Chapter 24
Benedict thought that Anastasia was getting better at hiding. For the past few days, he had not caught even a glimpse of her. He would usually see the hem of her dress or the profile of her face in some corners as she hurried to her next destination.
He stalked the Frostmore halls with a sharper focus. He was like a predator who had no hope of seeing his prey, but at least he would have the same calculated pace he used to. This time, he was impatient and agitated.
Where could she be?
He checked the music room, the library, and even the kitchens. Each choice seemed more ridiculous than the last. He would even prefer it if he could see her flirting with a servant to spite him.
Anything.
His desperation knew no bounds, even leading his feet to the dowager’s solar.
His blood ran cold when he found the room empty and chilly, with the fire out.
The dowager’s knitting basket lay there, undisturbed as if tucked in long before.
It was unnaturally quiet, considering it was the old lady’s room.
At the moment, it was nothing but empty air, polished wood, and the bare minimum to suggest she had even been there.
Then, he searched for the dowager’s dogs. After scouring the gardens and the pond, he missed their yapping.
Finally, he summoned the butler.
Even though he was starting to suspect that she had left, the very idea pained him. The house’s silence was unnerving. He was used to living alone with his servants, but after Anastasia, he could no longer imagine not having her there. He would even miss the dowager and Lupita and Pepita.
“I regret to inform Your Grace that Miss Dawson and Her Grace are not in Frostmore. They departed for London two days ago while you were visiting the House of Lords.”
“Departed?” The word suddenly felt strange on his tongue.
Why would she leave? Why did she not at least send him a note if she could not bear to see his face?
“Yes, Your Grace. Miss Dawson has also sent instructions to send her belongings to London.”
The butler needed not say anything more. It was clear to Benedict that Anastasia had no intention of returning to Frostmore.
In that moment of realization, the world tilted. Everything else felt unimportant. Meaningless.
The duchy’s finances. The account books. Even the business at the House of Lords. His list.
For the past few days, he focused on them only because he thought he would find a way to corner her and fix his mistakes.
He had thought of writing everything in a letter, but decided that would not be enough.
She needed to hear his voice to know he meant every word.
In the end, he was merely buying time with routine.
Now, it was too late. Anastasia had decided to escape from Frostmore. From him. An unfamiliar panic came over him. He rose from his chair so quickly that it clattered to the floor. The butler barely flinched. He was trained to keep his composure, but his master had already lost his.
“Summon the fastest carriage. I will also need travel clothes. I am leaving for London at once.”
“Your Grace. You have meetings and documents to attend to,” the butler protested.
“I do not care about any of them; cancel them all,” Benedict growled, sounding so much like the opposite of what he always portrayed himself to be.
As he pressed both palms on his desk, his eyes scanned his list. The list should have been a guide to his life, but it had only reminded him of what he was missing.
Secure a suitable marriage to a woman of rank and reason.
Benedict now knew how terribly dull it could be. He did not want that after all. With Anastasia, he realized he wanted searing passion and sharp wit. He realized that he wanted some chaos in his life that night at the pond.
He grabbed his list and crumpled it. Then, he threw the ball of vellum into the fireplace.
“I have been a fool for too long,” he muttered.
Soon, he was sporting a coat and about to enter his carriage. Nobody could stop him now. He was no longer the disciplined Duke of Frostmore, with long lists and rigid structure. He was merely a man desperate to see if he could win back the woman who had melted the ice in his heart.
The carriage rattled relentlessly into the night. He could not rest inside, not with Anastasia’s green eyes flashing in his mind. She looked both hurt and defiant. He had to find her. He had to tell her that she was the only thing that mattered to him. Not the list. No, not anymore.
Where would she be? He could think of her sister’s house or even the possibility of seeing her at a ball. Perhaps she was planning to bravely put herself back into the marriage market, or at least have a pleasant evening.
When he arrived in London, he was exhausted and filthy.
He had no choice but to get some rest first. He learned that Miss Serenity’s wedding had just been celebrated about two days ago, and that it was a quiet affair.
Some of the implications of a small, intimate wedding came over him.
He had immediately begun his frantic search.
A member of the House of Lords, who had extensive social connections, had managed to give him a clue.
“The Viscountess of Wilkins is attending the Earl of Elton’s ball tomorrow night. She will be accompanied by her only remaining unmarried daughter, a stunning woman, from what I have heard.”
Benedict knew who that would be. Who else could be the viscountess’s stunning daughter but the very woman who had pulled him out of hiding?
“Would that be Miss Anastasia Dawson?” he asked anyway.
“Yes, that would be her. Didn’t she stay with you for some time?” the other man asked, openly curious.
“Yes, she did,” Cassian replied, entering the room.
Both relief and annoyance filled Benedict. Cassian would probably find more news about Anastasia, but he would have to deal with his reproaches and teasing.
“Frostmore here has been trying to get her married,” the Duke of Stonevale continued.
“Ah. So, he wanted to see if he would be more successful here in London?”
“Yes, Lord Armandale. We need to get her out more often, though. I heard that she is often either at her mother’s house or out with the dowager.”
“Where do you think she will be tomorrow?” Benedict wanted to know, and he could not even hide his excitement from Armandale.
Thankfully, the portly member of the House of Lords was not that focused on what was being exchanged.
“That I do not know. The only thing I am certain about is the same ball Lord Armandale mentioned earlier that I have overheard while walking toward you,” Cassian admitted.
It looked like Anastasia was not hiding. She was walking about with the Dowager Duchess. Was it a public statement?
It looked like he had a ball to attend.
A ball. He had willingly gone to a ball in such a state, not in search of a wife with a title and reputation.
He stood in the Earl of Elton’s residence entrance hall, where he could smell the mix of perfumes and hear the droning sounds of supposed polite society. The whole setup made him feel trapped.
Benedict reminded himself that he was there for a good reason.
Anastasia. He let his eyes scan the room, jumping from one glittering debutante to the next.
He inspected the titled lords, each preening and discussing what he could only guess was their own lists of accomplishments. Such was life with people like him.
He was beginning to lose hope, his frustration straining him. Then, he saw her.
Anastasia was standing near a pillar, dressed in dark blue that made her eyes stand out.
She was talking to a gentleman Benedict recognized as a fortune hunter.
He had a strong urge to run toward them and wrap his hand around the other man’s neck, a surge of possessive fury humming in his veins.
He managed to stop himself, but only just. Benedict fixed his gaze on the beautiful woman only a few feet away.
Getting closer. He could not help walking toward her.
This version of her was more polished and suited to the society they inhabited than the elemental, wet-haired chaos she was in the pond, but he liked all versions of this woman. His woman.
She smiled. It was a lovely, practiced smile, soft and gentle but not quite reaching her eyes.
At that moment, he felt that he had completely lost her.
She seemed happier in this space and time than when she was with him.
He realized something as he continued to watch her from a short distance: he loved her too much to give her up.
It no longer mattered what kind of woman she was: quiet or loud, sophisticated or wild.
He wanted and loved Anastasia Dawson. The sight of her made the dam inside him open a little.
He was no longer a duke trying to marry for an heir, nor an heir trying to get Anastasia to marry so he could inherit.
No, he was merely a man who no longer cared about his reputation. He did not care if the ton would shun him now. He knew it, even as he advanced toward her.
The man in front of her laughed, the sound grating on his nerves. Her eyes wandered away, perhaps also reacting to the harsh sound. Her eyes met his. They narrowed. Her smile was gone in an instant, replaced by dismay and hurt.
“May I be excused, my lord? I believe my sister wants to see me,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry toward Benedict.
“Of course, Miss Dawson. If you want a lively conversation, you can find me later. I will be at your service.”
Someone else might think that she was retreating from the other gentleman, but he knew that she was running away from him. He had to act fast. He had to shove his bulk past a plump dowager, with no time for apology.