Chapter 28
“Imaintain that this is a terrible idea,” Rupert said as the carriage came to a gentle stop outside of Delacourt Manor. Rain lashed against the windows, a horrid wind ripped across the driveway, and the manor stood ominously in the gloom as if it were trying to warn them off their approach.
“I heard you the first time,” Adrian said as he eyed the manor through the storm. There were few lights coming through the windows, a sense that the manor was either abandoned or close to being so. “As well as the second, and the third,” he added.
“Fourth time is the charm,” Rupert responded dryly. “And if not, perhaps the fifth will do the trick? No good will come from this, Vermont. Hear me now, know it later.”
“That is where you are wrong.” Adrian continued to watch the manor, struggling with that same feeling of unease that had sat with him all morning. “Even if Lord Delacourt is not Harriet’s father, he might know who the father is. This is the only way to learn the truth.”
“Or maybe he will lie and insist that the child is his, so that he can dispose of the evidence…” Rupert looked knowingly at Adrian.
“The man will not like the idea of his wife’s lovechild running about freely.
Such things are bad for business, as well as reputations.
He will feign sorrow, pretend at care, and then smother the baby in the crib as soon as he has it alone. ”
“It has a name,” Adrian growled without meaning to. “And I do not intend to simply hand Harriet over without first checking that she will be taken care of. I am not a monster.”
“I never said that you were.”
“Then what are you saying?” Adrian turned from the window and glared at his best friend.
Rupert looked at him with pity. “That perhaps with your current mood, you are not thinking as clearly as you could do. That you are so desperate to put everything behind you, that you have not fully considered the repercussions of what might come from this little field trip.”
“I have,” Adrian said sharply. “And as I have told you five times now, this is for the best. The only thing that I can do.”
“Are you sure of that?”
A moment of hesitation, Adrian grimacing as that same sensation wreaked havoc through his innards. But he pushed it down, ignored it the best that he could, and fixed his friend with a warning glare. “I am sure. As sure as I have been about anything.”
“As you say,” Rupert sighed as he shuffled toward the door. “And as there is no chance that I might change your mind, I guess we best get this over with.”
“Yes…” Adrian opened the door, throwing up a hand to block out the rain and the wind. “We best.” With that, he climbed outside, put himself fully into the storm, and strode down the driveway with his sights set on Delacourt Manor.
Rupert followed behind closely. There was a part of Adrian that wanted to do this alone, that old voice in his head demanding that he return to his former self, the type who did not need help. But there was another part, although softly spoken, that was glad for the support of his best friend.
Even if the man frustrates me to no end. Then again, I am not so sure I could do this without him…
He might have liked to have had Ophelia with him instead, but that also was not an option.
For many reasons… all of which Adrian was determined not to think about.
He needed to put the woman out of his head entirely.
He needed to free himself of the child. Once that was done, things would return to how they had been.
Was that a good thing? Was it bad? Adrian could not say, which is why he did not think about it. He simply acted, while praying that somehow, everything would turn out for the best. Not for him, of course, but for Ophelia and those whom he cared about.
Cutting himself off from the world… it was for them that he did it, and while they might never thank him for it, they would know one day that it was the right thing to do.
“Open the door!” Adrian slammed his fist into the closed door, knocking loud enough so it seemed to shake the entire manor.
“They knew you were coming?” Rupert asked from behind him, huddled over to keep the rain off his face.
“They did,” Adrian growled as he continued to hammer on the wet oak of the door. “This is absurd!” He thumped his fist into the door again.
“Perhaps we should try another day?” Rupert called above the wind. “When the world is not threatening to end.”
Adrian was about to tell Rupert that if he did not wish to be there, then he could leave. This was not a task that Adrian took any pleasure in, but one that he would not give up on until it was done.
Thankfully, the sound of the door unlocking from the other side cut him off, and a second later saw the door swing wide open.
“Your Grace!” A footman stood in the doorway. “I am so sorry to have kept you. We did not see you arrive with the storm.”
“You may apologize once we are inside,” Adrian barked.
“Of course.” The footman stepped to the side and waved them in.
Adrian put his head down and stormed into the foyer, a sigh of relief to leave the storm in his rear. He shook his head, dispensing the water from his matted hair, and then he flicked his arms to do the same with his coat.
“Thank God,” Rupert sighed as the door closed behind him. “That was…” He trailed off as he looked about the foyer, his expression one of deep confusion. “In this instance, perhaps the storm would be preferable?”
The inside of Delacout Manor was as dreary a sight as Adrian had seen.
There were no lamps lit. The curtains were drawn closed.
And a staleness hung in the air that could be felt as if it was trying to suffocate them.
Listening for a moment, the storm outside was the only sound that came to them, a sense that the manor was empty of life, a place to be avoided at all costs.
“Forgive the state of Lord Delacourt’s home,” the footman apologized. “This past month has been a rather sorrowful affair, as you can imagine. Lord Delacourt has been in mourning, and as a consequence, he has not had the time or the inclination to care after the residence.”
“And what have you been doing all this time?” Adrian said.
“All that we can,” the footman answered with a deep sigh. “And while I do not wish to speak ill of my master, perhaps once you see him yourself, you will understand a little better.”
Adrian caught Rupert looking at him, once again, with that same question he’d been asking all day.
Perhaps he was right, and coming here was a bad idea…
“Stay here,” Adrian told Rupert. “I will see to Lord Delacourt on my own.”
“Sounds like a party worth missing,” Rupert said with a bitter chuckle.
“If you will allow me to show His Grace to Lord Delacourt’s quarters, I will return shortly after,” the footman said to Rupert. “At which point I will happily provide you with someplace warm to wait. If it pleases you.”
“Oh, do not trouble yourself with my comfort.” Rupert waved him away. “I’ll be right here, waiting like a good dog.”
With that said, the footman indicated for Adrian to follow him up the stairs and then down the hall.
As with the foyer, the rest of the manor was cloaked in misery and darkness, cobwebs found in corners, dust settled on benchtops and skirting boards.
Few candles were lit, every room passed had its curtains closed, and the floorboards creaked as if crying out in warning.
A prickle ran up Adrian’s spine as he followed the footman down the long hallway. Something was undoubtedly wrong here, and Adrian wondered if he was about to make things worse.
Nonetheless, when the footman came to a stop outside a set of intricately carved double doors, Adrian conceded that he had come too far to turn back now.
And once more, he confirmed within himself that this had to be done.
Once it was, he would be free to cut himself off from Ophelia and Harriet entirely, returning to his old ways…
“While it is not typical, Lord Delacourt has asked that you be brought to his personal chambers,” the footman explained.
“Lord Delacourt is sick?” Adrian asked.
“Not in that way,” the footman sighed, appearing truly saddened. “He is, however…” He allowed his shoulders to fall. “Since the passing of Lady Delacourt, he has not been well. Not once has he left his bedroom, Your Grace, and I fear that such a time might still be months away.”
“Truly?” Adrian frowned as he remembered the little that he had been told of Lord and Lady Delacourt’s relationship. “The man is still in mourning?”
“Oh yes,” the footman said. “But I will speak no further to it, for it is not my place to do so. I only ask that you do not broach any topic that might upset him further.”
“I will do my best.”
“Thank you.” The footman knocked on the door and then gently opened it. “My lord, His Grace is here to see you.”
There was no answer from within, just darkness and that same smell that sat thick throughout the rest of the manor. Regardless, the footman opened the doors further and stepped back, beckoning Adrian inside.
Adrian hesitated, not sure what he would find, while certain it would make what he was there to do all the more difficult.
With no choice, knowing such things had to be done, Adrian took a deep breath and entered the personal chambers of Lord Delacourt. Once inside, the doors swung shut, and Adrian started in horror at what he found.
Adrian was used to self-pity. He had lived in isolation his entire life.
And he knew what it was like to want to be left alone, even presenting an air of aggression about it so that nobody would think that his mind might be changed.
But what he found in Lord Delacort’s room was beyond even his understanding of true loneliness.