Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“She is leaving, Your Grace,” Jarvis said, standing awkwardly at the door to Adrian’s chambers. “Mrs. Leggat and Mrs. Mullens have prepared her a luncheon for the journey, and everyone is waiting to wave farewell. We didn’t want to proceed without you, Your Grace.”
Adrian had not slept a wink, terrified of the nightmares that would plague him if he closed his eyes for even a moment. Scenes of a Christmas that would never be, scenes of the past, scenes of the present, scenes of a future he had foolishly, fleetingly imagined.
Valerie had lied to him, by omission if nothing else.
She had allowed him to kiss her, touch her, taste her, almost make love to her, while knowing that she was betrothed to someone else.
Not just betrothed, either, but due to wed the man in a week’s time.
It was a betrayal so great that just thinking about it made him want to drive his fist through the wall.
She made me care for her, while promised to another. Indeed, more than the wall, he wanted to drive his fist through the face of the man who had procured her hand in marriage.
“Proceed,” he said gruffly, giving no further explanation.
But Jarvis lingered, his eyes creased in consternation. “It is not my place, Your Grace, but I really think you ought to bid her farewell.” He paused. “She is… rather upset. I believe it would mean a great deal to her if she could see you.”
Adrian glowered at the man. “Your first sentiment was correct; it is not your place.”
“What happened, Your Grace?” the butler urged, his reluctance to obey rankling Adrian further. “She has not said a word to anyone, not even Mrs. Mullens, and we are all… so very confused. We thought that—”
“You thought what?” Adrian retorted, venom dripping from each word.
Jarvis blinked, his expression transforming into one of alarm for a brief moment, as if he were not seeing Adrian before him but someone else. But he shook the expression off and stood up straighter, clearly steeling himself.
“We thought there was an affection growing between you,” the butler explained.
“We have never seen you more… active or content. We have never seen you so involved in life. Since she arrived, you have been outside more than you have in the past decade! You have color in your face, vitality in your eyes, and it is—not to be dramatic—but it is like witnessing a resurrection.”
Adrian looked away from the man and walked to the window. “She needs to return home.”
“But right now?” Jarvis insisted. “It is Christmas Eve, Your Grace!”
“It is the same as any other day,” Adrian replied, as he peered out of the window.
Below, Valerie’s carriage waited on the snow-covered driveway, loaded with the belongings that he doubted had ever been taken off. She had not traveled with much, by the looks of it, but then a runaway would not have time to pack everything she cherished.
Then, he saw her.
She wore a fur-trimmed cloak and bonnet and stood with hands clasped and head bowed.
Waiting for him, though he had no intention of standing before her again.
If he did, he did not know what he would do: whether he would sweep her into his arms and never let go or let all of his ire pour out in a vicious tirade.
You came here and slithered your way into my heart. You made me tell you things that I have not spoken aloud in years, if ever. You made me want to make you my duchess, when I thought nothing could compel me to wed.
And it had all been based on the powdery foundation of a lie.
If she had confessed to him sooner, then…
He faltered, narrowing his eyes against the glaring winter sun.
What would he have done if she had told him sooner?
If she had informed him of the truth on the first night she arrived, would he have cast her out or permitted her to stay?
If she had informed him of the truth when he had just begun to care for her, might he have been convinced to help her?
I cannot possibly know what I would have done, because she did not grace me with the opportunity to find out.
She was a sly vixen, like every other that had come to his door. She had just been cleverer than the rest, manipulating him far better than anyone had done before.
“Take down any decorations that remain,” he instructed, for he knew that some rooms had been left the way that Valerie had wanted them to be. “And send staff to the town hall. Take everything down there, too. Burn it.”
A strange, strangled sound emerged from Jarvis’ lips. “But, Your Grace, it is Christmas Eve!”
“You keep saying that as if it means something,” Adrian retorted icily. “Do as I command, or I shall have to reconsider your position here. A butler’s first duty is to obey, after all.”
For a moment, it seemed like the butler might protest anyway. But he appeared to think better of it, as he bowed his head and withdrew from the bedchamber, his footsteps echoing down the hallway beyond.
The silence of the room crowded in around Adrian, so thick he could not catch a full breath.
He had not understood Valerie’s aversion when he had found her cowering in her bedchamber, but perhaps he understood now: it was so very quiet in the castle, as if it were holding its breath in anticipation, waiting for him to run out to her or to call to her to stop her leaving.
She has made a fool of me. Let her go. Let her return to the man she is promised to, for that man is not me.
He watched as Jarvis appeared outside and leaned in to say something to Valerie. She gave a small nod of her head and raised her hand to the staff who had come out to say goodbye. With that, she turned and made her slow way to the waiting carriage.
In the doorway, she hesitated, not moving. Despite himself, Adrian urged her to look up, to look him in the eyes before she departed so she would know what she had done to him.
A moment later, she disappeared into the carriage, and the footman closed the door behind her. The driver snapped the reins and the carriage rattled away from the castle, the wheels bumping and bouncing across the uneven layer of snow, headed for the road.
It was Christmas Eve, and Adrian was alone again, his cracked heart icing over once more.
Valerie wondered how it was possible that she still had any tears left.
Still, they kept falling, trickling down her cheeks in hot rivulets.
Sometimes, a happy thought or memory would conjure them.
Sometimes, they spilled from her eyes without her realizing, only becoming aware when she tasted the salt in her mouth.
For two nights and a day, she had cried as if she would never run out of tears, her body so parched of moisture that she wondered if she resembled the husk she felt like.
This is not how I thought I would spend my Christmas Day.
She glanced out of the window at the green world of the south, so starkly different to where she had come from that it was as if she had traveled between realms. She had departed the land of festivity and pretty winter and entered the land of misery and stretching fields devoid of a single speck of snow.
Her breath juddered as she sank back against the squabs and closed her eyes. She had barely slept on the lengthy journey to Gramfield, and it was proving difficult to feel anything but crushed.
I will see my siblings on Christmas Day. They will be pleased about that.
After all, it was now Christmas Day, and she was almost home. Yet, her mind and her heart remained hundreds of miles to the north, within a snow-capped castle filled with ghosts, and a hermit who had, no doubt, retreated back into his solitude.
“Why did you not let me explain?” she muttered, for the hundredth time at least. “Why accuse me of scheming without allowing me to tell you more? Why send me away, back to a fate like this?”
Was I mistaken to think he cared?
She had been so certain of it when he had smiled at her and walked through the crowd to ask her to dance.
She had been convinced that her feelings were shared when he had said “I had no idea it could be like this.” Yet, the moment she revealed her betrothal, he had just tossed her out as if she was nothing.
If he had cared, would he not have asked for her hand to spare her from that betrothal, that marriage?
Do not ask for too much. Those words screamed back into her head, taking on a different meaning.
To think that Adrian would save her from marriage had been too much, and she was an idiot to believe she could have expected such assistance.
After all, it was not something as small as asking to borrow some money or have a gown altered or, indeed, to have a lost sister found.
It was a lifelong union, and he was a man who had made no secret of preferring his solitude.
“I lied,” she murmured to herself. “I am to blame. I cannot blame him.”
Although, she could be angry with him for accusing her of a scheme and of making up the story about her twin. She had done no such thing.
An hour later, as the sun began its afternoon descent, the carriage turned through the gates of Gramfield Manor. The gargoyles on the gate posts shied away from her, while the crooked and leafless oaks that lined the driveway seemed to point accusatory branches in her direction.
She was home… and wished with all her heart that she was not.
The moment the carriage pulled to a standstill outside the limestone porch, she heard the thud of furious footsteps.
A second later, the carriage door flew open and her father, Gregory Wightman, the Baron of Gramfield, stood there with a face like thunder.
He huffed and puffed as if he had been running, while the paunch that strained his waistcoat and the jowls under his chin spoke of a man who had not run anywhere in a long, long time.
“Get out!” he barked.
As if I mean to do anything else, she thought angrily, as she stepped down from the carriage.
She did not see the stinging slap coming, but she felt it surely enough: a prickling wave of heat and pain that surged across her cheek. Her neck jolted at the hard impact, her eyes watering, as a startled gasp left her mouth.
“How dare you defy me!” her father roared, raising his hand as if he meant to strike her again. “When I tell you that you are to wed, you do not run like a coward into the night! You do not bring potential disgrace to my household, you wretched girl!”
Clenching her teeth, her eyes burning with fury, she spat back, “I went to find my sister.” She took a shaky breath. “But at least I have returned, have I not?”
“Do you think that grants you leniency?” her father seethed. “If you had not come back, I would have sent men to drag you back. So, at least you have spared me that expense.”
She laughed bitterly. “Oh, but you are usually so frugal about spending money. Even money you do not have.”
“If I hear another word from that smart mouth of yours, I will punish your brother and sister until you learn to be silent,” he snarled, knowing that any punishment he gave to her would not matter at all. But a threat to Cecil and Nora? That was a different matter entirely.
She touched her hand to the hot, undoubtedly red skin of her sore cheek. “Do not touch them.”
“If you do as you are told, they will not have to suffer,” he replied. “From this day until your wedding day, you are to stay in your bedchamber. You will not leave it without my permission. And you will marry the duke, whether you like it or not.”
Valerie glared at him, for there was nothing else she could do. “As I said, I have returned.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Do you think I did so for my own amusement? I know I must marry the man you have chosen for me. If I did not, I would not be here.”
I would be in the north, surrounded by snow and good cheer, and I would not have breathed a word about my betrothal. Instead, I would be happy with a very different duke.
“Good. Now, get out of my sight,” her father barked.
With her heart breaking like a heavy foot on thin ice, Valerie walked straight past her father and into the house that, briefly and perhaps selfishly, she had hoped she would never have to see again.