The Duke's Unwanted Second Wife

Damian came to an abrupt halt as an old woman and a young girl stepped into his path.

”Young man, please,” the old lady pleaded, lifting a basket toward him. ”Buy these last few flowers so we may go home.”

Damian glanced down at the contents of the basket. The flowers were withered, browning at the edges.

”Sir, we only need a single sheel for all of them,” the girl added, her eyes wide and hopeful as she looked up at him.

Damian reached into his pockets, but found nothing. He realized with a jolt of annoyance that he had spent his last remaining coins on the hat he was currently wearing to mask his identity.

”Forgive me,” Damian said. ”But I have no money left with me.”

”Not even one sheel, sir?” the girl whispered, her hope flickering out.

He checked again, digging deeper into the seams of his merchant’s coat until his nail caught on a cold, thin edge. He pulled it out a sheel. Without a second thought, he pressed the coin into the girl’s small palm.

As the old lady moved to hand him the basket, Damian shook his head and stepped back. ”Keep them. You can sell them to someone else.” He had no use for dying flowers.

”No, sir,” the young girl insisted, her pride as stubborn as her poverty. ”We cannot accept the coin as charity.”

Before he could protest, she reached forward and tucked the coin back into his pocket, holding out the basket with a firm, expectant gaze.

Recognizing that he wouldn’t win this battle of dignity, Damian sighed and took the basket from her. He handed the sheel back, his fingers lingering for a moment as he accepted the unwanted burden.

Clutching the basket of withered flowers, Damian reached the edge of the district where the city’s noise began to thin, finally spotting a lone carriage idling near a stone post.

After a brief exchange with the driver to provide the coordinates of his private residence, he stepped inside.

When the carriage eventually pulled up to the secluded gates of the cottage, the driver pulled the horses to a halt and looked back, expectantly waiting for his fare.

”Please give me one moment,” Damian said. ”I shall have my wife bring the payment out to you directly.”

”As you wish, sir,” the driver replied, settling back into his seat.

Damian stepped out and approached the iron gates. The guards straightened immediately and offered a disciplined bow.

”Inform the Duchess I have returned,” Damian murmured to the nearest guard, his voice a low, commanding thread. ”And tell her to bring a handful of coins for the driver. I am currently... empty-handed.”

One of the guards hurried toward the cottage, and moments later, Eilika appeared, a small silk pouch clutched in her hand. Without a word, she handed the coins to Damian, her eyes searching his for any sign of injury.

”Thank you,” he murmured. He strode back to the waiting carriage, settling the fare with a few quick coins. As the driver flicked the reins and the carriage rattled away, Damian returned to Eilika’s side.

”How are the children?” he asked.

”Resting at last,” Eilika replied softly. ”I saw to it that they were fed and tucked into bed. It has clearly been days since they had a decent meal, let alone a safe place to close their eyes.”

”You did well,” Damian said, falling into step with her as they walked toward the cottage.

Eilika’s gaze dropped to the object tucked under his arm, and a small smile tugged at her lips. ”And what is this? A basket of flowers? Don’t tell me the stern Duke bought these for me?” She let out a light chuckle, shaking her head. ”Don’t take it to heart, I’m only jesting.”

”Hardly,” Damian clarified, looking down at the brown-edged petals with a grimace. ”An old woman and her granddaughter were desperate to sell them. They are withered and useless, so I intended to discard them. I simply couldn’t find a way to refuse the girl’s face.”

”Don’t discard them,” Eilika said, gently lifting the basket from his arm. ”They aren’t entirely withered. Besides, those two must have worked so hard to pluck them; it would be a shame to let that effort go to waste.”

”As you wish,” Damian replied, his expression softening as he watched her handle the dying blooms with such care. ”Do with them whatever you find right.”

”Father! Mother!”

The high-pitched, joyful voice of Roman broke the evening’s quiet. The young boy came sprinting toward them from the left. A breathless maid trailed behind him, clutching her skirts and gasping for air as Roman skidded to a halt in front of the Duke.

”Roman, look at your clothes! You’ve completely ruined them,” Eilika exclaimed, immediately dropping to her knees. She began dusting the loose soil from his fine linen shirt and his flushed cheeks.

”I fell,” Roman announced proudly, squeezing his eyes shut as Eilika used her thumb to wipe a smudge of dirt from his nose.

”What? Are you hurt?” Eilika’s voice spiked with maternal alarm. She began a frantic inspection of his elbows and knees, her brow furrowed in deep concern.

”No, I didn’t, Mother,” Roman chirped, and with a sudden, impulsive burst of affection, he leaned in and pressed a messy kiss to her cheek. He immediately retreated, hiding his giggles behind his tiny hands.

Damian stood frozen. He was struck by the sight of his son was practically blooming under Eilika’s care, a transformation that felt both miraculous and convicting.

For the second time, a guilt pierced his chest. A woman as selfless and vibrant as Eilika didn’t deserve a man as cold and shadowed as himself.

He had placed the entire weight of Roman’s upbringing on her shoulders, almost forgetting the complexity of their situation. Roman was the child of his beloved first wife, yet Eilika treated him with a devotion.

’Does it truly not bother her that Roman isn’t hers?’ he wondered. He recalled the countless marriage proposals he had received before her, noblewomen who had looked at Roman as an obstacle, demanding he be sent away to a distant boarding school for his ’education’. Eilika had done the exact opposite; she had pulled the boy closer to both of them.

”Damian? Where are you lost?”

Eilika’s voice broke through his reverie. She was looking up at him, her fingers flicking playfully in front of his eyes to snap him back to the present. She was smiling, her cheek still faintly smudged from Roman’s dusty kiss, looking every bit the heart of the home he hadn’t realized he was building.