His Defiant Amaryllis (Hinley Manor Book 2)

8: Bare

"Before you can be anything, you have to be yourself. That's the hardest thing to find."

-E.L Konigsburg
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They spent another hour in the village before finally making their way back to the hilltop and eventually to town.

Dante had moved ahead and prepared the horses but Damian insisted they would walk on their own and he can wait in the carriage, where the villagers cannot spot the Davensport sigil on it.

While his driver made his way towards the horses, Damian offered his arm to Lydia. "A walk, duchess?"

She snaked her arm around his and said, "It would be my pleasure, your grace."

They took about three steps when he spoke, "I believe I learned something new today."

"Indeed? What is it?" She asked.

"That there is joy in pretending." He replied.

Lydia's other hand clutched the flowers. They shook slightly but she forced out a smile. "Whatever could you mean?"

Damian turned to her, "Well, you see...look," he pointed around them, "look at all these people. None of them recognized us and yet, they all welcomed us warmly. I do not think I would have received such treatment had I identified myself. Even though I deceived them, I do not feel the guilt."

"They are an unexpected bunch, if I might say." She replied. "But you are not entirely deceiving them."

"I am not?"

She shook her head. "No, you merely did not introduce yourself."

He looked away and pondered on it. Lydia was thankful for the silence. Every time her husband would say something, she could not help but feel anxious. Part of her dreaded that he was remembering while the other half wished for the opposite.

They continued to walk until they left the crowded village.

Dante had turned the carriage around and a thin looking hand could be seen holding the door.

"You've finally decided to join us back, Peterson."

The servant bowed his head. "I apologize for the trouble, your grace."

Damian patted his shoulder and said, "How are you feeling?"

"Quite light-headed, your grace. And my back hurts."

Dante cleared his throat which made Peterson stiff. The young man gulped down. "I-I am fine, your grace. In fact, I have never been better." Then he stretched his lips into a thin smile. But it did not reach his eyes.

"Oh posh. Enough with that." Lydia interrupted. "I know you are hurt so do not pretend that you are not."

"Duchess, I-"

"Peterson is stronger than her looks, your grace." Dante said. "Nothing can ever hurt a healthy young man like him. It is no matter of yours to worry about."

Lydia turned to the driver. He was old but not senile. She guessed that he liked to boss the younger servants around. "Heathy or not, I know when a person is hurt. I am not insensitive."

"Beg your pardon, duchess. But his health ought not to trouble you. If he indeed hurt, we can send for the doctor."

"But it troubles me, to a great extent. I may be have been raised a lady but I am not heartless. Servants have feelings, too. You fall and you get hurt. Which is why as your duchess, I proclaim that is my duty to look after the people who serve my family. Like him." She pointed to the servant. "And Peterson did not simply hurt himself, in fact, he put his life in danger to save mine."