My Disfigured Duke Husband Helps Me Plot My Revenge
Chapter 87: Night Owl

Chapter 87: Night Owl

Upon living the life of someone he wasn’t supposed to be, Desmond gave up on having friends. The only people who knew who he was were the king and Gideon. He preferred to keep his circle small rather than pretending he wasn’t someone more grand than he was to those who didn’t know the situation.

Despite being born a noble because of his father’s military career, his formative years were in an orphanage. He felt socially inept in the face of other nobles. Luckily, his appearance spoke for him and none desired to get close to him anyway.

However, commoners were much harder to handle. They didn’t care who he was, or what he looked like. He was the people’s hero, not the nobles’ hero. They thought he was honorable, unlike the nobles.

When he appeared in front of them, especially the people of Montclair, they gave him respect and didn’t mind his presence.

That’s why he avoided the orphanage other than to provide funds because, even though Armand thought Valerio was a person in his past, he still wanted to get to know the duke just the same. They had the military in common and, to Armand, that was enough to talk about. He also respected anyone who took care of the children.

As hard as Desmond tried to keep Armand at arm’s length, the commoner found a way to burrow his way into Desmond’s life. It made him anxious to visit him. What was more nerve-wracking was that he was there to ask questions about his wife like an obsessive husband.

Unlike earlier in the day when he was hiding, Desmond wore clothing more suitable for a noble and didn’t bother hiding himself. He even pulled off his hood as he walked into the orphanage.

It was nighttime and the people were used to his appearance, unlike his wife who he hadn’t shown his true self to before. He couldn’t imagine how miserably she would look at him if he ever revealed the extent of the scarring on his head or body.

Shaking these thoughts off, Desmond strode through the orphanage’s front door and sought Armand immediately.

Despite most children going to bed early for their studies the following day, Armand was in his cluttered study with his feet on his desk as he carved something small and wooden with a dull knife. His metal hand held the object in place while his right hand did most of the work. A pipe hung out the side of his mouth and he held it with clenched teeth.

Desmond expected this sight. He hadn’t met anyone in the war who slept at the usual time. The darkness could be so haunting at times it was best to stay awake.

As the duke walked through Armand’s door, the headmaster almost told the man off, but his pipe dropped out of his lips when he saw who it was. He started coughing and stood up suddenly.

"Your—" Cough. "Grace!" Cough.

His voice was strained as he tried to get out the next sentence.

"Why on earth am I bein’ visited by so many nobles today?" Armand asked.

"That’s the reason for my visit this evening," Desmond reasoned. "What upset my wife enough to skip dinner?"

The headmaster stood up straight and straightened out his cream-colored tunic with a smirk on his face. It seemed he was the one with the advantage in that situation.

"You couldn’t ask her yourself, your grace?" Armand asked.

"You’re pissing me off earlier than usual," Desmond uttered. "Would you like to spar while we talk things over?"

"I’m not in the market for losing a second hand tonight, your grace," Armand cracked back. "Please, excuse me."

Desmond knew he would have to soften his approach. He was only on guard because of his past as Valerio with that man.

"I’m here out of concern," Desmond admitted, his normally rough voice softening slightly.

"The newlywed rumors must have been true then," Armand muttered, picking up his pipe and placing it on his cluttered desk. He scratched his dark hair and sat back down in his chair.

"Showed her around a little bit, told her about how I was picked to lead these kids because of that Sargent Valerio teaching me how to teach others before he disappeared," Armand explained, though he occupied his hand with anything else. "She told me she was hot and feeling dizzy for a while but she had held on for as long as she could by that point."

Desmond’s heart began to beat miserably in his chest.

It beat for who he was and who he wasn’t - for the part of himself he was miserably jealous of because his past self got as close to Leonor as he pleased.

It beat for the part of himself she wasn’t attached to and didn’t desire any longer.

All the duke could do was frown at the man while he gathered his thoughts. Should he be a bastard and punch something because of how jealous he was of Valerio? Should he be sad that his wife didn’t go to him first when she nearly collapsed due to the ’heat’?

Either way, Desmond wanted to call out the unfairness of life, but he couldn’t blame the other man for the unfairness. Armand faced his own level of unfairness, walking around without a hand and with a miserable disposition after the mental scars the war gave him as well.

Desmond reasoned at one point that, if Count Mikael hadn’t sent him to the front lines by hand, he would have eventually ended up in that place like most other men his age.

"I appreciate the information," Desmond said plainly. "I will have more practice swords sent this way and perhaps something for you as well." His one green eye glanced at the desk. "Something to smoke. I’ve heard mages have healing herbs that mix well with tobacco."

Armand glanced away and busied himself on one of his shelves as if he didn’t want to think about his vice any longer.

"Something to sleep," the headmaster said. "You know how it is."

Even though Armand thought they met after the war, they both stayed up late and had conversations once in a while about things only soldiers could understand. When Desmond was building the orphanage, there were many nights like that before he went and got himself married.

"I know how it is," Desmond responded gruffly, his voice suffering from having spoken so much already.

"Goodnight, your grace," the man muttered.

"Goodnight," Desmond said before he left.

The cold air was enough for him to replace the hood over his scarred head and he took a deep breath as he exited the main door. The fresh summer air of the West always felt good. It wasn’t as warm as Burien but the trees around made for such a nice scent.