things.
When it was necessary, he would step in to protect Catharine, too. It was the least he could do for her and for Victoria.
As he led her down another corridor, a golden candelabra held high as the sun had already set, he stopped at a towering carved oak door.
He inclined his head. “Your rooms, Duchess.”
She beamed at him, blinking. Her cheeks were a delicious shade of rose. “Rooms?”
“Oh, yes,” he said. “You have several to do with as you please. I’ve had the bedchamber especially prepared for you. All of my mother’s things have been removed, and you may decorate it in any style that you prefer.”