The Duke’s Twin Lust by Lorena Owen

Chapter Thirty-Two

Amelia expected Mary to decline her request, perhaps tell her that Christiana was too weak to entertain her. But Mary only nodded and pushed the door open.

Amelia stared at the old maid, wondering about her leniency. But Mary merely had a half-smile on her lips, a smile that hinted at deeper things.

A small cough came from inside the room, and Amelia’s attention was drawn towards the woman on the bed. She took in a deep breath before she entered. She thought Mary would leave them to speak alone, but Mary did nothing of the sort. Instead, she walked into the room, leaving the door half-open.

Amelia could almost not recognise the frail, weak woman on the bed as the woman who had forced her into taking her own name. Christiana had coughed a lot back at the inn, but right now, it seemed to be all she was capable of doing. Her handkerchief appeared to be soaked in blood, and Amelia felt a twinge of pity as she saw how Christiana’s entire body shook every time she coughed.

Christiana sat up slowly when she saw her. Each movement she made seemed to require a massive amount of effort, as reflected by the pain in her sunken eyes. “Amelia,” Christiana said with a small cough. “We meet again.”

“Christiana,” Amelia said. She had been terrified of the lady back at the inn, but right now, she realised she did not feel even a shred of fear.

“Word has it you have taken my place as Lady Gillingham. I would curtsey, you know, but I’m rather ill.”

Amelia raised her brows. It seemed Christiana was adept at japes no matter the situation.

“When I sent a common wench to take my place as the duchess of this manor, I was not aware I instructed the girl to make my husband fall in love with her,” Christiana said, her eyes boring into Amelia’s.

Amelia did not break their eye contact. “You shouldn’t have coerced me into being your puppet,” she said.

For a moment, Christiana’s eyes filled with sorrow. “No, I shouldn’t have,” she said. But the next moment, the emotion disappeared, and Amelia was left wondering if she had imagined it. “I left my husband to tinker around with my lover, and I had no idea my lover was a soulless, evil person. I also had no idea that my husband’s tastes were so poor he would find you a decent enough person to take as a wife in truth.”

Amelia stared at Christiana, wondering how a person could be so cruel. For Christiana, it did not matter that she had betrayed the duke or almost ruined Amelia’s life. All that mattered to Christiana was the pain she’d suffered as a direct consequence of her actions.

“This is all your fault,” Amelia said, her entire body pounding with anger. “You wanted me to impersonate you so you could head off with Bruce. You have no right to blame either Ernest or me.”

Christiana stared at Amelia, a very ugly look on her face. “How dare you?” she suddenly screamed. “I will not suffer being insulted by a common harlot.”

A sudden whimper came from behind Amelia. Turning around, she saw Mary was trembling as she watched the two women, her eyes filled with tears.

Before Amelia could say something to calm the old maid, Christiana resumed talking. “Ernest has bedded you, has he not?”

“That is none of your business,” Amelia said shortly.

Christiana gave a tinkering laugh. “I’m certain he has. You whored your lowly self out to him, and he was fool enough to take you. You are quite eager to take my place as Lady Gillingham, aren’t you?” Christiana had a foul smile on her face now. “I should inform you, however, that will never happen. Dukes never wed foul commoners who infiltrate their lives as imposters.”

For the first time, Amelia was truly beginning to understand the sharpness of Christiana’s tongue. However, she was not the least bit surprised, and none of Christiana’s words had any effect on her. Christiana was merely a hurt woman who had made disastrous choices and was now paying for them.

And, as much as Amelia wanted to hate Christiana, all she felt was pity.

“Christiana,” she said. “I understand why you feel hurt, pain, anger. But you started this all on your own. I didn’t mean to fall in love with this place and Ernest. But now, this manor has become my home in a way that you will never truly know. I do not know whether Ernest will choose to live in separate houses, but while I’m here, I wish to forgive you.”

Christiana looked as shocked as Amelia had ever seen her. She stared at Amelia for a few minutes, her mouth open wide, her coughing seized. Amelia looked to Mary for help. Mary’s eyes were now free of tears, but she seemed equally shocked by Amelia’s words.

“You horrible wench!” Christiana suddenly screamed.

Amelia barely had time to turn around before she felt a sharp sting on her cheek. She took hasty steps backwards, her palm against her cheek. Christiana had charged at her and slapped her. The slap seemed to have taken all of her strength, for she was now on the floor, coughing into her napkin.

Still, Christiana managed to look up at Amelia with venom and say, “I would rather die than watch you lord over this manor with my husband. It will never happen!”

And, before Amelia could think of anything to say in response, Mary suddenly said, her voice higher than normal. “Stop it, my ladies. Please stop.”

Shocked, Amelia turned to the maid. “Mary,” she whispered. She had never heard the old woman raise her voice.

Mary looked as though Christiana had slapped her. The tears were back in her eyes now, and she was rocking back and forth on her feet. “I can’t take this anymore,” she whispered, apparently more to herself than to the two women. “I just can’t.”

“What’s wrong, Mary?” Amelia said, going over to Mary and putting her arm around her. She was aware of Christiana rising to her feet and stumbling to her bed, still coughing, apparently unconcerned about her maid.

Mary said nothing. She shook her head, her tears flowing fast and free.

Amelia was confused. What exactly was happening?

She turned to Christiana for help, but Christiana was turned away, coughing deeply. Amelia could see bits of red tissue on her handkerchief. She turned back to Mary, wanting to ask if there was something she could do to help either of them, but just then, Mary spoke.

“I’ve been holding on this secret for several years,” Mary said. “I just cannot anymore.”

That seemed to grab Christiana’s attention. “What secret?” she said, in between coughs.

Mary took a deep breath. Stepping away from Amelia, she turned to face Christiana squarely. “You’re wrong, my lady.”

The words seemed to have shocked Christiana more than any apology. “What did you just say?” she asked.

Mary’s gaze did not falter. “You’re wrong. Amelia isn’t the only commoner amongst you. If she is lowborn, you are as well.”

Amelia was getting more confused by the minute. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“The both of you,” Mary said, now gazing at Amelia, “are sisters.”

Amelia felt a large rock drop into her stomach.

“That can’t be,” Christiana said, echoing Amelia’s very thoughts.

“I assure you it is true,” Mary said. “I was there the night your birth mother handed you over, Christiana, to Lady Burlington. Lady Burlington had given birth to a stillborn child that night. She had been scared of Lord Burlington’s anger, and I told her of a common woman I knew who had just given birth to twins in a place not far from the castle.”

“No,” Amelia whispered. She had known her mother. Her mother had loved her more deeply than even Amelia could fathom. There was no way her mother would hand over one of her children to a highborn lady.

She said as much to Mary, refusing to believe what the old maid said.

But Mary seemed to know all of this. “I know it is difficult to believe, but it is true. Your mother and father were good people, but one of the poorest families in the town. They did not have the means to raise two children by themselves. When Lady Burlington appeared to them, along with a huge sum of money, they saw no other way out. They accepted the money and moved to a place far away, the cottage you grew up in.”

Amelia felt her legs trembling. She had the urge to hold on to something, anything. Her entire world was crumbling in front of her. All along, her parents had been lying to her. She was a twin, to no other than the woman that had made her live a living hell.

“Lord Burlington found out about Christiana not being his child after a year,” Mary went on silently. “I believe that is why he has always been doubly hard on you, my lady.”

Amelia turned to look at Christiana. Tears were streaming down her face, and at that moment, she gave a small gasp, her shoulders and back falling backwards onto the bed, her eyes closing.

It took a moment for Amelia to realise Christiana had just fainted. Mary let out a strangled yell and ran to her mistress, and Amelia automatically turned towards the door, heading to look for help.

But before she even took a step, she stopped in her tracks.

Ernest had been at the door all the while.

When he saw her looking at him, he held out his arms. Amelia ran to him, burying her head against his chest as his arms closed around her. The tears came them, gushing out of her like a spring.

It was difficult to believe what she had just heard. For weeks, she had lived her life in fear, worrying about what Ernest would do if he found out she was only a commoner. When he had found out, she had started to worry about if she would ever be good enough for him, being a commoner.

But just then, she realised none of her worries had actually mattered. Christiana had been as much a commoner as Amelia all this time. In the grand scheme of things, it did not matter whether Amelia was a commoner or not. All that mattered was the kind of person she was, and that had been ultimately what had led her to Ernest.

* * *

The chamber was as silent as the grave, broken only by gut-wrenching coughs.

Lying on the bed was Lady Christiana Gillingham, holding a blood-soaked handkerchief, apparently drifting into unconsciousness. Surrounding her were the people who had known her well. Amelia turned around to look at each and every one of them. Mary, who was seated on the bed beside her, tears streaming from her cheeks; Ernest, the lady’s former husband, who stood with a frown on his face, his arm around Amelia; and Rebecca, who looked particularly resplendent in a velvety green gown, her eyes sorrowful as they looked down at Christiana.

The only other person in the room was an old physician. Mr Maxwell was holding a chart, his expression serious as he muttered words to himself, his eyes on his chart.

Amelia looked around, wondering how it was possible that a small chamber could hold the most important people a person had known. She knew Ernest had sent word to Lord Burlington about Christiana’s ill health from the moment they learned about Mary’s secret a week ago, but Lord Burlington’s reply had been short and terse: She’s not my daughter. Do not contact me again.

As for Bruce, Ernest was adamant about the rogue never setting foot into his manor again, but it was no matter; Bruce had not offered to come see Christiana.

And so, the only ones who deigned to visit with Christiana at the most crucial point in her life were four people, three of whom she had betrayed, manipulated, and insulted.

The physician looked up at Ernest. “Your Grace,” he said, breaking the silence.

Ernest opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, a tinkering laugh came from Christiana.

“He is my husband in nothing but name, good mister,” she said, still coughing. “Be kind and direct all your enquiries to me.”

The physician stared between them, obviously confused.

“Still, I know what you’re going to say,” Christiana continued. “I’m dying, aren’t I? I have been coughing up bits of my body for weeks. I won’t be long here.”

Mary suddenly gave a huge wail, her face in her palms as she began a fresh onslaught of tears.

Amelia felt her heart twist with pain and sadness. No matter what had happened between them, Christiana was her sister. She was the sister she had known she had only too late, when fate was ready to snatch her off this earth. She brushed her hands across her eyes, wiping away her tears before they fell.

“Mary,” Christiana said, a small smile on her lips as she took Mary’s hand. “You have been the best maid I could have ever had. I only hope you can find a better mistress after I’m gone, one to treat you like a person and not a stupid child.”

Mary did not say a word in reply, as she continued to cry.

“Rebecca,” Christiana suddenly called. “Mary tells me you have caught the eye of none other than Lord Dondarrion.”

“Your prophecy of me being a maid forever looks like it will not come to pass, after all,” Rebecca said. “Perhaps you should have a rethink about becoming a fortune-teller.” But, her words lacked the usual spite they did whenever she was referring to Christiana. She sounded sadder than Amelia would have thought.

To Amelia’s surprise, Christiana let out a dry spasm of laughter. “I’m going to miss you dearly, Rebecca,” Christiana said. “The moments I had sparring with you were the only interesting moments I could squeeze out of my time in this manor.”

Amelia felt her breath seize as Christiana’s gaze left Rebecca, wandering over to where Ernest and Amelia stood. But Christiana did not so much as look at her.

“Ernest,” Christiana said.

“Christiana,” Ernest replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

“I have given you many reasons to hate me,” Christiana said, her voice taking on an edge of sadness. “Perhaps if I tried a little bit more, none of this would be happening. But I would hope that I was never really meant to be your wife, and I have contributed instead in leading your true wife to you.”

With those words, Christiana’s eyes finally landed onto Amelia.

“Amelia,” she whispered, her voice fading. “Come here, please.”

Ernest gave an involuntary twitch, but Amelia ignored it, stepping out from under his arm. She could feel the whole room holding its breath as she went to Christiana and took a seat beside her on the bed, on the other side of Mary.

Christiana looked deep into her eyes. She was smiling, but Amelia could see the abject sorrow and fear in her eyes. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she said, “Thank you for your forgiveness.”

Amelia could not hold it back anymore. She started to cry almost as loudly as Mary. Even with everything Christiana had done, she wanted nothing more in that instant than to have more time with her, to get to know her sister a little bit better.

Sniffling, Amelia reached forward and took Christiana’s hand. Her hand was all skin and bone, as cold as ice. Amelia squeezed it softly. “Sister,” she whispered. The word felt strange on her lips.

“Sister,” Christiana repeated, smiling. “I hope you and Ernest have many happy lives together. I hope to watch the both of you expand your family with love from above.”

Amelia nodded, smiling, as she reached forward and enclosed Christiana in her arms. Christiana hugged her back, and Amelia felt equal warmth and grief explode in her stomach. Finally, they parted, and Amelia returned to Ernest’s side.

“It has been quite interesting, knowing you all,” Christiana said, her voice fading with each word.

She rested against her pillows, her eyes closed.

“Perhaps we should let her rest,” the physician said, and silently, everyone filed out of the room, Amelia and Ernest holding each other tightly.

Amelia turned back at the door to look at her sister. Her chest was rising and falling as she slept, and she wanted nothing more than to go to Christiana and lie by her side in that moment. But, with a gentle nudge from Ernest, she looked away and crossed the doorstep.

By morning, Lady Christiana Gillingham was dead.