The duke and I julia Quinn

don't pity me,
but it was all he could do. He could feel his 
father's mocking presence, squeezing at his throat, choking his tongue. 
"Simon?" Daphne said, hurrying to his side. Her voice grew panicked. "Simon, say something!" 
She reached out to touch his arm, but he threw her off. "Don't touch me!" he exploded. 
She shrank back. "I guess there are still some things you can say," she said in a small, sad voice. 
Simon hated himself, hated the voice that had forsaken him, and hated his wife because she had 
the power to reduce his control to rubble. This complete loss of speech, this choking, strangling 
feeling—he had worked his entire life to escape it, and now 
she
had brought it all back with a 
vengeance. 
He couldn't let her do this. He couldn't let her make him like he'd once been. 
He tried to say her name, couldn't get anything out. 
He had to leave. He couldn't look at her. He couldn't be with her. He didn't even want to be with 

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himself, but that, unfortunately, was beyond his meager control. 
"D-don't c-come n-near me," he gasped, jabbing his finger at her as he yanked on his trousers. 
"Y-y-y-you did this!" 
"Did what?" Daphne cried, pulling a sheet around her. "Simon, stop this. What did I do that was 
so wrong? You wanted me. You know you wanted me." 
"Th-th-this!" he burst out, pointing at his throat. Then he pointed toward her abdomen. "Th-th-
that." 
Then, unable to bear the sight of her any longer, he stormed from the room. If only he could 
escape himself with the same ease. 
Ten hours later Daphne found the following note: 
Pressing business at another of my estates requires my attention . 1 trust you will notify me if 
your attempts at conception were successful . 
My steward will give you my direction, should you need it . 
Simon 
The single sheet of paper slipped from Daphne's fingers and floated slowly to the floor. A harsh 
sob escaped her throat, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, as if that might possibly stem 
the tide of emotion that was churning within her. 
He'd left her. He'd actually left her. She'd known he was angry, known he might not even 
forgive her, but she hadn't thought he would actually leave. 
She'd thought—oh, even when he'd stormed out the door she'd thought that they might be able to 
resolve their differences, but now she wasn't so sure. 
Maybe she'd been too idealistic. She'd egotistically thought that she could heal him, make his 
heart whole. Now she realized that she'd imbued herself with far more power than she actually 
possessed. She'd thought her love was so good, so shining, so pure that Simon would 
immediately abandon the years of resentment and pain that had fueled his very existence. 
How self-important she'd been. How stupid she felt now. 
Some things were beyond her reach. In her sheltered life, she'd never realized that until now. 
She hadn't expected the world to be handed to her upon a golden platter, but she'd always 

---

assumed that if she worked hard enough for something, treated everyone the way she would like 
to be treated, then she would be rewarded. 
But not this time. Simon was beyond her reach. 
The house seemed preternaturally quiet as Daphne made her way down to the yellow room. She 
wondered if all the servants had learned of her husband's departure and were now studiously 
avoiding her. They had to have heard bits and pieces of the argument the night before. 
Daphne sighed. Grief was even more difficult when one had a small army of onlookers. 
Or invisible onlookers, as the case may be, she thought as she gave the bellpull a tug. She 
couldn't see them, but she knew they were there, whispering behind her back and pitying her. 
Funny how she'd never given much thought to servants' gossip before. But now—she plopped 
down on the sofa with a pained little moan—now she felt so wretchedly alone. What else was 
she supposed to think about? 
"Your grace?" 
Daphne looked up to see a young maid standing hesitantly in the doorway. She bobbed a little 
curtsy and gave Daphne an expectant look. 
"Tea, please," Daphne said quietly. "No biscuits, just tea." 
The young girl nodded and ran off. 
As she waited for the maid to return, Daphne touched her abdomen, gazing down at herself with 
gentle reverence. Closing her eyes, she sent up a prayer.