Chapter 3
“Gentlemen. I would say this is unexpected, but I find I am rarely surprised by anything before nine o’clock.” Frederick kept his voice warm, because warmth was a useful instrument with lesser men. “What can I do for you?”
His gaze moved between the men and something in him went still. Not the stillness of calm, but the other kind. The kind that came before a decision had been made, but after it had been reached.
“Your Grace.” Birchall’s voice was suave, unhurried.
“I apologize for the early intrusion. My bride—the Viscount’s cousin, you see—appears to have gone astray.
We were married at St. Clement’s just this morning, and she became distressed during the journey.
She left the carriage at an inn on the Oxford Road.
” A pause, weighted and deliberate. “She was seen, by more than one witness, riding in this very direction.”
“I see.” He heard his own voice, steady and faintly curious, as though Birchall had mentioned something mildly interesting over cordials. “And have you evidence that she came here, to my home, specifically?”
“Lady Rachel has been my cousin’s closest friend for the past year.” Jonathan’s voice had an edge to it, defensive, slightly too fast. “If Lady Birchall was going anywhere, it would be here. I know my cousin.”
Frederick stared blankly at him. He did not let his thoughts reach his face. No more than he ever had.
“I’m certain you do,” he said flatly. “She is still not here.”
“Perhaps you might call Lady Rachel down?” Birchall, pleasant as ever, asked. “It is possible that—”
“It is not,” he said, his voice sharp.
“Your Grace, if I could please—”
“Lord Birchall.” Frederick tilted his head very slightly and raised an eyebrow.
“I know everything that takes place in this household. I make it my business to. If a bride in a wedding dress, having ridden from the Oxford Road, had arrived at my door this morning, I would be aware of it.” A pause.
“Lady Birchall is not here. I have now said so three times, by my count. I would prefer not to say it a fourth.”
Birchall smiled, but it was a different smile now. The pleasantness was dropping away, and something more desperate was taking its place. “All the same… I wonder, Your Grace, if you might permit us to—”
“No.”
“A brief look, simply to—”
“No.”
The smile stayed, but something behind it hardened. Frederick watched the recalibration happen in real time and found it entirely unsurprising. Birchall was a man who had exhausted his subtler options and concluded that a duke was simply another obstacle to be moved around.
“She may be here without your knowledge.” Birchall stepped forward, not far, but deliberately. He squared his shoulders back and looked Frederick square in the eye. “A friend concealing a friend. It would not be the first time. I am simply asking to satisfy myself that—”
“You are not asking anything.” Frederick’s voice dropped, rather than rose. “You are standing in my house, demanding you walk through it as you see fit. I want to be certain I have understood you correctly. Because I would not like to misrepresent your position to my solicitor.”
Birchall went very still.
Silence was among the most efficient instruments Frederick had. People filled it with their own discomfort before they could stop themselves. He waited until Birchall had felt the full weight of it. Then he looked at Edgeware.
“You were at that altar this morning,” Frederick said. “At some point during the proceedings, I imagine it became apparent that your cousin did not wish to be there. Otherwise, she would not be missing.”
Jonathan’s jaw tightened to a thin line. “That is not—”
“I’m not asking for your account of it, nor do I care.
You have made it my business.” Frederick held his gaze and clicked his tongue.
“You are not a stupid man. You know what you’ve done.
Which means you are also aware that you are standing in my entrance hall before nine o’clock asking to search my house, and that there is very little I am obliged to extend to you beyond the door.
” He paused. “I am still extending it. I suggest you take it. This is your problem, not mine.”
Edgeware turned and said something low to Birchall. Frederick couldn’t make out the words, but he knew the shape of them.
Leave it. Not here. Not today.
Birchall held Frederick’s gaze for one moment longer and then nodded.
“We mean no offense, Your Grace. You must understand our position.”
“No offense has been taken,” Frederick replied pleasantly. “I will inform you immediately if I receive any word of Lady Birchall’s whereabouts. Allow me to see you out.”
He did not wait to see whether they would follow; he knew that they would. Their footsteps moved out of the morning room, and from the foyer they were escorted by the butler.
Frederick did not move until he heard the entrance hall, and then the front door, and then nothing. He paced back to the morning room and shut the door.
He crossed to the window and looked down at the London street. He needed a moment. In the window’s glass, he could see the vague reflection of the morning room behind him, and then the door to the library opened.
Rachel came in first and softly touched his arm. “Frederick,” she said softly, a statement in itself.
“Yes,” he said as he looked to the door, his eyes drawn to Miss Anna Cartwell.
He had seen her once, briefly, the previous year.
He recalled some party or opera he had accompanied Rachel to.
He remembered finding her pleasant-looking, in a passing way.
She was his sister’s friend, and his preferences had always run toward women who could not be ruined, never debutantes or married women.
Yet, a dark part of him let himself stare for a moment.
She was composed. That was the first thing that hit him, more than her beauty, more than the honey-blonde ringlets curling loose around her delicate face, or her bright hazel eyes.
More than anything, the ruined dress that held her curves, and suggested the morning she had survived.
Composed in a way he recognized without being able to name, the stance of a person who had not allowed herself the relief of coming apart.
It was a stance he knew well.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said softly, her eyes meeting his.
He heard the weight in it, that she was not simply being polite. Miss Cartwell was desperate and grateful and at his mercy. The woman in front of him knew what he had done for her, and was not minimizing it.
He gave her the nod that the thanks required. “Rachel, give us a moment, please,” he said.
“Frederick,” she said as she looked between them. “She has had a very difficult—”
“I know.” He looked at his sister. “One moment.”
Rachel pressed her lips together and left, pulling the door behind her.
The room went quiet. Frederick looked at her wrist once more. He had noticed it before her sleeve had shown the bruises. It was the way she was holding her hand just fractionally different from the other.
The way Mother had done…
“Your wrist.” He said it without preamble; she deserved more than that for all she endured.
She glanced down at it, then back up. “It’s nothing serious.”
“I’m not asking whether it’s serious.” He kept his voice even. “I’m asking when.”
A beat. She met his gaze with the directness he had begun to admire. “Outside the church. I tried to run.” A pause. “But Birchall caught me. Then there was a moment, my back, at the altar. I do not think that bruised…”
“Did he…” He stopped and closed his eyes tight, afraid of how she may answer. He had a lifetime of practiced responses but could not predict the outrage that would pour forth if she was to say yes now. “Did he… force himself on you?”
“No more than would be expected of one’s husband at the marriage altar I suppose,” she said, holding his gaze without flinching. “He… kissed me. Without my consent, once we were formally declared man and wife.”
“That is…” He paused to keep his voice even. Anna did not deserve his anger, not even so much as a growl. “Did anything else happen? Afterward, did he…”
“We were in a carriage right after the ceremony,” she quickly clarified, realizing his line of questioning. “He did not touch me then… but made his intentions most clear…” A fractional pause. “I left at the first opportunity.”
He exhaled through his nose, once. His hands, at his sides, closed briefly into tight fists.
“I understand,” he said, unclenching his hands. “You can stay in my household.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was steady. “I-I…”
She had clearly braced herself for a different answer and did not quite know, yet, what to do with this one.
“One month.” He clarified as he paced to the window, because standing looking at her was becoming a dangerous pastime.
“I’ll speak to my attorney about an annulment for you.
No consummation, clear coercion, no consent…
While it is not a simple case, it is not an impossible one.
” He turned back. “You should understand what it means; Birchall and your cousin will retaliate. Publicly. If the annulment is granted, society will still—”
“I know.”
He stopped.
“I know what I am giving up,” she told him. “I made my choice when I took the horse.” Her eyes met his. “I don’t want society, Your Grace. I want to live without…” She stopped. Her gaze dropped, briefly, to her wrist. “Without that.”
“You do not have to go to your aunt’s. I will help you find respectable accommodation,” he continued, grateful his voice had found his practical register again, the one that made these things possible to say.
“A letter of introduction. A position in a household that can be trusted, a companion, perhaps. You will not be left without resources.”
“I will repay you. I don’t know how or when. But I intend to.”
He turned and looked at her again. The light had shifted, or he had. Something had altered in the room without his permission, which was as much a part of Rathbourne House as its foundation. She was watching him with those steady, serious eyes. He shook his head, crossed to the door and opened it.
“Rachel.” His sister materialized with the speed of someone who had not moved far at all and had likely heard every word. “Lend Miss Anna something suitable. Have your maid begin packing for a full stay. We leave for Rathbourne Hall within the hour.”
Rachel’s eyes went wide, as did her mouth.
“London is not where we want to be with this unsettled.” He was already looking past them both, at the logistics, at the necessary sequence of things to be done. “The Hall is easier to manage. That is that.”
With that, he gave a short nod and left.