Chapter Twenty-Four
William stripped down to his trousers, casting aside his cravat, shirt and jacket on to the barn floor.
He cared little right now about propriety and what was expected of a duke.
He was a man right now and a broken one at that.
The cool spring air hit his bare torso and goose pimples pebbled his skin.
He sucked in a breath through his teeth.
Feeling cold was a luxury to the pain, anger and confusion he felt.
He groaned as he spied the barrier between him and the relief he sought.
He cursed. Why could nothing be easy today?
He lifted and moved aside one large bale of hay after another, so he could reach the heavy black boxing bag hanging from one of the barn beams. He hadn’t used it since he was a young man frustrated with the world, which was exactly how he felt now.
How many hours had he spent in here each day as a lad just trying to make sense of the world and his future within it?
It was covered in dust from lack of use, but today he would make up for lost time. He slid on the boxing gloves he had pulled from a crate nearby. He smiled, grateful his father had left this area of the barn untouched despite the many years it had been left unused.
William landed one solid blow to the bag.
A puff of barn dust from the nearby hay blew in his face and he coughed, but the instant release he felt stirred a familiar feeling in him.
He landed another hit and then another. Why had he allowed himself to believe he could have all he wanted? That he was building a life?
He’d been a bloody fool. Just like he’d been with Cecily. He had believed what he wanted to believe despite the truth staring back at him. Miss Potts had lied to him just as Cecily had and only wanted him for his title, his money and the lifestyle of a duchess.
He pounded the bag harder, setting into the familiar light-footed stance he’d learned at university and from his father, who had also enjoyed boxing, despite what others thought of gentlemen taking up such a sport.
It had been one of the things they’d had in common, which perhaps was why his father left this area untouched.
‘Did you know I would need it one day?’ he chuckled, talking aloud to his father.
‘I thank you,’ he muttered, landing another series of punches to the bag.
The repeated pull and push of his muscles were ignited and soon minutes passed.
Another flood of memories of his time with Penelope, indeed Hattie, rushed to the front of his mind.
The feel of her touch along his skin and hers beneath his own made him flush as the heated desire surged through him.
The moment at the ball when she’d stood at the top of the stairs, he had felt she was his future, no matter how he had tried to deny it.
And her love for Millie was real. Had he always cared for her, even when she was merely Hattie Potts, governess?
He clutched the bag and leaned his forehead on the leather, panting from the exertion and confusion. Had she not truly loved him? Had he not truly loved her? Did it even matter any more? He didn’t know.
‘Your Grace?’ a timid voice called from behind him. A familiar female voice. He stilled before turning.
‘Yes, Miss Bellows?’ he asked, still leaning his gloves against the bag, trying to catch his breath.
She stared at his torso, blushed and averted her eyes as she wrung her hands.
Curses.
He yanked off his gloves, rushed to grab his shirt from the floor and shrugged it on.
‘My apologies,’ he offered and then faced her as he attempted to right his appearance.
It was then he recognised the taut drawn lines on her face and the agonised expression.
She wasn’t merely uncomfortable with his state of dress. He stilled. ‘What is it?’
‘It is Millie, Your Grace,’ she began, fiddling with the strings of the apron she often wore to protect her clothing.
‘I have looked everywhere, but I cannot find her. She has been most distressed about Miss Potts leaving. I thought she was hiding from me in the house, but we have turned it upside down, and…’ Her voice trembled.
‘I was hoping she might come to you if you called for her. I am so sorry. I did not know what else to do.’
‘No, no.’ He began grabbing for his cravat and jacket. ‘You have done right to find me. Have the household and grounds been searched?’
‘Yes, Your Grace. We have all been looking for her for over a half-hour. The groundskeepers have been alerted as well.’
His heart tightened in his chest. Now he was worried, but he would not give in to the fear churning his stomach or the dread creeping along the edges of his skin. The last time Millie had taken to hiding was right after Cecily died.
‘I should have realised Miss Potts’s departure would unsettle her and been more alert,’ he said aloud, mostly to himself. ‘Have them do a wider and more expansive search around the lake,’ he told her. ‘I suspect she is there.’ He almost believed his own lie.
His daughter could be anywhere…or far from here. His mind took a wild turn to her running off like a vagabond or being snatched by some reporter bent on a keen story. He was being ridiculous. He reined back in his imagination.
‘Yes, Your Grace,’ she replied as she headed off in the opposite direction. He jogged off towards the main house, carrying his cravat and jacket in his hand.
When he reached the Manor, burst through the door, and saw the household in a flurry searching for Millie, his concern became alarm. Everyone had ceased their duties to search for her.
Mr Simmons spied him first and came to him. ‘The groundsmen have expanded their search and we are turning the house upside down for her, Your Grace.’
‘Thank you, Simmons. She could be anywhere. Who was the last to see her?’
‘That was me, Your Grace,’ Mrs Chisholm added, emerging from the parlour, moving with purpose.
‘She was in quite a state. Full of tears and pointing to the drive. I believe she may have seen Miss Potts depart or realised what had happened. Miss Bellows and I soothed her until she fell asleep. When I went to gather some milk and biscuits for her for when she woke, she was gone from her rooms.’
‘And no one saw her leave the house?’
She cast her gaze to the floor. ‘No, Your Grace. We have been in a bit of upheaval with all that has happened this morning.’
A loud knock at the front door sent a jolt through him, and he suppressed a curse. The last thing he needed was a visitor, unless it was someone who had found Millie.
They all went to the door. When Simmons opened it and it was only Lady Buchanan, he sighed in disappointment.
‘While I am thrilled you have regained your memory, I have a bone to pick with you, Cousin. Hattie came to see me on her way to the stagecoach…’ she started, full of bluster, and then her words fell away as she stared at him. ‘What has happened?’ she asked. ‘You look dreadful.’
‘Come in,’ he urged, waving her inside. ‘Millie has disappeared. You can help us look. Perhaps she will emerge to see her favourite aunt.’
He doubted it, but he was game to try. All he wanted was his daughter back.
‘Disappeared?’ she asked, shrugging off her coat and handing it to Simmons. ‘Thank you,’ she added as she hurried to meet William’s strides as he rushed towards his study.
He paused. ‘Has Eddie returned?’ he called to Simmons as Daphne fell in step with him, peppering him with questions he could not process. His mind was singularly focused on finding Millie. Nothing else mattered.
Nothing.
‘He has not, Your Grace.’
‘The moment he returns, I want to see him, Simmons. I need to know where he dropped Miss Potts.’
Daphne stopped cold and clutched his arm, yanking him back from his whirling thoughts. ‘That is what I came to speak to you about. Why have you sent her away?’
‘Not here,’ he said, gesturing to his study. Once within it, he closed the door and let his full frustration loose on Daphne.
‘Perhaps the better question is why did you all lie to me? What of that, Cousin? I know you knew. You all knew. Yet I am the bastard for sending her away when I realised I have been duped in such a manner?’
She baulked at him and bristled. ‘Yes, you are to blame. She was wonderful. She loved you and Millie. She was your match, William. The one you longed for. Do you not see it?’ She approached him and clutched his hand. ‘It does not matter if her name was Penelope or Hattie.’
‘No union can be made of lies. You should understand that. You were married to a liar.’
She dropped his hold and immediately William regretted his words.
They were harsh, cold, and the hurt registered in his cousin’s glassy eyes.
She blinked back the tears. ‘I do know,’ she replied, unwilling to give in to her emotion.
‘I also know how rare true love and companionship is in our world. You are a fool to let standing get in your way, but perhaps you prefer being a fool rather than facing your own mistakes.’
‘Daphne…’ he pounded his fist on the mantel ‘…can we not table this for another time well after I have found Millie?’
She sighed and nodded. ‘Yes. She is of the greatest importance for now. I am happy to continue railing you about your poor decision regarding Hattie later.’
A man cleared his throat at the doorway and William turned to see Eddie standing with his hands behind his back, a small flush to his cheeks from the outdoors still fresh. He gave a small nod. ‘I was told you wished to see me, Your Grace?’
‘Yes, yes,’ he replied. ‘Where did you drop Miss Potts?’
His brow furrowed in confusion. ‘At the stagecoach office, Your Grace. She was waiting to purchase a ticket for a stagecoach home to Stow. Did I do wrong by dropping her there?’
‘No, Eddie. We are searching for Millie. Is there any chance she stowed herself in the carriage?’ He knew he was grasping at straws, but he had to ask.
‘No, Your Grace. Miss Potts had sparse luggage and, even so, I always check the driver box and holds after every trip to ensure nothing is left.’ He dropped his gaze and shifted on his feet.
‘But?’ William prompted.
‘Miss Potts left this in the squabs, Your Grace. I believe she meant it to be returned to you.’ He stepped forward, pulled a flowered handkerchief from behind his back and extended his hand to William.
William hesitated at the sight of one of Penelope’s—Hattie’s kerchiefs.
The handstitched purple violets, a signature of all she was, made his stomach flip.
He braced himself and reached for it. When he opened it in his palm, her familiar sweet, floral scent almost made his knees buckle.
The sight of the necklace he had given her when he had proposed, the simple heart-shaped ruby pendant necklace, almost pulled him under.
The memory of her beauty that afternoon and how it had been the only thing she wore as they kissed one another and how it had shimmered against her skin sent a flash of heat and awareness through him.
It also made him feel ill.
He missed her desperately, but he could only focus on one loss at a time. He clenched his jaw, stuffed the handkerchief and necklace in his trouser pockets and looked at Eddie. ‘When was the next stagecoach leaving for Stow?’
‘It was set to depart at quarter past.’
They all turned to the wall clock. It was half past. Could not one thing go right? He shook his head and cursed under his breath. ‘Ready a horse for me, Eddie, and send for me once he’s saddled.’
‘Your Grace,’ he replied and rushed from the study.
‘What is your plan?’ Daphne asked. Her voice was quiet, but resolute.
‘While you all continue to search here, I am riding to the station. If she has already left, I will follow the road to Stow and intercept her stagecoach. She may be the only one who can bring Millie back. And as much as I do not wish to leave the search here, I do not think Millie will return if I do not go and plead for Miss Potts’s help—without her we may not be able to find Millie.
’ He had all but banished the woman from here.
He felt ashamed of what he had done after all she had done for him, for Millie, for the Manor. His stomach soured.
But there was no way but forward now.
‘Is that all?’ Daphne asked.
‘No. That isn’t all, but it is all I can manage right now.’
Daphne smirked at him. ‘Then that is enough. I will join Simmons in the search here.’
‘And I will meet Eddie in the stables, so I lose no more time than needed. It has been some time since I have ridden so far.’
‘And to think what the reporters and locals will say about this, Your Grace,’ she teased.
He groaned, knowing she was right, but he couldn’t think of any of that now. He needed to find Millie and if begging for the help of the woman he’d just cast out of his house and his heart was the only way to do it, he would.
Even if it cut him to the quick.