Chapter 17 #2
Closeted in the study that had once been his father’s, the chamber in the town house he liked the least and the one which he generally did his utmost to avoid, Everett was attempting to review his correspondence.
He was also failing miserably. It had been penance that had driven him here.
Regret and resignation, lingering with the need to turn his attention somewhere—anywhere—else.
Each opened epistle captured his attention for no more than two lines, four at the most. Because his mind kept inevitably wandering back to the god-awful events of the night before. To the woman he loved and the man she loved instead of him.
He scowled down at the most recent letter from his steward.
Calls for crop rotation and discussions of sheep rearing and rents and walls and fences that needed mending all blurred before him.
Instead, he saw her face, upturned and earnest. Saw the love shining in her mysterious dove eyes. Love for another man.
Damn that bloody bastard. He didn’t know what he had.
And what a novel sensation it was for Everett to envy a footman.
He was a duke who had been born first in line, who had only known wealth and power, who had always managed to buy or charm his way into getting what he wanted.
But neither his wealth nor his title could garner him what he most desired.
His wife’s love.
Instead, that had been granted to a man without fortune and without the éclat of an aristocratic name. Everett sighed heavily and moved the letter to the side, taking out a blank sheet of paper to dash off his response.
Theirs was and had always been a marriage of convenience.
He only had himself to blame for lowering his guard and becoming vulnerable.
He bloody well ought to have learned his lesson with Lydia.
But he hadn’t. Instead, he had fallen desperately in love with a chestnut-haired beauty who was beloved by orphans, who had been strong in the face of her father’s viciousness, who was brave and bold and everything he admired in a woman.
A woman who had made it more than apparent she would never love him back.
He began scrawling a hasty missive to his steward, trying to distract himself. Fences, he reminded himself. Fences, crumbling stone walls, sheep breeding. That was what he was meant to address. Not the irreparable state of his marriage.
Not that.
He raked a hand through his hair and threw down his pen, rising from his chair. He couldn’t remain seated. Couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t write one more damned word.
A knock sounded on his study door, interrupting the tumult within him.
He was relieved for the respite. Until he bade the interloper to enter and discovered Sybil hovering in the doorway.
She wore a simple blue afternoon gown that hugged her figure, emphasizing her curved waist. Her hair was plaited at her crown, a riot of curls framing her face.
“Am I intruding, Your Grace?” she asked with the cool efficiency of someone who was addressing a stranger instead of her husband.
Yes, she damned well was. But she had already been intruding on his thoughts. She may as well do so in the flesh.
He offered her a curt bow. “Not at all, madam. Come in.”
Unsmiling, she swept forward after closing the door. The subtle scent of her perfume hit him, and he couldn’t control the surge of longing that barreled through him like a runaway carriage. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her.
“Thank you.” She stopped with an arm’s length between them, eyeing him warily. “I was hoping we might speak for a moment.”
“What do you require?” he asked, steeling himself for the conversation ahead.
“I wanted you to know that I am leaving London today. I’ll be joining Lady Verity on her visit to the Children’s Foundling Hospital so that I can bid farewell to the children, and then afterward, I shall be going to the train station. I’m returning to Riverdale Abbey.”
He reeled, feeling as if she had struck him. “What do you mean, you are leaving London?”
She straightened her shoulders, her posture going stiff. “I am no longer willing to participate in the bargain you offered me.”
Understanding dawned. Sybil wasn’t merely telling him that she was returning to Riverdale Abbey. She was telling him that she was leaving him.
He clenched his jaw. “You are saying that you no longer wish to keep your promise? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You are ever inconstant, darling.”
Her lips compressed. “I have been unfailingly loyal to you, which is more than I can say for Your Grace. You kept me a secret and spent three months wooing heaven knows how many conquests whilst I patiently waited for you to return to me. It was only when I finally realized that you had no intention of returning that I took matters into my own hands and found you.”
“I was a faithful husband to you,” he countered, “in thought, word, and deed. I’ve never touched another woman since we met, and neither have I wanted to.”
Anger roared through him. How dare she accuse him of being unfaithful when her heart belonged to another? From the moment he had seen her, she had consumed him. What a fool he was.
“You, the callous rake,” she scoffed. “You were hosting a bawdy house party. You expect me to believe that you didn’t engage in any of the vulgarities I witnessed?”
“Was I involved in any of them?”
“No,” she admitted. “But how am I to know what you were about behind closed doors?”
“I might also remind you that you were present at that same house party for days,” he snapped, growing weary of her unfounded accusations. “To say nothing of what you have already—”
A sudden knock at the door interrupted his words.
He stopped himself and scrubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaling harshly. “Who is it?”
“It is only me,” Verity’s voice called from the hall. “The carriage is waiting.”
“Her Grace will join you shortly,” he called back, feeling cold finality wash over him.
He had been wrong to think there could ever be more between them. Sybil didn’t love him, and she never would.
“I will await her there,” Verity said, concern in her voice.
Damn his sister for meddling again. She meant well, he knew, but her interruption had been deuced untimely.
He waited a moment until he heard footsteps receding down the hall beyond before gentling his voice. “So. You are to return to Riverdale Abbey, madam. And from there, what? I must warn you that I’ll not be made a cuckold.”
Was it his imagination, or was there hurt shining in the depths of her eyes, mingling with the glistening of tears? She shook her head, and it was gone. Perhaps he’d only been seeing what he wanted to see.
“I do not yet know what I shall do. I only know that I am not happy here, and I cannot bear to remain in misery. I was much more contented at Riverdale Abbey.”
No doubt because of its proximity to her lover.
His lip curled at the thought. “Go, then. I’ll not hold you here.”
Wary surprise crossed her features, as if she had expected him to wage more of a fight. But he was weary to the bone. He was tired of fighting for her, fighting to win her, fighting to keep her.
Mayhap the best thing for them was to lead separate lives. He couldn’t bear to share a bed with her, knowing there was another man in her thoughts, in her heart.
“I am not certain if my mother will accompany me,” Sybil said hesitantly.
He knew what she was asking.
“Your mother is welcome to remain. I’ll not throw an old invalid woman into the streets.”
Perhaps that was what she thought of him, that he was heartless. Maybe doing so made it easier for her to sleep at night.
“Thank you,” she said, nodding. Her fingers clasped her skirts, digging into the silk. “I suppose I should join Lady Verity, then.”
“Yes,” he said bitingly. “You should.”
“Goodbye,” she said.
He held her gaze unflinchingly, his face a mask of stone, for he refused to show her even the slightest hint of his inner torment. “Goodbye, Sybil.”