Chapter 18 #2
And that was when she knew with horrifying, painful clarity that she was going to have to put some distance between them as soon as she possibly could.
His wife was leaving him.
King learned the news from Hutchens when his valet awoke him suddenly from the oblivion he had finally fallen into some time after dawn. Unfortunately, the gin he had tossed down his gullet had left him with an aching head and a curdled gut.
He sat up, the bedclothes falling to his waist. “You are certain?” he bit out.
Inside him, all he could think was that it couldn’t be.
He had held Verity in his arms hours ago.
She hadn’t pushed him away. Surely if Verity intended to desert him, she would have said so then.
She wouldn’t have wept into his waistcoat and then allowed him to escort her back to her bedroom with a kiss on the cheek and the promise they would speak more after some much-needed sleep.
He hadn’t wanted to let her go, but he’d realized he had to honor her wish for space and time. Now, he wondered whether that had been the right decision. If going to bed with a bottle of spirits instead of his wife had proven his ruin rather than a way to give her what she needed.
Hutchens was grim. “The carriage has already been prepared. The nursemaid and the child are going as well. They are downstairs now, having finished breakfast.”
“No,” he denied, rushing from the bed and searching for anything suitable that he could don.
If she was taking Emma with her, it meant she didn’t intend to return any time soon.
Or ever.
Fuck.
The realization sucked all the air from his lungs. He couldn’t bear it if she left him. She and Emma had brought sunshine into the darkness of his world. If he lost that, he would lose himself.
“I would have come sooner, Your Grace, but you did request not to be disturbed.”
He snatched up yesterday’s shirt, not giving a bloody damn that it wasn’t fresh, and stuffed his arms into the holes. “I thought she intended to sleep as well. The ball went on until nearly dawn, and after that…”
He allowed his words to trail away, for he didn’t want to confide in his valet. It was too personal. Too raw.
“Where are my goddamned trousers?” he growled, striding about the room as his fingers fumbled over buttons.
“Your trousers are here, Your Grace.” Calmly, Hutchens extended an arm, the carefully pressed, fresh trousers draped over it.
King snatched them up and began hauling them on, not giving a damn if the trousers were laundered and his shirt was a day old. “Thank you, Hutchens. Waistcoat?”
Hutchens held up one of King’s favorites. “Here you are, Your Grace.”
“Has she indicated her plans to any of the household?” he demanded, finishing fastening his trousers, his heart pounding harder than his bloody head.
He was never going to drink gin again.
Or sleep.
Or leave his wife unattended.
Or keep the truth from her.
“Mrs. Sendall mentioned that Her Grace intends to journey to Riverdale Abbey,” Hutchens advised grimly.
“The devil she does,” he bit out.
Not even his country seat or one of his other estates, but her brother’s country holdings instead? That did not bode well. It felt like a proclamation of loyalty, as if the battle lines had been drawn, and she was firmly on her brother’s side, whilst King was…
Alone.
Alone, just as he always had been.
“There are rather a lot of trunks, Your Grace,” Hutchens added.
A roar came out of him, guttural and uncontrollable. He couldn’t lose her. Not after everything they had gone through together. Not like this.
His redoubtable valet didn’t even flinch, simply held out a coat for King to don.
“There’s no time for that,” he decided, finishing the last button on his waistcoat. “I have to speak with Her Grace posthaste.”
Hutchens winced. “Very well, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Hutchens. You’re a good man.” He raked a hand through his hair as he strode from the room, pausing at the threshold. “Better than I deserve.”
He didn’t wait for a response before stalking out of the chamber and down the hall, desperate to find Verity and stop her. His hair wasn’t combed, his jaw was stubbled and unshaven, he was scarcely dressed, and he didn’t give a damn.
All he cared about was her.
Finding her.
Keeping her.
The hall was empty. He raced down the stairs with a complete disregard for dignity, not stopping until he was in the main hall. Servants were milling about in their daily toils. Mrs. Sendall bustled past, her chatelaine jingling.
She curtsied when she spied him. “Your Grace.”
“Madam,” he acknowledged tightly. “Where might I find Her Grace, if you please?”
“She and Miss Emma are gathering their wraps and hats at the door,” Mrs. Sendall informed him, not without a look of pity.
Apparently, the whole bloody household knew his wife was abandoning him and that he hadn’t an inkling about it. Damn it all to hell.
King bit out a terse thank-you and rushed to the entrance, where Verity and Emma were indeed bundling up. They were already wearing hats and gloves, Emma clutching Verity’s hand.
“Don’t go,” he burst out, not caring that there were domestics underfoot, within earshot.
Verity spun about, wearing a look of surprise, eyes wide. “Kingham, what are you doing here?”
“Perhaps you should tell me what I am doing here,” he suggested, stopping before them, emotions roiling up inside him, so strong and so fierce that they could barely be restrained.
“Or perhaps you might tell me why I’ve been informed by the servants that my wife is leaving for her brother’s country estate without my knowledge. ”
“Yer Grace,” Emma greeted, dipping into a curtsy. “Lady Vitty said ye was still asleep.”
He glanced down at the child, patting her on the head, tenderness making his chest go tight. “Good morning to you, Miss Emma. Perhaps I was asleep when Miss Vitty said so, but I am awake now, as you can see.”
He hadn’t expected to care for the girl. The very notion of her coming to live at Castelyn House had filled him with dread. But now, he couldn’t imagine the nursery going quiet again. Couldn’t bear to think of his life without her in it.
“Lady Vitty said we’re going on a trip!” Emma said, clapping her hands together. “Now ye can come too since yer awake.”
“Perhaps,” he said noncommittally, not wanting to raise the child’s hopes.
It was more than clear that Verity was attempting to leave him whilst he remained asleep. Cowardly of her, but he suspected he knew the reason.
King straightened to find Verity eyeing him warily, her blue gaze unreadable. “May I have a word with you?”
Indecision crossed her features. “I believe we have already said all there is to say for now.”
“For now, or for forever?” he demanded, frustration rising.
“Kingham,” she protested softly. “I need some time.”
“How much time?”
Emma tugged impatiently at his trouser leg, forcing King to direct his attention back down to her. “Do ye want to come, Yer Grace?”
“I would follow Lady Vitty wherever she asked me to go,” he told the child honestly.
He would follow Verity into the fiery depths of Hades if she but asked it of him. However, she had not asked him to go anywhere with her, including Riverdale Abbey.
“Lady Vitty, Lady Vitty!” the girl exclaimed. “Can ’is Grace come along on our trip?”
Verity’s countenance was torn as she looked down at Emma. “I’m afraid that His Grace is very busy and has matters to attend and that means he must stay in London.”
So that was how this was going to go, then.
King knew he needed to take care not to alarm the child or make her aware of any strife between himself and Verity.
Heaven knew Emma had endured enough already and had only just begun feeling at home.
He would be damned before he was the cause of more upset in her young life.
He smiled down at the girl. “Perhaps I shall join the two of you when my schedule permits it.”
“Yes, my dear,” Verity agreed. “His Grace will join us if he is able.”
She turned to the girl’s nursemaid, who was hovering at a respectful distance, also dressed for travel. King hadn’t taken note of her presence, though he was vaguely aware of various domestics in proximity. His entire attention had been upon Verity and Emma.
“Grace, will you please take Miss Emma to the carriage whilst I say farewell to the duke?” she asked.
“Of course, Your Grace,” the nursemaid said, bobbing a curtsy before she hastened forward, arm extended to the child. “Come along now, Miss Emma. We’ll await Her Grace in the carriage.”
In his carriage.
His carriage, which was being used, against his will, to take his wife and the child he had begun to think of as their daughter away.
King clenched his jaw, holding his tongue as he watched Emma gleefully wave as she was led away by the nursemaid. The child was eager for her adventure and had no notion of the gravity of the situation.
Tears stung his eyes as the door closed on the two. “Be gone at once, all of you,” he snapped at the lingering servants.
It wasn’t like him to take out his frustration on the domestics, and he wasn’t proud of himself as they scattered away, but he needed to have his wife to himself, to have freedom to speak openly and candidly. It was the best chance he had to keep her from going.
King turned back to Verity when they had gone. “Can we please speak before you leave?”
“I’m not sure that is wise.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t trust myself,” she admitted quietly, her gaze shimmering with a haze of unshed tears as well.
His chest tightened. “In what way?”
She blinked, tears gathering on her long lashes, rendering them spiked. “I don’t trust that I won’t allow you to persuade me to stay. And I cannot stay because I need time away from you.”
Her admission hit him like a blow.
“Time away from me,” he repeated, hating the words, the thought. “For how long? How much time do you require, Verity? And why? Why can we not work through this together?”
She compressed her lips, clearly struggling as much as he was, even though her leaving had been her choice and most certainly not King’s. “You are too charming and convincing, and I cannot resist you.”
He reached for her. “Then don’t resist me, my love. Don’t resist us.”
She stepped away, leaving his hand empty, shaking her head.
“You see? It would be so easy to try to forget and carry on as if none of this had ever happened. But I cannot do that. I have spent the past ten years upholding my love for one man, only to awaken as if from a sleep and discover that I have given that love to someone else. I have become a stranger to myself.”
“I understand that you loved him,” he forced out, even if the acknowledgment brought with it a pain all its own. “But that does not mean that you cannot also love me. It doesn’t mean that we cannot have our own happiness, our own life together.”
Tears started to fall on her cheeks, her expression stricken.
“There is this tremendous guilt inside me, eating me alive. If I stay, I will never be able to forgive myself. I need time to work through everything that has happened in my mind, but I must be alone. There have been so many people surrounding me from the moment I awoke after the fire, telling me what I should remember, keeping me from the past, but now I need quiet and space. I need to find myself.”
“Find yourself here,” he entreated, “in my arms, where you belong.”
“It isn’t that easy,” she said, her tone mournful. “The old Verity wanted one thing, and the new Verity wanted something vastly different. I am not either one of those Veritys any longer, but a new one, a union of the two. I need to understand how to live with myself, to know what I truly want.”
He heaved a sigh, frustrated with himself for failing to tell her sooner. He had brought this on himself, and there was no one else at fault.
“I hope you can also come to understand how to live with me,” he told her quietly. “Because I cannot live without you, Verity. I need you and Emma in my life, and I am begging you, here and now, not to leave me. Stay. Stay so that we can work through this together.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I cannot. I’m sorry, but staying is impossible.”
Everything within him, every possessive instinct he had, screamed at him to stop her. To take her in his arms and carry her away so that she couldn’t leave him. But he had already taken away too much from her, and he had to honor her wishes, even if it killed him.
He nodded. “If that is how you feel, then I shan’t trouble you with my presence any longer. I bid you safe travels, madam.”
He sketched an ironic bow, and then, with a muffled sob, the woman he loved turned her back on him, rushing out the door. She left him standing alone in the entryway, the silence crushing.
With great difficulty, he gathered his composure, fighting the tears and the pain. Devastation was nothing new to him.
Everyone he had ever loved had left him, either through death or because of his own actions. First Daphne, then his beloved dog Spy, now Verity and little Emma.
Gone.
He moved to the front window and watched as Verity stepped up into the carriage and the door closed. Watched as his coachman urged the horses into motion. As the conveyance pulled away, into the street.
Watched and waited for her to change her mind. To order the carriage to be turned around.
But that didn’t happen. The carriage kept ambling away, until it rounded a bend and slipped out of sight. Only then did King leave his vigil, stalking to his study and slamming the door at his back.
Once inside, he destroyed every piece of furniture, each bric-a-brac, every glass and bottle and even tables and chairs, tearing pictures from the walls, until nothing was left but King, the ruined room, and his marrow-deep despair.