The Duke’s Shotgun Wedding(25)

Sebastian glanced at his brother with blank eyes. “I will not discuss this further, Anthony.”

“Well, then,” Anthony murmured, stuck his hand in his trouser pocket, and bounced on his toes a couple of times. The seconds drew out until he said, “So, I see Jocelyn has been busy decorating for the festive season. The place fairly glows.”

“I noticed,” Sebastian clipped out as he rolled down his sleeves and reached for his riding jacket. “Let’s visit the stables. Further talk of Jocelyn’s avowal and our mother are off limits.”

He ignored his brother’s taunting chuckle as they strode outside into the bracing cold. He hoped the cold would help harden him against the rush of emotions he had been feeling since Jocelyn’s heartfelt declaration.

He had not let himself be open to love for years. Not since Marissa’s perfidy. Sweet words and coyly delivered promises of love sickened him.

As he stalked toward the stables, he thought about how his wife had declared herself. There had been nothing sweet, or shy, or remotely coy about it.

His duchess had been bold and unflinching, true to her temperament.

And he had been a complete bastard.

…

June 19th 1864

Today is Sebastian’s twelfth birthday celebration. I have been ordered to not be there. I deeply wish I could, but I know that Clement will execute his threat to banish me from Sherring Cross if I do not adhere to his demands. There are times I think banishment would be preferable to the cold silence I must endure. I have tried in so many ways to connect with my beautiful boy but he only stares at me with hatred. How I wish I could hug him to me, and tell him how much I love him, and how proud I am of him. My heart shattered as I—

Sebastian closed the journal softly and leaned back in the sofa, his heart squeezing.

After deeply contemplating Anthony’s stance on how Sebastian treated his duchess and their mother, he had approached reading the rest of his mother’s diaries with a calm stoicism he had not expected himself to possess.

Slowly, as he’d read the heart-wrenching words of his young mother, his hatred had tempered and his condemnation thawed. Some semblance of regret had sliced through him, deep and painful. He’d then felt consumed with the need to learn everything about her. Hours passed as he absorbed her words, the crackling of the fire the only sound in the library.

It was through the lines of her diaries, absorbing the passion, the love, the unending need and warmth she derived from her lover, which caused the first pulse of need for more in his life to flare within Sebastian. He had been utterly shocked to realize that he was lonely. He realized how cold and withdrawn he was from everything around him, especially from Jocelyn. He had shuttered himself away from his wife in the same manner his father had done with his mother, and yet, Jocelyn deserved none of his anger.

He was grateful for the small measure of peace he found from the hurt and betrayals of his childhood. He understood some of the pain she’d had to endure being kept away from him. He had always thought she’d chosen to stay away, being too consumed with her lover. But it had been his father’s way of punishing her for her unfaithfulness. Had he known he was punishing Sebastian, as well?

He glanced down at the volume gripped in his hand. She’d written that she loved him wholeheartedly. Her accounts of his many accomplishments and her overwhelming pride in him were unmistakable, even to his biased eyes.

He had six more journals to read. He knew Jocelyn needed to understand his refusal to have his mother at Sherring Cross, and he would explain. But Sebastian still doubted he could have his mother’s presence in his home so soon. He understood her need for her lover, but he still had not forgiven her for it.

His mind shifted to Jocelyn, and his heart became quiet. He thought about the words his duchess had so passionately declared, and an ache settled deep inside him. He could imagine what his silence and coldness must have done to her. He could not escape the knowledge that the past few weeks with her had been the most blissful time of his life.

She loved him. But did he love her? He still doubted he had the capacity to accept and give love. Love was something he had banished from his life years ago out of necessity, but she made him yearn to be loved. That passion his mother wrote about. The need to share, to be comforted, and the joys that are found in laughter. He found it all in Jocelyn. The days of silence had been hell, and he admired the strength it had taken for her to admit that she loved him. The ache in his chest was almost unbearable.

He had the urge to go to her and explain his actions, but he repressed the feelings for now. He himself did not fully understand. He had much to atone for with his duchess, but allowing his mother to visit so soon, Sebastian could not grant her. His wound felt too raw. She would have to allow him to reconcile in his own time. His headstrong duchess would have to concede to his wishes on this, at least.