Updated Apr 18, 2026 • ~14 min read
Chapter 18: Understanding Him
Emmeline
The Duke returns from London late that evening—Emmy hears his carriage arrive while she’s sitting in the main library trying to read and failing because she can’t stop thinking about Caroline’s portrait and Thomas’s empty nursery and the tragedy that’s haunted her marriage since before it even began—and she knows she needs to confess her trespass immediately before her guilt becomes unbearable.
She finds him in his study—exactly where she expected him to be, already buried in estate correspondence like he hasn’t been gone all day—and when she enters without knocking he looks up with surprise that quickly shifts to concern when he sees her expression.
“Emmy?” the Duke says, standing from his desk. “What’s wrong? You look upset.”
“I did something I shouldn’t have done,” Emmy admits, deciding direct honesty is better than trying to ease into her confession. “And I need to tell you before my guilt makes it impossible to speak.”
The Duke’s expression shifts to wariness, and Emmy watches him tense in anticipation of whatever she’s about to confess.
“What did you do?” the Duke asks carefully.
“I went into the west wing,” Emmy says, forcing herself to maintain eye contact even though she wants to look away from his inevitable fury. “I found a key and I opened the locked door and I saw the nursery and Caroline’s chambers and her portrait with Thomas and I know I violated your explicit prohibition but I needed to understand what’s keeping you trapped in grief and I’m sorry but I’m not sorry because now I understand and maybe understanding will help me help you move forward.”
She delivers the entire confession in one breathless rush, and when she’s finished the Duke is staring at her with an expression Emmy can’t read—shock or fury or pain or all three at once—and the silence stretches between them while he processes what she’s admitted.
“You entered the west wing,” the Duke finally says, his voice dangerously quiet. “The one place I explicitly forbade anyone to go. The one boundary I asked you to respect.”
“Yes,” Emmy confirms, refusing to make excuses. “I violated your boundary. I trespassed in spaces you’ve kept locked for five years. And I’m sorry for the trespass but I’m not sorry for what I learned because now I understand why you’re so terrified of caring about me.”
“You had no right—” the Duke begins, his anger visible now.
“I know,” Emmy interrupts. “I know I had no right. I know you’ll be furious. But Sebastian, you’ve been living with this grief locked away for five years, refusing to confront it, refusing to let anyone help you process it, and it’s destroying you. It’s destroying our marriage. And I couldn’t just keep watching you suffer without understanding why.”
The Duke’s hands clench into fists at his sides, and Emmy braces for him to shout or throw her out or retreat even further behind his walls—but instead he just stands there looking devastated and furious and broken in ways Emmy has never seen from him.
“You saw the nursery,” the Duke says, and his voice has gone rough with emotion. “Thomas’s room. The cradle where he was supposed to sleep. The clothes he never wore.”
“I saw it,” Emmy confirms gently. “I saw what you prepared for him. How much you wanted him. How carefully you planned for him to arrive.”
“And then he died,” the Duke says flatly. “After one hour. Just stopped breathing while I held him. Made these tiny gasping sounds and then nothing. Just silence.”
Emmy’s chest aches at the raw pain in his voice, at this glimpse of the Duke’s devastation laid bare instead of carefully hidden.
“I’m so sorry,” Emmy says, moving closer despite his obvious distress. “I’m so sorry you lost him. Lost them both. That’s a tragedy no one should have to survive.”
“I didn’t survive it,” the Duke says, echoing Mrs. Winters’ earlier words. “Not really. Part of me died with them on Christmas. What’s left is just… functioning. Going through motions. Maintaining distance so nothing can hurt me that badly again.”
“But it’s not working,” Emmy argues gently. “You’re not protecting yourself from pain. You’re just prolonging it. Keeping it locked in that west wing where it festers instead of healing.”
The Duke is quiet for a long moment, and Emmy watches multiple emotions flash across his usually controlled expression—anger at her trespass, grief over Caroline and Thomas, fear about what Emmy’s understanding might mean.
“You had no right to go there,” the Duke says again, but there’s less heat in his voice than before. “Those are my private chambers. My private grief. You violated that.”
“I did,” Emmy agrees. “And I’m genuinely sorry for the violation. But I’m not sorry for understanding now. For knowing what you lost. For seeing Caroline’s portrait and understanding that she wasn’t my rival—she’s just a woman you loved who died tragically young.”
The Duke stares at Emmy like she’s said something incomprehensible, and she sees something shift in his expression—surprise or relief or maybe just the beginning of understanding that Emmy isn’t jealous of Caroline, just sympathetic to what the Duke suffered.
“You’re not jealous of her?” the Duke asks, clearly confused by this reaction.
“How can I be jealous of a tragedy?” Emmy responds. “She died giving birth to your son. That’s not something to be jealous of. That’s something to mourn.”
The Duke’s careful control cracks completely at those words, and Emmy watches him crumble—shoulders sagging, face twisting with emotion, the first genuine tears she’s ever seen from him sliding down his scarred cheeks.
“I killed them,” the Duke says, his voice breaking. “I wanted an heir desperately enough to risk Caroline’s life and she died trying to give me what I wanted and that’s my fault. My responsibility. My devastating mistake that I can’t undo no matter how much I wish I could.”
Emmy crosses the remaining distance between them and reaches for the Duke despite his obvious distress, and when her arms wrap around him he doesn’t pull away—just stands there rigid and shaking while Emmy holds him through grief he’s been containing for five years.
“You didn’t kill them,” Emmy says firmly. “Caroline chose to get pregnant. She chose to try for an heir. That was her decision based on love for you, not something you forced on her.”
“The doctors warned us,” the Duke argues into Emmy’s shoulder. “They said pregnancy might be dangerous for her. That she was delicate, prone to illness, might not survive childbirth. And I let her try anyway because I wanted a son. That’s murder, Emmy. Knowing the risks and letting her take them anyway.”
“That’s love,” Emmy corrects. “And trust. And Caroline making her own choice about what risks she was willing to take. You didn’t murder her. Tragedy happened. There’s a difference.”
The Duke pulls back enough to look at Emmy with red-rimmed eyes, and she sees something vulnerable and desperate in his expression.
“I can’t lose you too,” the Duke whispers. “I can’t go through that again. Watching someone I care about die because I wanted an heir. That’s why I can’t—why I won’t attempt to get you pregnant even though that’s the entire point of our marriage. Because risking your life for my heir feels like repeating the same devastating mistake.”
“I’m not Caroline,” Emmy says for what feels like the hundredth time. “I’m not delicate or prone to illness. I’m strong and healthy and the doctors have never warned me about pregnancy risks. Treating me like I’m fragile dishonors both me and Caroline’s memory.”
The Duke is quiet, clearly processing this, and Emmy takes advantage of his momentary vulnerability to press further.
“Do you want to see the west wing again?” Emmy asks gently. “Actually confront your grief instead of just keeping it locked away?”
“No,” the Duke says immediately, stepping back and creating distance again. “I can’t go in there. I haven’t been able to since I locked it five years ago. Just thinking about entering those rooms makes me feel like I’m suffocating.”
“Then maybe it’s time to try,” Emmy suggests. “Maybe avoiding the west wing is like avoiding everything else—it feels safer but it’s actually just keeping you trapped.”
The Duke looks at Emmy with an expression that’s half terrified and half tempted, and she sees him struggling with whether he’s brave enough to actually confront what he’s been avoiding.
“Not tonight,” the Duke says finally. “I can’t—I’m not ready to see those rooms again. Not yet.”
“But someday?” Emmy presses. “Eventually you’ll try?”
“Maybe,” the Duke concedes. “If you’ll go with me. If I don’t have to face it alone.”
“Of course I’ll go with you,” Emmy promises. “Whenever you’re ready. However long it takes.”
They’re quiet for a moment—the Duke recovering from his emotional breakdown, Emmy giving him space to process—and when he finally speaks again his voice is steadier but still rough with recent tears.
“I’m sorry,” the Duke says. “For avoiding you after we kissed. For retreating when you needed me to be present. For being so completely terrible at this marriage that you felt you had to violate my boundaries just to understand what’s wrong with me.”
“You’re not terrible,” Emmy argues. “You’re damaged. There’s a difference. And I understand now why you’re terrified. Why you can’t bring yourself to risk caring about me. Why consummating our marriage feels impossible when it means potentially repeating Caroline’s tragedy.”
“Understanding doesn’t fix it though,” the Duke points out. “Understanding doesn’t make me less terrified or more capable of actually being a husband instead of just avoiding anything that might hurt.”
“No,” Emmy agrees. “But it makes me more patient. More willing to wait while you figure out how to move forward. More sympathetic to why you keep retreating even when you don’t want to.”
The Duke looks at her with something that might be gratitude beneath the lingering pain, and Emmy sees the exact moment he stops fighting whatever he’s been resisting.
“Come here,” the Duke says quietly, opening his arms in clear invitation.
Emmy doesn’t hesitate—just moves into his embrace while the Duke’s arms wrap around her with surprising strength, holding her close in a way he hasn’t since the kiss in the carriage, and she lets him hold her while they both breathe through the emotional exhaustion of this impossible conversation.
“I care about you,” the Duke says into Emmy’s hair. “More than I should. More than is safe. And it terrifies me. But Emmy—I’m going to try. I’m going to try to be present instead of distant. To confront my grief instead of avoiding it. To build something real with you instead of just maintaining our arrangement from a safe distance.”
“That’s all I’m asking,” Emmy responds. “Just try. However slowly. However many steps backward follow steps forward. Just keep trying.”
“I will,” the Duke promises. “Starting now. Starting with actually talking to you instead of avoiding difficult conversations.”
They stand like that for several long minutes—just holding each other in the Duke’s study while Emmy processes everything she learned today and the Duke processes Emmy’s unexpected reaction to discovering his greatest tragedy—and when they finally separate Emmy sees something different in the Duke’s expression, something less empty and more hopeful.
“Tell me about Caroline,” Emmy requests. “Not just how she died. Who she was. What you loved about her. I want to know her as a person instead of just a ghost haunting our marriage.”
The Duke looks surprised by this request, and Emmy sees him struggling with whether he can talk about Caroline without falling apart completely.
“She was kind,” the Duke says finally, settling into his desk chair and gesturing for Emmy to take the opposite seat. “That was the first thing I noticed about her. Not her beauty or her refinement, though she had both. But the way she treated everyone with the same gentle consideration. Made people feel valued just by speaking with them.”
Emmy listens while the Duke talks about Caroline—really talks, sharing memories and stories and small details that paint a picture of someone genuinely good instead of just perfect—and she realizes something important: the Duke isn’t keeping Caroline’s memory alive to avoid Emmy, he’s just never had anyone willing to listen while he processed his grief.
“She sounds wonderful,” Emmy says when the Duke finishes describing how Caroline loved Christmas decorations and spent weeks every year making Ashford Hall festive. “I wish I could have met her.”
“She would have liked you,” the Duke says with surprising certainty. “She always said I needed someone stubborn enough to challenge me instead of just agreeing with everything I said. You would have made her laugh.”
“Good,” Emmy responds. “Then maybe you can stop feeling like loving me betrays her memory. Because if she would have liked me, surely she’d want you to move forward instead of staying frozen in grief.”
The Duke’s expression shifts to something complicated—recognition or relief or maybe just the beginning of permission to let go of guilt he’s been carrying for five years.
“She told me to be happy,” the Duke recalls. “Right before she died. She said ‘Sebastian, promise me you’ll be happy after I’m gone.’ And I promised because she was dying and I would have promised her anything. But I never thought actually being happy was possible. Until recently.”
“Until me?” Emmy asks hopefully.
“Until you,” the Duke confirms. “You make me feel things I thought were dead. Hope. Desire. The possibility that maybe life can be good again even after tragedy. It’s terrifying but it’s also… it’s good, Emmy. You’re good.”
Emmy’s chest aches with something that might be love—actual love for this impossible damaged man who’s trying so hard to move past his grief—and she reaches across the desk to take his hand.
“We’re going to be okay,” Emmy says with more confidence than she feels. “It won’t be easy. You’ll probably retreat again when things get difficult. But we’ll figure it out together. However long it takes.”
“However long it takes,” the Duke agrees, squeezing Emmy’s hand. “Thank you. For understanding. For not being jealous of Caroline. For giving me permission to remember her while still building something new with you.”
“Always,” Emmy promises. “You don’t have to choose between remembering Caroline and loving me. You can do both.”
The Duke looks at her with an expression that’s less guarded than Emmy has ever seen, and she sees actual hope in his ice-blue eyes instead of just carefully managed emptiness.
They talk for hours after that—about Caroline and Thomas, about the Duke’s grief and fear, about Emmy’s own losses and how she learned to keep living after her mother died—and by the time Emmy finally leaves the Duke’s study to return to her chambers it’s well past midnight and she’s emotionally exhausted but also more hopeful about their marriage than she’s been in weeks.
Because the Duke talked to her.
Really talked instead of just giving practiced responses.
Shared his grief instead of locking it away.
Admitted he’s terrified but willing to try.
That’s everything Emmy has been wanting.
And maybe—just maybe—her trespass into the forbidden wing will turn out to be exactly what they needed to move forward.
However imperfect.
However much work remains.
However many difficult conversations and backward steps await them.
They’re trying.
Together.
And that has to be enough for now.
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