The Duke’s Saving Grace~A Regency Romance by Rose Pearson

Author:Rose Pearson [Pearson, Rose]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Landon Hill Media
Published: 2019-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

Just how long Deborah wept for, she could not say. Once the tears had begun to flood down her cheeks, it was as though a dam had opened within her, for they simply would not stop. Her pain and agony grew so great that she could only draw in ragged breaths, her shoulders shaking and her body racked with sobs.

“Miss Harland.”

The Duke’s voice was tight and strained but Deborah did not look up.

“Miss Harland,” he said again, the anger no longer filling his words. “Miss Harland, I…..” He trailed off, leaving Deborah to her tears.

She cried for so many things. She cried for Lord Abernathy, for what he had endured and the darkness that had so easily welcomed him back into its fold. She cried for Lady Markham and for her solitude and her despair that had, once again, been flung back into her lap. And, she cried for herself, for the pain and the sorrow that tormented her ceaselessly. She wept for the depth of emotion that she had for Lord Abernathy, for the way that he had turned from her and treated her so harshly without so much as a thought. Her tears were for the deep affection – the love – she had for him that would forever go unreturned. They were constant, falling onto her cheeks like a spring rain until she felt as though she had emptied herself completely.

“Miss Harland – Deborah….”

At the sound of her name, she looked up to see Lord Abernathy staring at her with such a stricken expression on his face that, for a moment, she did not quite know how to respond.

“Deborah, I – I did not mean to….” His words were stilted and sounded forced. He thrust one hand through his hair and groaned aloud, pushing his head back until he was looking up at the ceiling. Deborah pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes, sniffing indelicately as she attempted to regain control of herself.

“I did not mean to distress you,” Lord Abernathy said, his voice tight as his gaze drifted away from her. “After what Lady Cavendish did, I find myself more than a little angry at her behavior.”

“And so you decide to rail at your dear sister, who has fretted and worried about you almost every moment since you first returned from the war?” Deborah asked, hoarsely. “Your anger has overtaken you. Did you even realize that I was knocked to the ground by your furious entrance into the house?” She looked at him steadily and, even with the cloudiness of his injured eye, she saw the guilt in his expression. Her heart felt as though it had been ripped from her chest and flung at her, hard.

“Forgive me,” Lord Abernathy whispered, brokenly, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees and pushing his head into his hands, so that he did not have to look at her.

Deborah wiped her eyes again and shook her head. “You think that just because

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