Chapter 27
Philip had not bothered to look at the clock to check the time, but the half-empty decanter of whiskey was a rather good indicator of how long he had been festering in his foul mood.
In the opposite armchair, imbibing at a slower pace, Zachary had barely said a word since Mary departed. Yet his thoughts were loud and growing louder.
“Spit it out,” Philip grumbled, wishing he didn’t have the tolerance for liquor that years of war had granted him.
He wanted to forget the unpleasantness of the maid’s interruption, but his constitution would require at least another few glasses or ten. And he was fast losing his taste for the whiskey on offer, the flavor too heavy and earthy.
“I didn’t say anything,” Zachary replied defensively.
“But you want to. I can see it on your face.”
Zachary swept a hand through his hair. “I think your anger is misplaced; that is all.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“You are brooding about the maid, but it is not as if she said anything untrue,” Zachary replied.
“It was not her place to say such things. Those were private conversations, and the rest of what she said is not true anymore,” Philip snapped.
He reached out to refill his glass and wondered if he shouldn’t just drink from the decanter instead. It would save time in his desire for utter oblivion.
“Perhaps, but you should not be in here with me, simmering as you are. You should go and find your betrothed and tell her everything before, heaven forbid, that maid does.” Zachary shook his head.
“She is angry with you, that was clear to see, and there is no telling what she might say to Selina before she leaves for good. A parting blow to wound you, as you have obviously wounded her.”
Philip halted, his glass halfway to his mouth. Of course, Mary would do something like that. All of that talk about her not being bitter was evidently a lie, but his anger had clouded his judgment. He should have known that she would try to ruin things before she departed.
Why did you have to keep her around, Grandmother?
He cursed the old woman’s kindness.
It often baffled him that such a generous, compassionate woman had produced a devil like his father.
She had been helpless to do anything to protect her grandson—or her daughter-in-law, for that matter—but she had always protected Lizzy.
It helped that his father had barely acknowledged his sister’s existence.
“Tell her everything,” Zachary said. “She will respect your honesty, and what is more, she deserves to hear your side of the story.”
Philip finally glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece. His heart dropped as he noted the time. It had been almost two hours since Mary’s interruption. He had wasted so much time wallowing in his anger instead of setting things right.
What a fool.
He set down his untouched glass of whiskey and rose from his chair. “You are right. Of course, you are right.”
He walked to the door, feeling a little more foggy-headed than he had expected. The whiskey must have had some effect, after all.
Across the quiet entrance hall, he listened for the sounds of activity. He assumed that most, if not all, of the guests had retired for the night. It was peculiar that his grandmother had not knocked to wish him good night, but maybe she was asleep in an armchair somewhere.
He lumbered up the stairs, pausing as his fingertips brushed the banister right where he had stopped Selina’s ascent what felt like an eternity ago. The moment she had discovered that there had been a relationship between him and Mary.
All of this could have been avoided if she had just been more discreet.
He could have paid her for her silence, and she would have kept her position while Selina stayed none the wiser. It was a mess, and only he could fix it now.
Continuing up the stairs, he finally reached Selina’s door and braced for whatever reaction he was about to receive. If Mary had gotten to her first, this would probably not be pleasant.
He knocked lightly. “Selina?”
There was no response, which didn’t bode well.
“Selina? Selina, I just want to talk to you, if you will let me,” he said through the door, knocking again.
Still nothing.
“I know you may not want to see me right now, but I must talk to you.” He reached for the handle and turned it.
Squinting into the gloom of the room beyond, he frowned at the lack of a fire in the grate. It was a chilly evening thanks to the rain; he did not want her to get cold.
Why has no one prepared a fire for her?
He stepped into the room and looked toward the bed, certain that Selina was sleeping or pretending to.
“Selina?” He walked slowly to the other side of the bed, cautious not to startle her awake.
As his eyes adjusted to the dark, his brow furrowed into deep creases.
There was no one in the bed. It was still made from the morning, not a single coverlet out of place.
She’s not here.
“Selina?” he called once more as he began to move around the room, looking under the bed, opening the wardrobe, checking every corner where a woman who didn’t want to see him might hide.
When it became clear that she wasn’t in her room, he strode back out into the hallway. There was no need to panic. She was probably with her friends somewhere, cursing his name, or telling her mother what a scoundrel he was.
Taking a breath, he retraced his steps to the landing.
“Why is there no one around?” he muttered, the silence deafening.
He hurried down the staircase and cut left toward the drawing room. Inside, there were no lights still aglow, no stragglers remaining, everything steeped in dark quiet. It was the same in the secondary drawing room, the library, and the sun room.
Grumbling under his breath, he crossed back the entrance hall and followed the labyrinth of corridors to the kitchens. There was always someone awake there, baking bread or cleaning pots.
A kitchen maid yelped as he burst into the room, a copper pan clattering into the basin.
“Your Grace?” She stared at him in disbelief. Admittedly, it wasn’t often that he ended up in this part of the manor.
“Do you know where Lady Selina is?” he asked bluntly.
The maid shook her head. “No, Your Grace. I haven’t seen her, but then I’ve been here all evening.” She paused. “Would you like me to wake the chambermaids?”
Philip chewed the inside of his cheek in thought. It wasn’t fair of him to rouse the chambermaids from their slumber, but it would help him find Selina quicker.
“No, do not wake anyone. If anyone is already awake, then please ask them if they have seen my bride,” he said. “And while you are doing that, I need you to bring Mary to me, wherever she is.”
The kitchen maid hesitated. “Mary? But she is at the dower house.”
The dower house. Is that where Selina has gone? Has she sought advice from my grandmother?
“No matter. Leave the maids to their evening.” Philip headed straight out of the back door of the kitchens and through the shadowed herb garden.
He began at a slow, steady pace, but as he reached the open ground of the lawns, he no longer had the patience for it. Breaking into a run, the rain lashing at his face, he sprinted across the sodden grass until his lungs burned and sides ached.
Since his return to polite society, he had had no reason to run for his life. His muscles protested the remembered exertion, but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, until he came to the porch of the dower house.
It was a fine, two-story structure of golden sandstone, set among its own lawns and gardens off to the east of the estate. The place where his grandmother and Lizzy had spent most of their time in his absence, away from the temper and brutality of his father.
Dripping wet, he ran up to the door and knocked until his knuckles stung. It took a while for the housekeeper, bleary-eyed and wearing a housecoat, to come to the door.
“Your Grace? Is everything all right?” she asked, stifling a yawn.
“Is Lady Selina here?” He pushed past her into the house, calling out, “Selina? Selina, where are you?”
The housekeeper rested a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “She isn’t here, Your Grace.”
“What is all this fuss?” His grandmother’s voice rasped from the landing as she shuffled into view.
“I am looking for Selina. She is nowhere in the manor.” Philip took a breath, his chest heaving. “Fetch Mary. I know that she is here.”
He cast a pointed look at his grandmother, but she chose that moment to be selectively blind. Holding tight to the banister, she began a shaky descent.
“Mary, if you please,” Philip growled at the housekeeper, before he ran up the stairs to help his grandmother.
He might have been cross about her misplaced generosity, but he was not so cross that he would allow her to fall down the staircase.
“Are you certain she is nowhere to be found?” she asked as he helped her to a nearby chaise. “You can’t possibly have searched everywhere.”
“I haven’t, but… she is likely upset with me,” he admitted. “I am concerned that she is no longer at the manor.”
His grandmother narrowed her eyes. “Would this have something to do with Mary’s imminent departure?”
“I would prefer not to discuss it.”
She nodded. “Well, have you been to the stables? If Selina had decided to run off, she would not have been foolish enough to flee on foot. Not in this awful weather.”
He nearly swore in front of her. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
“No, I would have heard a carriage leave,” he said, clearing his mind.
The path from the stables to the main driveway went directly past the study windows; he would not have missed a carriage departing so late at night. As far as he knew, Selina had still been in the manor when he took himself off to the study with Zachary.
“Could she have taken a horse?” his grandmother asked.
Philip furrowed his brow. “I am not certain of her skills as a rider.” He shook his head, trying to reassure himself. “As you said, she would not be foolish enough to flee in this weather.”
At least, he hoped not.
“I am sure all is well, and she is just somewhere unexpected, in the safety of the manor,” his grandmother said, with no certainty whatsoever in her voice.