Chapter Twenty
When Anastasia arrived home, feeling lighter for having fulfilled her task, she went looking for Laurence.
The weather was still pleasant, and she thought they might take that walk—even though she kept thinking how much nicer it would be to take a walk in the countryside, rather than in the stuffy city.
But Laurence was nowhere to be found. She checked his study, where he usually was, and the parlor and the great hall too. Then she asked his valet, whom she happened to catch in the hallway.
“He went out, my lady. About an hour ago—and he said he might be back late.”
Anastasia felt her face fall. How she had hoped that they could push forward with the steps he had taken toward spending more time together that morning. But now he wasn’t here. And he was going to be back late.
Where was he?
She tried not to think about it. Instead, she would make a plan—a plan for the following day. Hopefully, they could begin to get to know each other a little better, even after several weeks of marriage.
When she had made her plan, eaten her supper and taken a bath, and he was still not home, she found she could not shut out her thoughts any longer. Where was he—and who was he with?
In the whole time they had been married, he had never spent the night away, and yet now she found herself getting ready for bed knowing that he was not home.
Was he seeking company elsewhere, because she had told him of her bleeding, and that she was indisposed? She supposed she had expected him to stay in his own bedchamber, but she had not expected him not to come home at all.
Time ticked on, and she sat at the window, looking out onto the moonlit street, anger building within her. He was making a fool of her by staying away overnight, and angry tears pooled in her eyes, distorting her view of the street.
The clock downstairs struck midnight, and still she did not hear his boots on the stairs, or his movements in the adjoining bedchamber.
As she climbed into bed, sorrow making her heart ache, she had the terrible thought that perhaps something had happened to him. What if he was hurt? Maybe his carriage had overturned, or he had been attacked by highwaymen? That would be even worse than him consorting with some other woman.
When she eventually slipped into a fitful sleep, having prayed for his safe return, her dreams were filled with disturbing images of crashed carriages and guns and blood.
The morning could not come quickly enough.
*
Having only returned in the early hours of the morning, Laurence had not seen Anastasia since the previous day, when she had left to go on her mysterious errand.
He had not told her he was going, for when he had seen her, he hadn’t known he was.
The arrival of the letter detailing the leak at his home in Kent had arrived not long after she had left, and he had ridden there straightaway, not wanting his father’s favorite home to be damaged permanently.
It had grown so late that he had considered staying the night, but the idea of sleeping so far away from his wife—especially when he did not know where she was going and who she was meeting—made him feel uneasy. And so he had risked footpads and highwaymen and ridden back in the dead of night.
He slept in a little later than usual, but when he entered the dining room, Anastasia was still there, even though her plate and cup were empty.
“Good morning,” he said, nodding his head in greeting and taking his seat.
Her face pulled into a frown. “Is that all you’ve got to say?” There was clearly anger in her voice, though he wasn’t really sure why.
“I do not think it is late enough that I need say ‘good afternoon,’ is it?” Laurence asked with a raised eyebrow. He was convinced he was the one being lied to, so he certainly did not feel like he deserved her anger.
“No one knew where you were! And you did not come back until long after everyone was in bed. I was—” She bit her bottom lip and looked down at the floor.
“You were what?”
“I was worried, of course,” she snapped, her eyes meeting his in a blaze of fury. “Where were you? I came home and you were gone.”
“Ah yes, while you were gone ‘visiting your brother’,” he said, irritation rising within him. They might be married, but that didn’t give her any right to know his every movement—especially when he did not think she was being entirely honest with him.
“I did see my brother,” she said, her cheeks flushing red. “Who did you see?”
There was an accusation there, he was sure, but he wasn’t sure what she thought he was doing.
He had not intended to hide his visit from her—she simply had not been there.
Perhaps he should have left a note or told one of the staff…
but he was used to being alone, without having to answer to anyone’s concerns.
“There was an issue at one of my estates. I had to ride there to oversee the repairs.”
Anastasia hesitated, as though she did not quite believe him, but she didn’t say any more. Had the anger within her died down? He had never seen her so incensed. Normally she was so quiet, so diplomatic. Perhaps what they said about redheads was true: their tempers were fiery when provoked.
“I’m sorry if I worried you,” he said, feeling a little guilty if she had been up worrying about him. It was rather nice to know that somebody cared, even if he wasn’t used to having to share his movements.
She did not reply, and so Laurence sipped the coffee that the footman had brought in and tried to make conversation. “Do you have any plans for today?”
She folded her arms and glared out of the window. So it seemed her ire had not entirely cooled.
“I had thought… Never mind.”
“What had you thought?”
Anastasia sighed. He watched her for a moment as she clearly decided whether or not to tell him what she had planned.
Her red hair was pinned neatly, but in his mind’s eye, he always saw it loose, her head thrown back in the throes of passion.
Sometimes she seemed like two separate people, this wife of his—the quiet, meek woman in the day (well, other than today), and the enthusiastic, passionate woman who shared a bed with him every night.
Which was the real her?
She stuck her tongue between her teeth, bit it, and then continued. “I had thought that we might go on a picnic.”