Chapter 22
Violet nearly cried with relief when a somber-looking butler admitted her into Rockliffe House after the longest continuous ride she’d ever done in her life.
As for when Lady Rockliffe appeared in the entrance hall, taking a moment to confirm her identity before revealing that Benedict had been found and was under this very roof—well, relief was too weak a word.
The sensation made her stumble, forcing her to grab the nearest side table before she lost her balance altogether. It caused her breath to hitch and her eyes to sting, for everything to turn light and surreal.
Yet no sooner did the cathartic wave wash over her than reality pushed its way back in, leaving her with a hundred questions and far too much fatigue to articulate them properly.
“What happened?” she managed after a beat, continuing to grip the table for support. “Where was he?”
Lady Rockliffe’s cheeks flushed, her slipper tapping quietly against the carpet before she answered. “He … we don’t know, exactly. The truth is, he fainted upon the doorstep before anyone could speak to him, and he has yet to awaken.”
Violet’s mouth dropped in alarm. “Are you saying he’s ill?”
But before the marchioness could respond to the question, another figure rushed into the entrance hall. A woman whose curly ebony hair and intense dark eyes could make her no one but Benedict’s mother.
“Theo.” The marchioness beckoned to her, then tilted her head in Violet’s direction. “This is Mrs. Violet Prescott.”
Violet’s new mother-in-law appeared before her in an instant, her expressive face hinting at so many emotions that it was difficult to determine how, precisely, she must be feeling.
She looked Violet up and down, her stare shrewd and assessing, and whether she planned to welcome her unexpected daughter-in-law to the family or chide her for the hasty marriage, Violet couldn’t say.
Ultimately, Benedict’s mother—Theo—crossed her arms over her chest, keeping her gaze locked with Violet’s but showing the tiniest bit of softening around her eyes.
“As you can probably imagine,” she said, “I have more questions for you than I can count. However, I wonder if you should lie down first.”
Violet blew out a breath, running a hand through her tangled mass of curls.
“I don’t need to lie down.” She undoubtedly looked a travel-stained fright, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Couldn’t give in to fatigue quite yet. She forced her shoulders to remain high as she peered entreatingly at Theo.
“I just want to know that Benedict is all right.”
“He’s been drinking,” Theo said without preamble, her mouth tight. “Excessively. There are signs he may have been in some sort of altercation.”
Drinking? An altercation? “But …” Violet let the revelation turn through her head, unsure whether it brought relief or dismay. “But Benedict doesn’t …”
“Drink? Get into trouble? No.” Theo closed her eyes for an instant, worried creases appearing at the corners. “I’m afraid recent circumstances caused him to act out of character.”
Oh, did Violet know it. The pamphlets fluttered mockingly in her mind, illuminated by stark moonlight on the doorstep of Aldercombe Grange.
The precise moment when everything had crumbled apart for her and Benedict both.
The moment he’d dismissed and rejected her, furious with the secret she’d kept.
I don’t want your help. For the love of Christ, just leave me alone. His words came back to shoot daggers at her heart, and she dug her nails into the side table at the sudden onslaught of pain.
What was she even doing at this house? Sitting idly in Wiltshire without knowing what had happened to Benedict had been unfathomable, but now that he was accounted for …
He wouldn’t want her here. He’d made it clear he was angry, that he wished for her to have no part in his family matters.
She was, after all, an outsider. The woman he’d married out of duty.
She forced her stiff fingers to release the table edge, willing her voice to sound composed—or at least not to break into sobs. “I’m glad to hear he’s been found and that his ailments aren’t of the worsening kind. I won’t impose on you any longer.”
With speed she didn’t know she still possessed, she whirled around to leave, unable to take the intensity of those dark, too-familiar eyes for another instant.
However, Lady Rockliffe rushed in front of her before she could reach the door, her face filled with kindness.
“It’s hardly an imposition when you’re family.
Please, you must stay. I’ll show you to a guest room so you can rest after your long journey. ”
“Thank you, but no,” Violet said hurriedly, wishing she could smile but finding the effort beyond her abilities. Something about the marchioness’s hospitality caused an extra ache in her heart. “I should really be on my way.”
Where she’d go, she had no idea, given that her father had turned their nearby town house into a harem. But somewhere. She’d find somewhere to lick her wounds, succumb to her weariness, and try to forget how everything about the future looked bleak.
“I heard him mutter your name in his sleep,” Theo murmured from behind her. “More than once. Whatever you wish to make of that.”
Violet froze on the spot, then slowly made herself turn, a strange pulse throbbing in her neck.
Benedict’s mother continued to evaluate her, expression unreadable. However, there was an unmistakable hint of gentleness there. “You should stay, Violet,” she said softly. “Not that you’re obligated, of course. But if you have any inclination to do so … you should stay.”
Violet blinked swiftly, tamping down the burn in her eyes. It’s not what Benedict wants, her brain shouted, unwilling to relinquish the hurt that spiraled through her chest. But … had he really called out for her? Did it mean anything more than drunken ramblings? Was there any chance …
“May I see him?” she burst out, ceasing to think, simply letting her heart lead in the direction it chose. “Only for a moment. I won’t disturb him; I’d just … I’d like to see him with my own eyes.”
Theo exchanged a fleeting glance with Lady Rockliffe before the marchioness came to take Violet’s arm, offering a small smile. “Certainly. Come with me.”
After a quick nod of thanks to Theo, Violet let Lady Rockliffe guide her up the stairs and down a corridor, weariness overtaking pride and prompting her to lean on the marchioness’s arm.
Downstairs, a multitude of voices had hummed from behind a closed door close to the entrance hall, but up here, it was quiet.
The type of place where one could sleep for a very long time.
“He’s in here,” Lady Rockliffe said, stopping beside a door near the end of the corridor.
She carefully released her hold on Violet and, after ascertaining that she remained upright, gave her dusty sleeve a reassuring pat.
“I know you refused it, but I’m going to have the bedchamber directly across from this one made up for you in case you change your mind.
In the meantime, are you certain there’s nothing else you need? ”
“Perhaps some coffee,” Violet conceded, glancing at the door as if it were a rival to be vanquished. Her body was a mixture of exhaustion and nerves, and she’d be best served if she accepted fortification.
“I’ll have it sent up right away.” The marchioness flashed her another sympathetic half-smile. “Ring if you require anything else.”
“Thank you,” Violet murmured, setting her fingers against the door handle with a small swell of gratitude. She hadn’t anticipated this sort of welcome. An automatic acceptance as if she were one of the family.
She’d use the tiny triumph to steel herself for what came next. To prevent her fears from roaring back to life and her body from running away.
She pushed into the room before additional thoughts had a chance to plague her, her eyes adjusting to the dimness created by the drawn curtains.
They fell on him almost at once—the figure sprawled out in the vast tester bed.
He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling beneath the twisted blanket that covered him.
As she crept closer, it became clear that his skin was ashy and sheened with sweat.
An angry purple bruise marred his jaw. His shirt contained splatters of mud, and his hair was matted into an unruly nest.
He didn’t look like Benedict Prescott at all—not the pristine, buttoned-up man she’d come to know.
Not the man who rescued sheep in the rain or danced at Whitsun, either.
This was the battered version of him. The rawest version.
Yet he was still, undoubtedly, her husband.
And he was safe. He was going to be all right.
No thanks to his own efforts.
She put her hands on her hips, glaring down at the sleeping figure. “It’s like I said to Achilles,” she muttered. “You’re a pudding head.”
He stirred, a faint sound crossing his lips that made her heart skip a beat. What if he awoke only to show her the same dismissive coldness as before he’d rushed away to London? She couldn’t abide it; she had to leave—
Except he merely turned his head on the pillow and kept on sleeping, his eyelids lightly twitching as if he dreamed.
She let out an unsteady exhale, and all the energy seemed to seep from her limbs along with it. It was like everything—the sleepless night on horseback, the weight of her worry, the ache in her heart—caught up to her at once, and she didn’t have the strength to sustain it any longer.
Thank heavens there was coffee coming to bolster her and a guest room being made ready as well. She may just give in and use it, if only to refresh herself for a few minutes.
In the meantime, though …
She flopped onto the bottom of Benedict’s bed, the plush counterpane too great a temptation to resist any longer. The mattress was soft, large enough for her to stretch out widthwise, and that’s exactly what she did, nestling her body beneath the lump that was his feet.
What a reprieve to be off her legs. It couldn’t last long, of course—only until a maid arrived with her coffee.
But with Benedict sleeping like the dead, there was surely no harm in lying down while she waited and absorbing just the smallest bit of heat from his body.
She didn’t have to be on good terms with him to appreciate his warmth.
“Pudding head,” she repeated to his feet with a yawn, and whether the sensation darting through her chest was exasperation, relief, or something else entirely, she couldn’t say.
She didn’t find out, for in the next instant, her eyelids involuntarily closed. And then, she was asleep.