Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
S ebastian returned to the house tired and covered in mud. His initial intention had been, when he’d arrived home earlier to find his wife ignoring him, to have a conversation over dinner, but now it seemed he would be late to that, too.
He toed off his boots in the entrance hall, leaving them for his valet to attempt to restore as he padded across the cold floor, irritated with himself and the world. Of all times for an urgent message to be delivered, and about something he could have handled another day.
What a way to end what had been a trying day.
He glanced at the bruising sky. Late, very late. He would have to beg Eleanor’s forgiveness. Hopefully, she understood that when his steward had summoned him because his prize cattle had escaped and rampaged into the local village, there was little he could do but attend the scene, assist the farmers, and hand out shillings liberally to cover damages.
“Your Grace.” The butler, his face familiar now that he had been at the house for almost a full month. Sebastian felt the weight of that. A full month . When was the last time he had employed a servant for so long?
“Where is my wife?” Sebastian asked, freeing himself of his muddied coat. “I’ll speak with her, then send someone to heat some water for a bath. I’m filthy.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” The man hesitated. Peters? Kellen? Sebastian would remember soon enough; he worked well and he could think of no reason to end his position.
“What is it?”
“About your wife, sir. I regret to say…” He swallowed. “It pains me to inform you that she isn’t here.”
Sebastian blinked. His chest tightened as he drew in a breath. “What do you mean? Of course she’s here. I left her here.”
“I hoped you might have known where she left to, Your Grace.” The butler looked apologetic. “She, err… she took Abigail with her.”
“Abigail?”
“Her lady’s maid, sir.”
Of course. The one she had asked to keep all that time ago. It felt like half a lifetime. Sebastian looked around the darkening hallway, a footman with a lit taper lighting the lamps. “She’s gone,” he repeated, then shook himself. “When? Where?”
“Over an hour ago. She called for the carriage and asked to be directed to London. When the coachman returns, if he does, we can ask him, sir.”
When the coachman returned. But when would that be? Too long, almost certainly.
“I have to go,” Sebastian said shortly, shrugging his coat back on. Mud be damned.
“Do you have an idea of where she departed to?”
“No, but I—” He stopped, the weight of what had happened crashing into him with finality. Eleanor, the woman who had promised to remain by his side forevermore, had left him.
She had abandoned him when he needed her the most, just when he realized he loved her. And perhaps he had not told her, had not made it plain enough, but he had , damn it. He had loved her, and now once again he was left to pick up the pieces of his heartbreak.
“I will see if she left any clues as to her whereabouts,” he said shortly.
“Very good, sir.”
Sebastian made his way to his study, knowing, somehow, that he would find a letter there. Knowing that if she wanted to leave a message for him, she would do so there. In the room she had invaded with her presence.
Sure enough, the letter lay on the desk. He broke into it, hands shaking, and read it through. Then again. Again. His eyes glazed.
She was gone. Eleanor had gone and she had left him behind.
The pain in his chest might be enough to kill him. He had thought once that his broken heart might prove to be the death of him, but this could not compare. Whatever love he had felt for Lydia had been childish infatuation, nothing more. A desire, so desperate inside him he ached with it, to be loved and accepted.
Eleanor had made him feel that way, more so than anyone else in his life. More so, even, than Lydia. His parents were a distant blur; all that remained of them in his head was his mother’s soft voice and his father’s merry smile. Mostly, he remembered their stiff bodies, the way their faces had twisted in death.
Now, when he thought of Eleanor, he would think of this moment, in his dim study, covered in mud as his life broke apart once more.
She was gone and had promised he would never see her again. And all because he had not wanted to marry her when they first married? She had long known that. She knew he pushed everyone else away. And until now, he had thought she was the one person that he might never succeed in doing so with.
How could he bear this?
He took out a brandy bottle from the sideboard and poured a new glass. But this space was filled with her and the memory of her. He needed to find somewhere else, but where could he go that he would not think of her?
There was nowhere, and so he went reluctantly to the library, sitting in the armchair he had always sat in, and began to drink.
It was midnight by the time Sebastian finally stumbled back upstairs. At first, he went into his bedchamber, peering into the gloom. Memories hung here, of course. The memorable time she had come to him in nothing but a nightgown.
But those memories were not enough.
“Damn it,” he mumbled, slurring his words as he tried the door into her bedchamber. Unlocked, of course.
Everything was just as she had left it, gilded in the flickering light of his candle. He put it down on a small table as he inhaled her scent. Just hours ago, she had been here. Just last night, they had slept together in that bed.
Such sentimental thoughts. He could not hold them back. The way she laughed in the early morning sunlight. The freckles she had that no one else had ever seen. The heat in her eyes when she looked at him. The hunger. The softness. All gone.
For a moment, he swayed on his feet, unsure if he should return to his bed. But the lure of memory proved too strong, and he approached the bed with clumsy footsteps. Angry in his inebriation, but mostly hurt. In six years, she was the first person he had trusted, and she had abandoned him.
No, that wasn’t quite right. She had believed that he would be happier without her. Such a foolish assumption when she was the only person left he needed in his life like he needed air to breathe.
Thunder rolled outside the window. Lightning illuminated the room, and with it came a bolt of clarity. She had gone, yes, but love had been written in every line of her letter.
Surely there was more. All this time, she had fought for him, even when she could have been near certain there was nothing worth fighting for. Yet, he would flounder at his first obstacle in doing the same for her?
No. If he did nothing now, he would lose her forever.
He could not let that happen. Would not. Even if it might mean running to his own demise. He needed to know. For their sake, if not his.
There was only one place he could think of that she would flee to now. Olivia . She wouldn’t go to her stepmother. All he needed to do was find her before she moved on. There was time. Then he could find her and explain—oh, there was so much to explain. Why he felt the way he did, why he found it so hard to trust, and why he needed her in his life more than he had ever needed anyone.
“Peters,” he called as he hurried back down the stairs. “Where is he? Damn it, I’ll do it myself.”
“Your Grace?” a footman called from behind him, roused but half asleep. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’m going after my wife.”
“But—” Another crack of thunder shook the walls of the manor. “The storm. You would be better waiting until morning.”
“If I do that, it might be too late.” He had not ever had a chance to regain something he had lost before. When his parents had died, there had been no coming back from it. When his old butler had left his service, unwilling to be connected with such scandal, there had been nothing Sebastian could say. Even Lydia—heavens, even Lydia. He had begged her then, asked her to give him time. He could have done nothing to win her back.
Even now, her pursuit of him—it was not for his sake. She could have done so any time over the past six years. No. She had done so after she learned of his marriage and thought she could win him over.
He hurried into the driving rain, brushing his hair back from his face. The stable smelled of fresh straw and leather and horses as he stepped inside, striking a match and lighting a candle.
“Come, boy,” he crooned to his gelding, Silver, who watched him with suspicious eyes, his gray coat gleaming in the light. But despite Sebastian having disturbed the horse’s slumber, he came willingly enough, allowing himself to be tacked and saddled. Sebastian did it all without the assistance of the groom, whom he had no wish to wake, and he swung into the saddle.
“Now we fly,” he said, directing Silver at the stable door. They cantered free, leaving the stable block behind. The rain whipped into his face and lightning split the sky. The world felt as though it had come free from its usual restraint, wild and untamed. Clouds blocked even the dim light from the moon, and Sebastian did not care to go faster than a trot along the roads until he came to the outskirts of London. There, he loosened the reins and gave his animal leave to surge forward.
For long moments, he knew nothing but the rain on his face, the chill against his leather-covered fingers, and the knot in his chest. But as he thundered onward, other memories emerged. There had been a storm like this the night his parents had passed.
Lightning. Rain. Rumbling thunder. Darkness that seemed so complete, it bled into his vision. He could taste the fear his younger self had felt. The despair. His hands slackened on the reins, and he sucked in a breath.
This was just how everything had been the day everything went wrong.
If he thought back, he could track every pain in his life back to that singular moment. The loss of his parents had spurred a series of events that had split his life open. With Eleanor’s help, he had begun to stitch himself back together, but now he remembered the trauma, rocking through his body, stiffening him. The terror felt alien, unsettling, as though it belonged to a different man from the one he could become—but he could do nothing to prevent it from moving through his body.
A sound burst from beside him, a man shouting into the storm. A flare of light.
His horse reared, whinnying, and Sebastian lost his grip on the reins.
The ground rushed to meet him.
His last thought was of Eleanor.
“Come away from the window, dearest,” Olivia murmured, taking hold of Eleanor’s arm.
“The storm.” Eleanor stroked Scrunch, the unsettling stone in the pit of her stomach making her feel as though something was wrong. By now, Sebastian must have found her note. She wondered what he was feeling. Whether he felt even some hurt, or just relief that she had finally freed him from the bonds of matrimony.
She sucked in an unsteady breath. “The rain is coming down so strong now.”
Olivia glanced into her face, her brows drawing together. Although her friend usually had plenty to say, she had said very little since Eleanor had arrived unexpectedly, a single trunk in the carriage and the information that she was leaving her husband.
At first, she had attempted to persuade Eleanor to return, but when Eleanor had refused, she had instead promised a room for as long as Eleanor wanted. Her mother, too, seeing nothing more than a Duchess’s friendship, had agreed without any hint of irritation.
Eleanor told no one else that she was leaving Sebastian. If the news of that got out—
Well, she could not bear to bring him any shame or humiliation. He had too much pride for that.
She rested her hand against the windowpane. “And it’s so cold outside.”
“No one will be outside in this,” Olivia said, tugging gently at her elbow. “It’s late. Come to bed and everything will seem better in the morning.”
Eleanor shook her head, swallowing hard. “I very much doubt it.”
“I think that—”
“Please, Olivia. I know you mean well, but I can’t bear you telling me that he cares for me after all. I saw that list.” She swallowed past her thick throat, fighting back the tears that seemed so close to the surface now. “He acted on so many of the items on it. If I hadn’t been so foolish, so desperate to cling to a marriage neither of us wanted, I might have seen his intentions for what they were.”
Olivia pressed her lips together. “I think you’re mistaken, Ella. Lawks, I say the way he looked at you every time you were together—he couldn’t keep his eyes from you. That’s not a man who suffers from indifference. You know at the beginning he was coming to court one of your sisters, but he chose you instead.”
“For what reason?”
“Perhaps you ought to ask him yourself,” Olivia said gently. “All this conjecture—you have yet to speak with him.”
She had been about to. If she had not found the list, she would have spoken to him, and what would he have said? Would he have attempted to spare her feelings, or would he have told her the truth? Or would he have avoided the question entirely?
She turned reluctantly away from the window and the raging storm. She couldn’t remember a storm this bad. Perhaps one when she had been very small, when she had clambered onto the window ledge in her bedroom and watched the lightning strikes, the rain putting out any fires that might have sparked to life.
Back then, it had never occurred to her to be afraid.
“Let’s go to bed,” Eleanor sighed. Olivia had agreed to share her room so she wouldn’t have to be alone, but although she loved her friend dearly, she wondered if her bruised feelings would find more reprieve from being alone. “Perhaps you are right and everything will seem brighter in the morning.”
“You never know. He might come after you.”
“If he does, tell him I have gone already.”
“Ella, surely—”
“It would be better for the both of us if we have a clean break. Promise me that, Olivia. Please. If he comes here asking for me, deny him.”
Olivia’s mouth twisted. “I dislike the idea of that.”
“Believe me, it would be for the best. I don’t want him to throw away his future out of misplaced guilt.”
“If he has been chasing you away,” Olivia said hotly, “then he deserves to feel that guilt. Why, when you have tried so hard to make things work.”
“Don’t.” Eleanor pressed her fingers against her forehead. Her head throbbed. She felt as though every breath was splitting her apart. All the small kindnesses Sebastian had shown her acted now as thorns in her skin, making it so much harder for her to leave him, even if his cruelty proved that she ought to.
She did her best not to remember the times when his cruelty had felt hollow or forced, as though he did it almost against his will.
She slid onto the bed and curled up against the pillow, material cool against her cheek. Olivia climbed into bed behind her, the weight and scent wrong. This was not the bedfellow she wanted.
“Thank you,” she whispered. A tear slid out from between her eyelids. “Thank you for giving me somewhere to go.”
“Of course.” Olivia’s hand brushed the hair back from her aching head. “Anything for you. You’re my best friend.”
“I’ve never had a best friend before. It means a lot that I have your support.”
“You will always have it,” Olivia said, snuggling closer.
Eleanor closed her eyes, wishing it was enough, and listened to the storm raging against the walls of the house.