Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rachel had noticed it before, but now she could no longer ignore it.
Simon was absent frequently. Every evening. He would be missing at mealtimes and would return only late at night. He never spoke of where he went, never offered so much as a passing comment about his disappearance.
And she, for all her curiosity, had never dared to ask.
She told herself it was because she was honoring his rule—never ask where I am going—but deep down, she knew there was another reason entirely.
She was afraid of his answer being one that she would not like.
This morning, as she stepped onto the terrace, she saw him once more, preparing to leave.
Simon stood beside his mare, adjusting the gloves on his hands with practiced ease. His face was impassive, unreadable, as it always was when he was preparing to depart.
I wonder what he’s thinking.
And more importantly, where he’s going.
Rachel knew that not knowing would drive her wild in his absence for the remainder of the day, so in the interest of her own well-being, she swallowed her hesitation and decided to make her way toward him.
Simon must have sensed her presence because he did not startle when she stopped just a few steps away.
Instead, he continued his preparations, fastening the last buckle on his glove before turning toward her.
“You require something of me?” His voice held no trace of emotion. Merely a practical inquiry.
She met his gaze, heart pounding as she mustered the courage.
“You are leaving,” she said, her voice even though she hated how much it sounded like an observation rather than a question.
Like it was the norm—him leaving and her just idly watching him from the sidelines.
Simon’s hands stilled for the briefest second before he finished adjusting the leather. He turned his head, meeting her gaze.
“I am.”
His response was as useful as her not having asked in the first place. Curt, giving away no more information than necessary.
She wanted to ask. She could feel the question burning on her lips, desperate to escape.
Where are you going?
By the way he was looking at her now, it appeared that Simon expected it, too. His gaze bore into hers patiently as the silence between them continued to stretch on.
She wanted to ask him, she really did. But the memory of his rule echoed in her mind, a quiet warning against crossing a line that he had drawn from the very beginning.
So instead, she said nothing.
A flicker of something crossed Simon’s face. Disappointment or relief? She could not tell.
His lips pressed together, his gaze lingering on her for just a beat longer than necessary. Then, without a word, he reached for the reins of his horse and pulled himself into the saddle.
Rachel remained rooted to the ground, her fingers curling slightly at her sides.
“Will you return before nightfall?” she finally asked, surprising herself.
This isn’t breaking the rules. Is it? It was not asking him where, but only when he would return.
Simon stilled, his back straightening slightly as he looked down at her from his seat. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then—
“No.”
Her chest tightened, regretting the question immediately.
He did not elaborate. Did not offer any assurance of when he would return, if at all, that evening.
She nodded then, keeping her expression neutral, she said, “Then I shall see you whenever I do.”
Something in his gaze sharpened.
For a fleeting moment, she thought he might say something else. Might explain, anything to rid her of the growing unease inside her heart.
But then his grip tightened on the reins, and the moment was lost.
“Rachel.”
Her breath caught at the sound of her name on his lips.
But it was only that. Just her name. No further words.
And then he was gone, his horse kicking up dust as he rode through the gates and disappeared down the road.
Rachel did not move until the sound of hooves against gravel faded into the distance.
And then once again, she was alone.
When she returned inside again, instead of returning to her rooms, she found herself making her way through the halls in search of company.
Agnes.
She found the older woman in the servant’s wing, standing over a large wooden desk littered with household records.
“Your Grace,” she greeted warmly as Rachel entered, dipping into a slight curtsy. “What brings you here?”
Rachel hesitated, unsure how to phrase her question without sounding absurd.
“I hope I did not disrupt anything important.”
“Of course not, Your Grace,” she said immediately. “What is it that you require?”
At least someone in this house wanted to see her.
“I wished to ask you something,” she admitted, stepping further into the room.
Agnes gestured toward the chair across from her desk, and Rachel sat, smoothing the fabric of her gown.
“Has the duke always been this way?” she asked finally.
Agnes raised a brow. “What way, Your Grace?”
Rachel exhaled softly, knowing how strange the question must have sounded. “I mean to say, well… does he often leave the estate?”
Agnes regarded her carefully. “His Grace does not leave unless he must,” she answered. “He has always preferred to keep his affairs in order from here, rather than travel unnecessarily. If visits are required, they come to him.”
That was not what she had hoped to hear.
Then why is he leaving now?
She knew the answer before she could even form the thought fully.
Because of her.
The realization settled in her chest like a weight.
Simon was not a man prone to sentiment. He had never pretended to be. And yet, Rachel had hoped that their moments together had affected him in some way. That she had affected him as he had affected her.
Rachel’s gaze dropped to her hands, fingers lightly tracing the ridges of the wooden armrest. Her shoulders slumped as her own spirit deflated.
Agnes noticed the shift immediately. “Your Grace?” she prompted gently. “I do not wish to impose, but is something wrong?”
Oh, Agnes. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
“No. Nothing is wrong. I am only…” she said instead, choosing her words carefully. “Adjusting to marriage.”
Agnes gave a knowing hum, folding her hands in front of her.
“It can be quite an adjustment,” she agreed. “Especially when two people do not yet understand one another.”
Rachel lifted her gaze. “And if they do understand each other?”
“Then it is a matter of accepting one another.”
“And what if…” She hesitated, then sighed. “What if one does not know what the other wants?”
Agnes smiled softly. “Then they must ask.”
Rachel let out a breathy laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”
“Because it is simple,” Agnes said warmly. “What is not simple is allowing oneself to hear the answer.”
Rachel’s fingers curled in her lap. Ask him? The idea was as daunting as it was tempting.
It was no simple thing—not with all his rules and the evasiveness of his answers.
But beyond that, would she even have the courage? He was intimidating enough.
Before she could say anything further, Agnes reached forward, patting her hand.
“Give it time, Your Grace,” she advised. “A marriage is not built in a day. It is built in the quiet moments, the choices we make to understand one another, even when we are afraid of the answers.”
Rachel bit the inside of her cheek, letting Agnes’s words settle over her.
Even when we are afraid of the answers.
Fear.
Because that was what this was, was it not?
It was not just frustration or confusion. It was fear—fear of what Simon’s distance meant. Fear that she had been foolish to think something was growing between them.
Rachel inhaled deeply, schooling her features as she rose from her seat.
“Your advice is appreciated, Agnes. Though I am unsure if I will be able to implement it.”
The housekeeper smiled, inclining her head. “You shall find your way soon enough, Your Grace.”
“I shall leave you to your work now.”
Rachel left her then, suddenly overcome with the overwhelming urge to be left alone.
Perhaps Agnes was right. It could be that the solution to her problems lay only in her asking.
She would be breaking a rule, yes. But was that so bad if it would give her clarity?
Her cheeks flushed at the memory. But even if she mustered the courage to ask, did she truly want to hear the answer?