Chapter Thirteen
Raven pushed through the doors of White’s, barely controlled fury thrumming through his veins. He burned with questions he couldn’t ask his wife. Questions about who had done this to her. Questions about who deserved to pay.
I was merely trying to save…someone.
The words haunted him, repeating in an endless loop through his mind. Someone had attempted to elope with a young woman. Ashley had intervened. And somehow, impossibly, she’d been the one left ruined while the actual guilty parties escaped unscathed.
The familiar scent of leather, tobacco, and old money enveloped him as he handed his coat to the attendant. The club was moderately crowded for a Tuesday afternoon—gentlemen escaping their wives and responsibilities, seeking refuge in cards and brandy and masculine company.
Raven’s gaze swept the room, searching. There—the Marquess of Wolfarth, Wolf sat alone near the windows, a newspaper spread before him and a cup of coffee at his elbow.
Perfect. He’d start with the elder brother, the one most likely to have been directly involved in managing the scandal’s aftermath three years ago.
“Wolf.” Raven approached the table, his tone carefully neutral despite the rage simmering beneath his skin.
Wolf glanced up, his expression shifting from mild surprise to something more guarded. “Blackstone. Didn’t expect to see you here today.”
“May I join you?”
“Of course.” Wolf gestured to the chair across from him, folding his newspaper with deliberate precision. “Escaping the demands of married life already?”
The casual jibe would normally have rolled off Raven’s back, but today it struck a nerve. “Actually, I was hoping to discuss Ashley.”
Wolf’s posture immediately stiffened, his hand tightening around his glass. “Is something wrong? Is she ill?”
“No, nothing like that.” Raven signaled for a servant, ordering brandy before settling into the leather chair. “She’s perfectly well. In fact, she’s been…happier lately.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Wolf’s tone remained cautious, assessing. “Tiffany mentioned she seemed more at ease when they took tea last week.”
Raven accepted his brandy, taking a long swallow to steady himself. How did one broach such a delicate subject? Your sister’s scandal three years ago… What do you actually know about it? Did you know she was innocent? Did you know she was protecting someone else?
But he couldn’t ask that directly. Ashley had said Wolf and Rockwell didn’t know the full story, and if he revealed what she’d told him, it would betray her confidence. No, he needed to be subtle. Carefully extract information without exposing how much he already knew.
“I’ve been thinking about Ashley’s past,” he said finally, choosing his words with care. “The first scandal that preceded our marriage. I confess, I never paid much attention to the details at the time.”
“Yet I seem to recall you wouldn’t let your sister Farah visit with her.” Wolf’s expression shuttered completely, his eyes going cold. “What about it?”
“I’m curious about the circumstances. The actual events, not just society’s speculation.” Raven kept his tone conversational, as if discussing nothing more significant than the weather. “It occurred to me that as her husband, I should perhaps understand what truly happened.”
“Why?” Wolf’s voice held a dangerous edge. “It’s done. Over. Ancient history. What purpose would dredging it up serve?”
Because your sister spent three years being punished for something she didn’t do, Raven wanted to shout.
Because some bastard destroyed her reputation and walked away clean.
Because she’s been carrying this burden alone for three years while you and Rockwell and everyone else accepted society’s judgment without question.
But he couldn’t say any of that. Instead, he swirled his brandy, watching the amber liquid catch the afternoon light streaming through the windows.
“Ashley is my wife. My duchess. I protect what’s mine.” He met Wolf’s eyes directly. “If there are lingering consequences from that scandal, threats to her reputation or safety, I need to know. I need to know his name. What if he still poses a threat?”
“There are no threats.” Wolf’s response came too quickly, too defensively. “It’s been three years. People have moved on. Found new scandals to whisper about.”
“Have they?” Raven leaned forward slightly.
“Because I’ve noticed how certain matrons still turn their noses up when Ashley enters a room.
How invitations are extended grudgingly, as if society is doing me a favor by acknowledging the Duchess of Blackstone.
That doesn’t strike me as people who’ve moved on. ”
Wolf’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath his skin. “Ashley knew what she was getting into when she married you. She understood the social costs.”
“Did she?” The question escaped before Raven could stop it, sharper than he’d intended. “Or did she simply accept yet another sacrifice as her due? Another burden to bear alone?”
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken accusations. Around them, the club’s usual sounds continued—the clink of glasses, the murmur of conversation, the rustle of newspapers. But at their table, tension coiled like a spring wound too tight.
“What exactly are you asking, Blackstone?” Wolf finally said, his voice low and dangerous. “Because it sounds like you’re questioning decisions made three years ago by people who had Ashley’s best interests at heart.”
“I’m questioning whether anyone actually knew what Ashley’s best interests were.” Raven set his glass down with controlled force. “I’m questioning whether the truth of that scandal is what everyone believed it to be.”
Wolf went very still. “What has Ashley told you?”
“Enough.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. “Enough to make me wonder about the man involved. The one she allegedly attempted to elope with.”
“Allegedly?” Wolf’s eyebrow rose. “You doubt she was with a man that night?”
“I doubt many things about that entire situation.” Raven held Wolf’s gaze steadily. “For instance, I doubt Ashley would be foolish enough to elope with someone unsuitable. She’s too intelligent, too aware of social consequences. And yet society accepted that narrative without question.”
“A carriage was seen,” Wolf said, his voice carefully neutral. “Lady Featherington witnessed Ashley getting into it, with a trunk. Heading north out of London. What else should we have concluded?”
He went cold inside. “Perhaps there’s more to the story than what Lady Featherington saw.
” Lady Featherington was a snake and not to be trusted but he could hardly reveal the reason he thought that.
Raven leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to appear casual despite the fury building in his chest. “Did you ever discover the man’s identity? Question him? Demand he make amends?”
Wolf’s silence was answer enough.
“You didn’t,” Raven said flatly. “Three years, and you never identified him. Never held him accountable. Why?”
“Ashley refused to name him.” The admission clearly cost Wolf something. “We tried—God knows Rockwell and I both tried. We demanded answers, threatened consequences. But she wouldn’t tell us. Claimed it didn’t matter, that he was gone and pursuing him would only make things worse.”
Raven’s fingers tightened around his glass until his knuckles went white. Of course, Ashley had protected the bastard. She’d been protecting everyone but herself.
“You accepted that? You just let it go?”
“What choice did we have?” Wolf’s voice rose slightly, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables.
He lowered it again, leaning forward. “We found her on the road thirty miles north of London, disheveled and distressed, with that damned trunk beside her. The scandal was already spreading. Lady Featherington had been telling everyone who would listen that she’d seen Lady Ashley Ware eloping with some man. ”
“And Ashley’s version of events?”
“Was that it had all been a terrible misunderstanding. That the man had been a friend helping her with a personal matter. That nothing improper had occurred.” Wolf’s laugh held no humor.
“No one believed her, of course. Young ladies don’t take midnight carriage rides thirty miles from London with male ‘friends’ and a trunk unless something improper is happening. ”
“What if she was telling the truth?” Raven kept his voice level despite wanting to shout. “What if it genuinely was a misunderstanding? An attempt to help someone else that went terribly wrong?”
Wolf studied him for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. “Has Ashley told you it was?”
“I’m asking what you think.” Raven deflected. “You know your sister. Do you truly believe she would attempt an elopement? Risk everything for some unsuitable man?”
“No.” The word came quietly, but with absolute conviction. “No, I never believed that. Not really. Ashley’s always been the sensible one. The one who followed rules, who understood duty and propriety. It made no sense that she would suddenly throw all that away.”
“Then why did you accept the scandal?”
“Because what else could we do?” Wolf’s frustration bled through his carefully maintained control. “The evidence was damning. Ashley wouldn’t explain. Wouldn’t defend herself. Wouldn’t name the man. What were we supposed to do—force her? Drag information out of her against her will?”
“Yes,” Raven said harshly. “If it meant protecting her reputation, her future—yes, you should have forced the issue.”
“Easy for you to say now, from three years’ distance.” Wolf’s eyes flashed with anger. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see how scared she was. How desperately she wanted to simply let it all blow over. Every time we pushed, she became more withdrawn, more closed off. We were afraid—”
He broke off, but Raven could fill in the rest. Afraid she’d do something drastic. Afraid they’d lose her entirely.