She Thought She Took My Place as the Duchess… But She Only Inherited My Nightmare

Chapter 4

Three days later, while she was still too weak to stand for long, Theodosia left Blackwood Estate.

She did not take a carriage. She did not tell anyone — not even the old housekeeper who would have tried to stop her, or warn her, or weep. She simply wrapped herself in a plain cloak, slipped out through the servants’ gate while the household was at supper, and walked the long road back to the cottage where she had grown up.

The cottage was small and warm and smelled of woodsmoke and bread. Her mother, Dorothea Fairmont, opened the door and for one frozen moment stared at her daughter as if seeing a ghost. Then Theodosia rushed into her arms and burst into tears — great, heaving sobs she had swallowed for years, everything pouring out of her at once.

“My daughter,” her mother breathed. “What happened?”

Her father hurried over from the fireplace, his face creased with alarm. For the first time in weeks, Theodosia felt safe. She believed she had finally reached the people who would hold her up, who would choose her, who would rage at the man who had hurt her.

Slowly, she rolled back the sleeves of her dress.

Dark bruises covered both arms. Fresh cuts crossed her wrists. Purple marks stained her shoulders, the fingerprints of a husband who gripped hard enough to leave a record.

Through trembling lips, she whispered, “He killed my baby.”

The room went silent.

Dorothea covered her mouth with both hands and began to sob. Theodosia thought — this is it, everything is going to change now, they are going to gather me up and take me somewhere safe.

Then her father asked, very quietly, “Did anyone see you come here?”

She could barely breathe. “I came because I need your help.”

Barnaby Fairmont looked down at his hands. His voice, when it came, was careful and low, the voice of a man who had been doing arithmetic in his head.

“If you leave the Duke, your brother loses his place at the Royal Noble Academy. Your sister will be expelled from the finishing school. The Duke will stop supporting this family. We will lose everything.”

Theodosia turned to her mother, searching her face for the rescue she still believed in.

Dorothea took her hands tightly and whispered through her tears, “My child, please endure just a little longer.”

Before Theodosia could answer, the front door opened. Her brother Leopold walked in and stood in the doorway, having heard every word. She looked at him hopefully. He was the one who had always teased her, always made her laugh, the one who had walked her down the aisle on her wedding day.

He walked toward her slowly. Then he knelt before her.

“Please,” he said. “Just until I graduate. Don’t destroy my future.”

Those words hurt more than Ambrose’s cruelty ever had. Because Ambrose’s cruelty came from a stranger wearing a husband’s face. This came from her own blood, kneeling at her feet, asking her to stay in hell so he could keep his place in heaven.

That evening, as the light failed over the fields, Theodosia walked back to Blackwood Estate. She walked slowly, the way a woman walks to her own execution, because that was exactly what it was.

Ambrose was waiting for her in the drawing room. He looked at her swollen eyes and smiled with quiet satisfaction.

“Your family reminded you where you belong, didn’t they?”

She lowered her head.

“Yes, your grace.”

For the first time in her life, Theodosia understood that she had nowhere left to run. Not to her parents. Not to her brother. Not to anyone. The whole world had agreed on her place, and her place was here, on her knees, in this beautiful house where the servants knew everything and said nothing.

Winter gave way to spring. Spring gave way to summer.

The bruises on her body faded, only to be replaced by new ones. The servants had stopped reacting to the shouting from Ambrose’s private chambers. They simply lowered their heads and continued their work, pretending not to hear what everyone already knew. Theodosia no longer cried after every beating. She no longer pleaded for mercy. She had learned that silence often shortened his anger, and so she became silent the way a stone becomes silent — by giving up everything that could make a sound.

Every morning she dressed in elegant gowns, covered the marks with powder, smiled politely before the household, fulfilled every duty expected of a duchess. Every evening she returned to her room exhausted — not from work, but because pretending everything was normal had become the hardest labor of her life.

The woman who had once dreamed of changing her husband had quietly begun to accept that some people never change.

And then, when she least expected it, hope returned.

Several months after losing her first child, the estate physician confirmed what she had hardly dared to believe. She was expecting again.

Theodosia sat in stunned silence while the physician folded away his instruments.

“Congratulations, your grace,” he said gently. “The child appears healthy.”

She thanked him. And then, before he could reach the door, she stopped him.

“I beg you,” she said. “Please don’t tell his grace.”

The physician hesitated. “My lady—”

She shook her head. “If he doesn’t know,” she said, very quietly, “perhaps this child will live.”

The physician understood immediately. He gave a respectful nod and left without another question.

Theodosia pressed both hands to her stomach.

This time, she thought, no one will take you from me.