Chapter Sixteen #2
“But—slowly, the desire consumed us until we conceded.” Heat rose in her cheeks. “I love him.”
“What happened?” Lady Amesbury asked, her voice tinged with sadness.
“My son.” Cassandra cleared her throat, attempting to find the right words. “He discovered us and cast Reuben out of the house.”
Indignation rose around her. Lady Amesbury glowered. Lady Winstead protested with a blustery huff. Lady Corby’s brow furrowed and her mouth pulled into a tight frown.
“He was well within his right to terminate Reuben’s employment.” Cassandra defended her son, even though she was still hurt by his actions and his incorrect assertions.
“Yes, he is the duke, after all.” Lady Corby nodded. “But have you explained things to him as you have to us?”
“I have.” Cassandra’s tears began anew. “He knows everything.” She remembered the look of disbelief on his face when she’d told him that she loved Reuben. Her heart and her composure shattered. “But Reuben is gone.”
“What would you do to have him return?” Lady Corby asked plainly, as if it were the most obvious question in the world.
“Anything.” Cassandra nodded, sight blurred by tears.
“Such a path will not be easy or free of scandal,” Lady Corby murmured. “But you were blessed with a chance to discover love, and that is worth the risk. Do you not agree, ladies?”
“Oh, yes.” Lady Amesbury brightened.
“Absolutely.” Lady Winstead grinned. “Tell us how we can be of help.”
Cassandra nearly choked with relief. She swiped the tears from her eyes and met the supportive expressions of three loyal friends. “How did I get so fortunate?”
“You are not alone.” Lady Corby beamed. “Such a burden was not meant to be borne by yourself. We must support each other in all ways. It is the only path to survive such a harrowing, but rewarding journey. To ensure a life worth living.”
“How can I ever thank you, Lady Corby?” Cassandra asked, her soul elevated.
“First, you can address me as ‘Hyacinth.’” She winked and pointed to Lady Amesbury. “Eleanor.” And then to Lady Winstead. “Victoria.”
“I believe we have breached the bounds of etiquette.” Hyacinth chuckled. “You are now an official member of the Mayfair Widows.”
“Thank you, sincerely. And you must call me ‘Cassandra.’” The heavy weight upon her heart lifted, and Cassandra could breathe again.
“Now, what is to be done about the missing butler?” Hyacinth asked, tapping her chin.
“Well,” Cassandra interjected, “I have already made an inquiry with someone who may know.” She revealed his association with the Lord of Devil’s Acre and the questions began again with fervor.
Cassandra revealed everything except for her husband’s role in Reuben’s sister’s death, his penchant for murder, and Reuben’s subsequential role in her husband’s demise.
But those details were inconsequential to the conversation at hand.
She had no intention of revealing the latter to another living soul.
The ladies remained for another hour discussing all the possibilities and avenues with which they could help locate Reuben Evans. By the time they’d left, Cassandra was confident in her decision to entrust this burden to another.
They would find Reuben, and Cassandra could rest knowing she no longer had to bear the burden of her past in silence.
Finally, she was free.
*
Darkness settled around the small tavern beside the Thames, but Reuben had reached the point where time meant nothing.
He gazed deep into the pint clutched in his hand, lost in the frothy liquid.
Was this his fifth or sixth? To be honest, he had lost count.
Not that it mattered. It was not as if his presence were required anywhere in any form.
He could do whatever he damn well pleased now, except for that which he wanted to do most.
Reuben took another mouthful and swallowed the bitter brew. There was no use in ruminating over something over which he had no control. He had made his decision and therefore had crossed the threshold of no return.
Lifting his gaze, Reuben steadied himself against the bar as the room swayed, hazing in and out of focus.
Perhaps he was drunker than he’d realized.
With a wave of his hand, he beckoned the barkeep closer, requesting a hearty stew with some bread to soak up the alcohol seeping into his body at an ungodly pace.
With a nod, the barkeep shuffled off, leaving Reuben alone in his corner of the dingy, poorly lit tavern. Reuben cradled the tankard in his hand and groaned.
Perhaps it would be better if he left England completely. America seemed bursting with opportunity, giving him a wider range of possibility when it came to making something of himself. But that would mean leaving everything he had ever known behind. His family. His friends. His connections.
His heart.
Reuben swore, downing the rest of the liquid in a single gulp.
He should leave, especially before he did something seriously idiotic in his inebriated state. Like go to her. That would be foolish. Even more so if he happened upon the duke in the process. He would be in shackles and tossed in the darkest, dankest cell in Scotland Yard before he could protest.
The chair beside him creaked as it dragged across the floor and a man plopped into it.
Reuben ignored him, not wanting to engage in any niceties with strangers when he was in no mood to converse.
He wanted only to drown himself in his misery and copious amounts of ale before retreating home to collapse in his bed and sleep—perhaps indefinitely.
He cradled his empty tankard closer and hid his face.
“This is how you choose to squander your time?” the man asked.
Reuben bristled at the familiar voice and glared at the intruder. The Duke of Tolland’s profile highlighted by the poor light left the sharp angles of his face cast in nefarious shadows.
“What the fuck do you want, Your Grashe?” Reuben slurred. “Have you come to twist the knife a little deeper?”
The duke sighed, and the sound left Reuben unsettled. “I have come to talk.”
“‘Talk’? About what?” He scoffed. “I believe you made your sentiments quite clear upon our last meeting.”
“I—” The duke shifted in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable at the situation or the thoughts in his head. “That is precisely what I wish to discuss. Perhaps I was a bit—hasty in my decision.”
Reuben blinked twice, wondering if this was a drunken hallucination or if he had passed out and was dreaming. Either way, it could not possibly be real. He reached out and pushed his finger against the duke’s shoulder.
The duke stared at him brow raised. “I assure you I am not a figment of your imagination.”
“Are you apologizing to me?” Reuben narrowed his gaze. “Sir?”
“In a manner, yes.” His Grace summoned the barkeep and ordered a pint.
When they were alone once more, the duke turned to Reuben. “I was wrong to misjudge you for your complicated past.” He sighed. “I commend you for your strength and fortitude. Caring for siblings in such dire circumstances must be—terrifying and exhausting.”
“An understatement.” Reuben grumbled. “But thank you.”
“My mother explained everything. Your unfortunate childhood. Your sister’s death.
Your bargain with the Lord of Devil’s Acre.
” The duke paused as the barkeep approached.
He took the proffered tankard and nodded to the barkeep, who was already retreating.
“I was wrong to judge you so harshly after all you have endured.”
“You had your reasons for reacting in such a protective manner.” Reuben’s heart broke at the thought of Cassandra defending him. He could not help but wonder if this meant Cassandra had kept his role in the duke’s death a secret. “If it were my mother or sister, I would have done the same.”
“I cannot retract my harsh words or my actions.”
“I appreciate the acknowledgment, but it does not change our situation.” Reuben straightened. “Regardless, I fully intend to respect your wishes.”
“My ‘wishes’?” the duke asked, inclining his head.
“Yes, you were merely trying to protect her, as was I.” Reuben shrugged. “It is best for everyone if I walk away with what remains of my dignity. I intend to leave London—perhaps for America.”
“So far?” The duke regarded him for a long moment. “That seems a bit drastic.”
“Her Grace deserves to live her life as she sees fit, free to do as she pleases.” He hung his head. “The best thing I can do is leave the country. I dare not remain. The pain is too great and I would never forgive myself if I inadvertently encountered her on the street and tore open such a wound.”
“No matter where you go, you will always be a part of her.” The duke took a drink as the words seeped into Reuben’s alcohol-addled mind.
“What do you mean?” he finally asked.
“I have never seen my mother glow when she speaks of anything—or anyone—like she does when your name arises.” The duke’s gaze narrowed. “I may not be fond of how your relationship came to pass, or the recent revelations. However—” He sucked in a breath.
Reuben’s bruised and battered heart ceased beating in anticipation.
“I am willing to overlook the indiscretion and insubordination if you vow, here and now, to do what is right.” The duke’s gaze hardened as he held Reuben’s.
“What are you saying?” Reuben asked, his voice hoarse.
“You love her,” the duke replied simply, as if the implication were obvious. “Therefore, continue to love her unconditionally. Protect her with your life.” He scowled. “If you fail to do either of those things, I will kill you myself. Mark my words.”
Hope unfurled in Reuben’s chest, consuming him like the heat of a summer sunrise spreading across the land. But uncertainty clung to him like the deepest shadows, casting doubt on this wonderful gift. He squinted as the possibilities rolled through his mind.
What if it goes to hell? a small, persistent voice inside his head screamed. Ahh, but what if it doesn’t? another equally desperate voice added from somewhere in the depths of his soul.
The barkeep returned with a bowl of beef and barley stew accompanied by a thick slice of fresh bread. He placed it in front of Reuben and removed the now-empty tankard from his grip.
Stunned, Reuben could only stare at the food, absorbing nothing but the implication of this tentative truce the duke had placed before him. More tempting than anything he had ever encountered in his life. The possibilities took flight, but fear kept his feet firmly grounded.
The duke placed several coins on the bar, and the barkeep took them without a word.
“What prompted this change of heart?” Reuben asked, unraveling the duke’s purpose behind such an act of kindness and sympathy. “Did Simon see fit to forgive your father’s debts?”
“What transpired between the Lord of Devil’s Acre and myself is none of your concern. He has also sworn himself to that, so don’t bother asking him.”
“I would never.” Reuben held up both hands. “If you have found a solution, then that is all that matters.”
The duke eyed him warily. “Consider the matter settled.”
“So…if not that, then what has changed?”
“I—” The man hung his head, but Reuben caught sight of the blush high on his cheeks. “I have, as of late, found myself in a situation quite similar.” He exhaled heavily. “It has created a cause for deep contemplation of what I truly desire and if the risks are worth the reward.”
“I see.” Reuben could not help but smile. Perhaps they were not as dissimilar as he’d believed. “A woman.”
“A woman.” The duke groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. He straightened, composing himself quickly before glancing at Reuben. “But this conversation is not about me and my complicated courtship.”
“Perhaps not, but sometimes it is best to discuss it with someone to best find a solution.”
The duke eyed him warily. “We have just struck an accord of peace. Do not mistake it for a friendly invitation to meddle in my affairs.”
“I would never be so presumptuous,” Reuben replied. “But—should you ever find yourself in need…”
“I shall take it under consideration,” the duke said, slowly rising from his chair. “But the question remains: do you still desire to pursue my mother’s heart?”
Memories of Cassandra swarmed his mind, momentarily leaving him stunned and speechless. I will always love you, the entirety of his body screamed. But no sound emerged from his lips. As he stood paralyzed by a flood of emotion, the other man seemed to take his silence for indecision.
“I do not expect an answer.” The duke took a card from his pocket and held it out between two fingers. “You have one week to decide which path you choose to take.”
“What is this?” Reuben took the card, unable to read it properly.
“The name of my tailor. He is at your disposal.”
Reuben’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Why in the devil would I need your tailor?”
“To obtain suitable attire for the masquerade ball my mother and her friends are hosting next Saturday.” The duke presented a sealed envelope. “You will need this.”
“One week from today.” Slowly, the pieces clicked into place like a gear sliding home and falling into synchronization. “One week to make my decision,” he muttered to himself. “A grand gesture.” He returned his questioning gaze to the duke, who merely shook his head.
“Perhaps you should sober up.” The duke stood, donning his hat and coat. “Ale dulls your wits, and I much prefer you as sharp as a cutlass blade.” He smirked. “A more worthy opponent for verbal sparring.”
“I—” Reuben swallowed the emotion threatening to choke him. “Thank you, sir.”
“Phillip,” he replied. “We are beyond propriety at this point.” He extended his hand.
Reuben took it firmly in his and shook. “Thank you, Phillip.”
“Reuben.” When they broke apart, Phillip gave him a lopsided smirk. “Until Saturday.” He tipped his head and turned to make a hasty retreat, leaving Reuben to stare after him.
It took several long moments for his wits to return. Only then did he devour his meal and abandon his lonely post at the bar. Out in the biting cold, he wrapped himself deeper in his coat and ventured toward home, his hand clenched around the card in his pocket.
He needed sleep, for there was much to be done and only a week in which to accomplish it.