Chapter 31
31
“Well, Augustus,” said Modesty as she put the baby on the patchwork quilt covering a narrow wooden bed, “this is where you were born.”
Augustus cooed. He’d started moving his mouth in a way that made Modesty wonder if he was trying to smile for the first time, his dark blue eyes glistening as he looked up at her. He moved his chubby arms and legs inside the swaddle.
Modesty smiled softly at him. “Do you like it? I think you do.”
She slowly walked around the small room, bare floorboards creaking under her feet. Sadness filled her, heavy and omnipresent. It was on this bed that she had sat, holding the hand of a dying woman.
The white plaster walls looked gray in the grim light falling through the small sash window, old cracks and imperfections looking like scars. A cross hung over the bed and an old gravure on the wall opposite.
“Is everything all right, Modesty?” Her father’s voice startled her, and she turned to see him standing in the doorway.
The question seemed absurd. Nothing was right. Her world had shattered into pieces. She’d fled from the man she loved because his pride mattered more than their marriage. She’d taken Augustus from the only family he’d known.
“I scarcely know,” she admitted. “I believed I was fulfilling my duty as duchess.”
She’d accepted Constantine’s half-truths and evasions. But the Regent’s letter had changed everything. How could she go back to a marriage built on lies?
Three days ago, she arrived at her father’s home, and she hadn’t been able to sleep since.
Constantine came every day, asking if she was well, but she’d told Papa she didn’t want to see him.
Papa walked towards her and sat by Augustus’s side on the bed. He patted the baby on the cheek gently.
“I’d like to help you, child,” he said to her.
She said nothing but turned to stare out of the window. The garden looked wilder, and the goat was nipping sadly at the last burdock protruding through the gap in the fence. With a sharp sting in her heart, she remembered how enthusiastically Bessie had chewed on Constantine’s elegant coat. How the home she’d always loved could now seem so empty and desolate, she didn’t know. Perhaps it was only reflecting how she felt.
“Of course, you’re always welcome here,” Papa continued, “but you’ve been very quiet since you arrived. What happened?”
She ran the pads of her thumbs over fingernails, now healthier and smoother than they ever had been. Since she’d moved to Mayfair, she hadn’t been scrubbing the church and the house, tending the garden and the animals, helping in the kitchen and at the almshouse.
When she said nothing, he probed again. “Modesty, it’s hard to see you like this, dear. Matrimony is sacred. You ought to return to your place at your husband’s side…or at least see him…”
Papa’s words caused a familiar sense of guilt to weigh on her shoulders.
Her place at her husband’s side…
Was it selfish to want more for herself? To demand honesty and respect? To want the man she loved to choose her and the baby he had taken in as a ward—and not his pride?
But how could she explain to Papa she was no longer the girl he’d raised? She didn’t want to be obedient and modest—she wanted to be herself.
“The duke doesn’t give me what I need,” she said.
He sighed. “Although I would wish something different for you than marriage to one of the Dukes of Sin, what’s done is done. What you must do now is be a good wife to your husband. That is your duty as a woman.”
Duty as a woman… That was what she’d been taught all her life. Be small. Be supportive. Accommodate. Accept your role as a woman.Always put others first.
“What would people say, Modesty?” her father asked. “A duchess leaving her husband…Deception is a grave sin, but so, too, is the dissolution of a marriage. And what of the child? Have you considered the impact on his future?”
Of course she had considered it; she had gone through with this sham of a marriage for Augustus’s sake. And she would ensure he had a good life, whatever it took. But she was increasingly convinced that growing up in a house of lies would only leave the child as wounded as her husband.
She had foolishly dreamed that things could be different. That she could be a true duchess—proud and respected, seen and listened to…
Loved by her husband.
She wanted to be part of Misses with Microscopes. She wanted to go to an excavation. She wanted to be like Patience and Chastity, who could go to balls and talk to diplomats and royals but also conduct experiments, study in libraries and laboratories, and debate hypotheses in reputable salons. But that would never be.
“I can’t go back, Papa,” she said.
But how could she move forward?
She was tied to Constantine forever. In the eyes of the law, she didn’t exist without him. She was his property, an extension of him, dependent on his money and on his name.
“Why not?” Papa asked.
There were so many reasons, but she could share none of them with Papa—or anyone else.
She began pacing. “I don’t know, Papa, but I do not want to restrict myself to the darkest corner of the room so that light will shine on everyone else.”
He rose to his feet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, child, but that’s understandable given you’re clearly going through a difficult time. I shall pray for guidance and wisdom for you. Perhaps, with God’s grace, there may yet be a path to reconciliation. For now, you and Augustus are welcome here for as long as you need.”
A loud knock sounded from the front door.
“Let me answer the door,” Papa said.
Her breath caught at the thought of Constantine coming for her yet again. “If it’s the duke, please tell him I won’t see him.”
Papa nodded and left the room. As she tried to coax Augustus into a true smile, her father called out from downstairs. “Modesty, Mr. George Lockhart is here for you!”
She wondered if she should heed Constantine’s warning about George. But surely he was mistaken. Or it was yet another lie to manipulate her. George was one of her oldest friends, one of the people she trusted most. He would never hurt her, unlike her husband.
She picked up Augustus. “Let’s go and see our friend.”
As she entered the sitting room, George jumped to his feet. Something was different about him—there was a feverish brightness in his eyes, an almost manic energy in his movements. But she dismissed her unease. He must simply be eager to set out on his voyage.
George bowed, a wide smile on his face. “I hope you’re well, Duchess. And Augustus.” He came to her and wriggled his fingers over Augustus’s nose, which made the baby frown as he tried to follow the movement.
“We are. As you see, I’m staying with Papa for now. We missed you at the christening.”
“Right. I am so very sorry I couldn’t be there. But…I hope all is well…with the duke?”
Papa cleared his throat. “The duke will always be well. It’s those around him that might not.”
Modesty straightened her back. No matter how displeased she was with Constantine, she was not going to spill intimate details of their conflict outside her marriage. “Papa is merely jesting. Augustus and I are just…in need of a break from the city, that’s all. How’s your sister?”
“She’s very well. Sends her regards.” George’s eyes grew even brighter. “I—er—there’s something rather exciting I came to share. One of antiquarians joining my Egyptian expedition told me traces of a Roman fort have been discovered just two miles south of here. They’ve uncovered parts of the foundations and have found some pottery fragments…” He leaned forward, voice dropping conspiratorially. “They even found what might be ceremonial objects—rings and amulets with markings similar to those Pictish symbols you’re so fascinated by. I was rather hoping to show you before I sail. One last archaeological adventure together, like old times.”
A familiar jolt of excitement ran through her. A new site!
“Papa, you wouldn’t mind, would you?” she asked.
“No, of course not. You do need a change. Fresh air will do you good. The weather is very fine, as well.”
“And is it safe for Augustus to come?” she asked. “He hasn’t been outside yet today.”
“Of course.” George smiled. “I’m sure he’ll develop a passion for antiquities, just like you. My gig is outside.”
They went to the front door. She raised her brows at him as she handed him the baby and picked up her bonnet, tying it around her face. As she put on her pelisse, she asked, “Since when do you drive a gig?”
“My position on the Egyptian party is well paid,” he said as he handed the baby back to her, put on his top hat, and opened the door for her. “They took me thanks to your finding, so I thought I’d spoil you one last time before leaving.”
“I’m so glad for you,” she said as he supported her by the hand to help her climb into the gig.
He nodded with a smile, then walked around to take his seat. He flicked the reins, and the horse walked forward.
They chatted pleasantly for a bit as Modesty enjoyed the passing landscape.
“Oh!” George exclaimed, reaching beneath the seat. “I nearly forgot. I brought something special.” He produced a small silver flask. “One of my fellow antiquarians translated the most fascinating papyrus fragment—a recipe for a tea blend. Supposedly Cleopatra enjoyed it. I brewed it this morning and thought you’d like to try it?”
Modesty took the flask. “Tea that Cleopatra drank?” She opened it and sniffed. “What’s in it?”
“Surprisingly, I could find most ingredients. Honey, chamomile, mint, rosemary… Saffron, too. Wormwood, so it might be a little bitter. The only ingredient I couldn’t source was blue lotus. It grows only along the Nile. But I hoped I might still capture something of the original essence without it.”
Modesty hesitated. The scholarly part of her was intrigued by this connection to the ancient world, but something…a feeling in her gut…gave her pause.
“Come now,” he urged. “Just a small taste. You’re not coming to Egypt with me. This is my way to bring Egypt to you. We used to share treats as children, remember?”
The mention of their shared childhood made her concerns melt away. Surely, she was being foolish to doubt her oldest friend. She accepted the flask and took a small sip. The liquid was, indeed, oddly bitter beneath its honeyed sweetness.
“Interesting,” she murmured, smacking her lips. Then she drank a few more gulps, trying to imagine if Cleopatra thought it strange, too, or if she enjoyed it. “That bitterness…”
“It’s only wormwood, as I said.” George flashed her a reassuring smile. “I wonder if blue lotus would change the taste.”
She drank a little more. She thought the bitterness was slightly different from wormwood, but it must be because of the combination of herbs in the tea. “You have to try it in Egypt and write me with the results.” She smiled as she handed him the flask. “Thank you for bringing it for me.”
They continued chatting for the next half hour, but Modesty found herself growing strangely drowsy. Her thoughts became sluggish, her limbs heavy. She tried to focus on the passing scenery, but her vision kept blurring at the edges. Augustus’s weight in her arms seemed to increase with each passing minute.
When she saw the outskirts of London, her stomach dropped.
She looked around. “Where is the site? If it’s two miles away, shouldn’t we have reached it by now?”
He looked at her with the warm, lovely smile of a friend who was about to give her the biggest gift of her life—something he knew she’d adore.
“I’m sorry, Modesty,” he said, no longer bothering to use her proper title. “The site is a little more south than I mentioned. It’s in Egypt. You are coming with me, after all. The ship is about to sail.”
She gave out a laugh. “What? You’re jesting, surely.”
“No, dearest, I am not. I wanted you to be my wife. Had the duke not proposed first, I’m sure your papa would have given me his blessing. Then you and I would have been on this ship anyway. I would have never restricted you like he’s restricting you—keeping you in a golden cage, making you into his image of the perfect wife and duchess.”
Her mouth fell open. No. This was not the George she knew…
“You can’t be serious! What about Augustus? Mrs. Walcott is back at home—what will he eat?”
“I’ve already hired a wet nurse for him. I recently came into some money… Your husband paid me to keep his secrets. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?”
The memory of Constantine’s warnings crashed over her. He’d tried to tell her, but she’d been too angry, too hurt to believe him. Now here she was, trapped in a gig with the very man who’d been plotting their destruction all along.
Fear dripped icy sweat down her spine as they entered Whitechapel. He’s the blackmailer. And now he’s taking me away…
The streets were getting increasingly crowded. Augustus squirmed against her chest, sensing her tension. She couldn’t risk jumping—not with the baby. But the closer they got to the docks, the fewer options she’d have.
“Don’t look so horrified,” George said softly, his hand leaving the reins to cup her cheek. The gesture made her skin crawl, but she was too tired, her reactions too slow, to jerk back before his fingers reached her. What was going on?
Her eyelids were heavy. Augustus started slipping out of her hands, and she clutched him with all strength she had—which was diminishing with every sluggish breath she took.
“Your dreams are coming true, darling. Everything I’ve done—the blackmail, the gossip, destroying his pride…” He was talking but she was slipping down into some warm, dark place… “It was all for you. Our dream…”
No, she needed to remain awake. Run away from him. Keep Augustus safe.
But she was already sinking beneath the surface… Soft. Weak. Sleep.
“And now it’s coming true,” George added, and it was the last thing she remembered.