Updated Apr 18, 2026 • ~12 min read
Chapter 23: The Confession (his)
Emmeline
Three days after Cordelia’s exile from London and the final resolution of threats to their marriage, the Duke surprises Emmy by requesting she join him for a walk in the private gardens behind their townhouse—a rare request since the Duke typically avoids leisurely activities in favor of working constantly—and Emmy agrees with growing curiosity about what has prompted this unusual invitation.
The gardens are beautiful in late June—roses blooming everywhere, warm sunshine filtering through carefully maintained trees, the kind of peaceful private space that feels worlds away from London’s constant noise and crowds—and when the Duke takes Emmy’s hand to lead her toward a secluded bench near the fountain Emmy senses this walk is about more than just enjoying pleasant weather.
“I need to tell you everything,” the Duke says once they’re settled on the bench with enough privacy to speak without being overheard. “About Caroline. About why I was so completely destroyed when she died. About the guilt and fear that have been controlling me for five years. You deserve to understand fully why I made our marriage so difficult.”
Emmy squeezes his hand encouragingly because the Duke talking voluntarily about his past is still new enough to feel significant, and she wants to encourage whatever vulnerability he’s willing to share.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to share,” Emmy says gently. “I know enough to understand why you were afraid.”
“But you don’t know everything,” the Duke argues. “And I want you to. I want there to be no secrets between us. No walls. Just complete honesty about who I was before Caroline and who I became after losing her.”
He takes a breath and begins speaking with clear determination to share everything even when it’s painful.
“I met Caroline at a country party,” the Duke says, staring at the fountain instead of at Emmy like making eye contact would be too difficult for this confession. “Two years after Cordelia broke our engagement. I was still damaged from war and from that public humiliation. Still barely functioning in society. Caroline was there with her parents—quiet, kind, completely uninterested in London’s marriage market. We started talking about books. Just books. Nothing romantic or intense. Just… easy conversation about literature.”
Emmy stays quiet and lets him continue, recognizing this is important—understanding how he fell in love before so she can understand how he’s falling in love now.
“She didn’t flinch from my scars,” the Duke continues. “That was the first thing I noticed. Everyone else either stared or deliberately avoided looking. But Caroline just looked at my face like it was normal. Like I was normal instead of damaged. And we kept talking—at that party and then through letters afterward—and I realized I was falling for her without any of the performance or pretense that made my engagement to Cordelia so exhausting.”
“She sounds wonderful,” Emmy observes honestly. “Like exactly what you needed after Cordelia’s cruelty.”
“She was perfect for me at that time,” the Duke agrees. “Gentle where I was harsh. Patient where I was impatient. Kind where I’d become cynical. She made me believe I could be happy again after thinking happiness was impossible for someone as damaged as I’d become.”
“Did you love her immediately?” Emmy asks. “Or did it grow over time?”
“It grew,” the Duke says with slight smile at the memory. “She wasn’t love at first sight. She was comfort that became affection that eventually became love. We courted for a year before I proposed—I wanted to be certain we were compatible, that she could tolerate living with my scars and trauma. When she said yes, I thought I’d been given a second chance at the happiness Cordelia destroyed.”
Emmy’s chest aches hearing the Duke talk about his first wife with such obvious love, and she struggles briefly with jealousy before reminding herself that Caroline is gone and Emmy is here and there’s room for both in the Duke’s heart.
“We married quietly,” the Duke continues. “Nothing like Cordelia’s planned spectacle. Just family and close friends. And for three years we were happy. Actually genuinely happy. Caroline made Ashford Hall feel warm instead of cold. Made me laugh instead of just going through motions. Made me believe I deserved good things despite everything that had happened.”
“And then she got pregnant,” Emmy prompts gently when the Duke’s narrative stalls.
“And then she got pregnant,” the Duke confirms, his voice going tight with pain. “I was overjoyed. Caroline was more cautious—she’d always been delicate, prone to illness—but she wanted to give me an heir desperately enough to push through her fears. The doctors warned us it might be dangerous. That her constitution wasn’t robust enough for easy childbirth. But we were careful. Engaged the best physicians. Monitored everything closely. I thought if I was careful enough, I could keep her safe.”
He stops and Emmy sees him struggling with the next part of his confession—the part where everything went wrong despite his careful management.
“She went into labor three weeks early,” the Duke says, his voice breaking slightly. “Christmas Eve afternoon. I was reviewing estate business when her maid came running to tell me something was wrong. By the time I reached her chambers she was already in terrible pain. Screaming. Begging me to make it stop. And the doctors couldn’t do anything except try to manage the delivery and hope both she and the baby survived.”
Emmy’s eyes are burning with tears at imagining the Duke’s terror watching Caroline suffer, and she holds his hand tighter while he forces himself through the devastating narrative.
“I stayed with her,” the Duke continues. “The doctors suggested I wait elsewhere but I refused to leave her alone while she was suffering. So I sat beside her bed for hours while she screamed and bled and slowly died giving birth to our son. And there was nothing I could do. All my wealth and power and desperate pleading—none of it mattered. I was completely helpless watching the woman I loved die because I wanted an heir badly enough to risk her life.”
“You didn’t kill her,” Emmy argues gently. “She chose to get pregnant. The doctors warned you both about risks but she chose to try anyway. That’s not your fault.”
“Rationally I know that,” the Duke admits. “But emotionally—Emmy, I watched her die for hours. Watched her suffer because of choices I made. And when Thomas was finally born and she got to hold him for just a few minutes before she died, her last words to me were ‘be happy.’ She was dying because of me and her final thought was making me promise to find happiness after she was gone.”
The Duke is crying now—silent tears streaming down his scarred face while Emmy holds him through grief he’s been carrying for five years—and she just sits there letting him express everything he’s kept locked away.
“Then Thomas died,” the Duke continues through tears. “Early Christmas morning. After one hour of struggling to breathe. I held him while he died just like I held Caroline. And I realized I’d lost everything—my wife, my son, my hope for future—all because I wanted an heir desperately enough to risk people I loved. That’s why I couldn’t try again with you. Why pregnancy terrified me. Why I kept you at distance. Because risking you meant potentially creating another Christmas Eve where I watched someone I love die because of my choices.”
Emmy’s heart is breaking at understanding the full depth of what the Duke has been carrying, and she pulls him closer while they both cry in the garden where no one can see them being vulnerable.
“I’m so sorry,” Emmy says when she can speak. “I’m so sorry you went through that. No one should have to survive losing their family like that.”
“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… someone who learned to function despite being fundamentally broken inside. And then you appeared—furious and desperate and so completely alive—and you made me want to try living again instead of just functioning. You made me believe maybe Caroline was right about being happy after devastating loss.”
“I love you,” Emmy says, because those are the only words that feel adequate for this moment. “I love you completely. Your past and your scars and your grief and all the things that make you who you are. You’re not broken, Sebastian. You’re just someone who survived tragedy. There’s a difference.”
“You make me believe that,” the Duke responds. “You make me believe I can be more than my worst day. That I can build new happiness without betraying the memory of old happiness. That loving you doesn’t mean forgetting Caroline—it just means finally honoring her request that I be happy.”
He turns to face Emmy fully, and she sees something in his expression that’s completely unguarded—love and gratitude and vulnerability all mixed together.
“I realized something important these past few days,” the Duke says. “While we were fighting Cordelia’s annulment and facing the possibility of losing each other. I realized that I fell for Caroline gradually—comfort becoming affection becoming love over months of patient courtship. But I fell for you desperately—fighting it every step, terrified of wanting you, completely unable to stop myself from caring despite all my walls. That’s different. Special. Something I’ve never experienced before.”
Emmy’s breath catches at this admission, and she sees the Duke struggling to find words for what he’s trying to express.
“I loved Caroline deeply,” the Duke continues. “But it was safe love. Expected love. The kind of partnership everyone assumed we’d build. Loving you has been nothing safe. You’ve challenged every wall I built. Forced me to confront grief I was avoiding. Made me want things I thought were impossible. That’s terrifying but it’s also—it’s more real than anything I felt before. More necessary. More completely consuming.”
“Are you saying you love me more than you loved Caroline?” Emmy asks carefully, because that seems impossible and also slightly inappropriate.
“I’m saying I love you differently,” the Duke clarifies. “Caroline was my past. The life I thought I wanted. The happiness I built before tragedy destroyed it. You’re my future. The life I’m choosing to build despite knowing it could be destroyed. The happiness I’m risking everything to create. That’s not more or less than Caroline. It’s just… different. And equally important.”
Emmy doesn’t know what to say to that confession except to kiss him—pouring all her love and understanding and gratitude into the kiss—and when they finally separate the Duke is looking at her with an expression of complete openness.
“Thank you,” the Duke says. “For listening to all of that. For not being jealous of Caroline. For understanding that I can love her memory while loving you completely. For being patient while I figured out how to move forward instead of staying frozen in grief.”
“Always,” Emmy promises. “You don’t have to choose between remembering Caroline and loving me. There’s room for both.”
They sit in the garden for another hour—talking about Caroline and Thomas, about the Duke’s grief and recovery, about how meeting Emmy changed everything—and by the time they finally return to the house Emmy feels like she understands her husband completely instead of just partially.
He’s not cold.
He’s not broken.
He’s just someone who survived devastating loss and built walls to protect himself from experiencing that pain again.
And Emmy’s patient stubborn refusal to accept those walls has slowly dismantled them—brick by careful brick—until the Duke finally felt safe enough to be vulnerable again.
That night when they’re preparing for bed, the Duke surprises Emmy by pulling out a small velvet box she’s never seen before.
“I should have given you this when we married,” the Duke says, opening the box to reveal a beautiful ring—sapphire surrounded by diamonds, clearly expensive and carefully chosen. “But I was too busy maintaining distance to think about romantic gestures. I’m giving it to you now. Not because courts require evidence of genuine marriage. Just because I want you to have something beautiful that represents how much you mean to me.”
Emmy’s eyes fill with tears as the Duke slides the ring onto her finger beside her simple wedding band, and when she looks up at him she sees love written clearly across his scarred face.
“It’s perfect,” Emmy says. “You’re perfect. This is perfect.”
“We’re perfect together,” the Duke corrects. “However imperfectly we got here. However many mistakes I made along the way. We’re building something real and lasting and worth everything it cost to create.”
Emmy agrees completely.
They are perfect together.
Despite everything.
Because of everything.
And she wouldn’t change a single moment of their difficult journey if it means ending up exactly here—loved and secure and finally truly married to the man who initially seemed impossible but turned out to be exactly what she needed.
Her cold distant duke.
Who’s not cold at all.
Just carefully protecting a heart that’s been broken before.
And is now finally healing.
With Emmy’s help.
One vulnerable confession at a time.
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