Chapter 6
“My lady, please,” Mona gently urged from the corner of Warren’s bedchamber. “I do not mean to be so bold, but I do not believe this is proper.”
Bridget let the fine wooden cigar box topple out of her raised hand and felt a little satisfying thrill as she heard it hit the floor with a thunk. Like all the other boxes and trinkets she had opened up that morning, it had not held her mother’s brooch.
Less than a day ago, Bridget would have agreed with the maid staring anxiously from the corner. Now, though, after everything she had learned the night before, her definition of proper seemed irrevocably changed.
“Mona,” she sighed, reaching for her husband’s bedding.
“I do believe this is perfectly proper. My husband took something of mine, and I want it back. If he were here, as he is supposed to be, I would not be forced to rifle through his things. However, since he is still out there doing Lord knows what, I have no choice but to take matters into my own hands.”
She flung the duvet and sheets back from her husband’s bed with a satisfying tug.
Finding nothing but the mattress, she then reached for a pillow, picked up the letter opener she had taken from his study, and ripped open the pillow, plunging it into the soft thing.
Feathers exploded everywhere, and though she found nothing there either, Bridget did feel another bout of heady satisfaction as she continued her destruction.
“Forgive me, my lady, but I do not understand why his Lordship would hide your brooch in a pillow,” Mona replied as she anxiously clenched her hands together.
Bridget paused, taking a moment to look at her maid. Up until last night, Bridget had been as anxious and worried as Mona was. Always worried that she was not polite enough. Always fearing she had done something wrong. Always worried about what people would think of her.
Then her mother’s brooch went missing, and the Duke of Redgrave arrived, and Bridget suddenly realized she was done being afraid of displeasing people.
She had married the Earl to satisfy her guardians and win favor among the ton, but all that had earned her was a broken heart, an obviously ruined reputation, and a possible murderer for a husband.
Something had to change, and if it was not going to be Warren or society, then it would be her.
“Go,” Bridget said, her tone gentle. “I am sure Eve requires your assistance more than I do. I shall ring for you when I am finished.”
Mona’s relief was evident on her pretty, freckled, pale face, and she curtsied deeply toward Bridget.
“Thank you, my lady.”
Bridget turned back to the mess she was making and grabbed another one of Warren’s pillows.
It was not just her brooch she was looking for.
She had a sneaking suspicion that if it was her husband who had taken it, he had already sold it off.
She was also looking for something, anything that might confirm the Duke of Redgrave’s suspicions.
Could Warren really be a murderer?
The only problem was that she was not entirely sure what she was looking for.
A knife? A gun? A lynching rope? Bloody clothes?
After she had shaken herself from the shocking swooning bout the Duke had made her feel, Bridget had returned to ransacking Warren’s study.
Among his books, she had found copies of old newspapers.
One in particular that wrote of the late Duke of Redgrave’s passing.
She scoured the article, looking for any clues as to how the man had died, but found none.
Bridget felt her cheeks grow flushed yet again as her thoughts wandered back to the Duke of Redgrave. Warren had been… of average appearance. Even though he had been older and had a slightly rounder shape, she had tried to be optimistic about her rather abrupt and forced marriage.
Much, including her optimism, had changed over the years, though.
His shape had grown more rotund. His jawline had turned to jowls.
And his light green eyes had grown bloodshot from his constant intake of spirits.
Wrinkles had formed over the smooth planes of his face, and a constant scowl took place over the smile that had soothed her nerves when she was told she was to be his wife.
The Duke of Redgrave, however, had none of those flaws. Just by looking at him in his fine black and red-trimmed suit, she knew he was in fit form. However, when she had pulled at him, she had felt the ridges of those warm muscles beneath the layers of fabric.
Then there were his piercing blue eyes, set beneath defined black brows that made his gaze almost hawk-like. His nose accentuated that intensity, as did his cheekbones, sculpted lips, and jawline.
Heat rushed through her as she brought her fingertips up to her chin, recalling how such a powerful man had so tenderly lifted her eyes up to his. He could have crushed with the flex of his palm. Instead, he had caressed her as if she were the most fragile of things.
Warren had never touched like that.
“Bridget!”
Bridget snapped out of her reverie as a familiar voice shouted her name. Her head swiveled to the doorway, and she found Katie standing there, wide-eyed and mouth agape. Feeling as if she had just been caught doing something very wrong, Bridget looked down as her cheeks caught aflame.
“Katie, darling. Why are you shouting?” Bridget asked, picking up another pillow to rip apart.
“I have been standing here for several moments speaking your name as you stood there, lost in your thoughts in a fixed state,” Katie said, sounding exasperated.
Bridget turned back to her just in time to see Katie step into the room, her wide eyes taking in the destruction Bridget had caused.
“What on earth are you doing?” Katie asked.
For a moment, Bridget thought of telling her friend the truth, but as she thought of Adrian again and how his presence had made her feel, she decided against it.
“Redecorating,” Bridget answered blandly, then tossed the letter opener and shredded pillow onto the bed. “Come, let us go to the parlor. I shall have some tea brought to us, and you can tell me what brought you here.”
Katie allowed Bridget to take her arm and lead her out of the room, but her head swiveled over her shoulder one last time to inspect the mess.
“Your execution of redecorating differs vastly from mine,” Katie retorted.
“Well, our husbands certainly do not share the same tastes,” Bridget smirked, as she led her friend down the stairs. In the parlor, she ordered them tea, then took a seat across from Katie.
“I am sure…” Katie said awkwardly.
“Please do not think that I am ungrateful for your visit, but what made you decide to drop in today?” Bridget could not help but ask as she fiddled anxiously with the edge of the white lace tablecloth.
She did indeed enjoy her visits from Katie most days. However, today she was distracted, both mentally and physically, and wanted nothing more than to keep looking for clues.
Katie fluffed the skirts of her white and mint green day gown, then touched her gloves and necklace, as if nervous.
“I wished to see how you were,” Katie said, sympathy flashing through her eyes as she looked up at Bridget. “Last evening’s conversation seemed to shift toward an attack, and it has not sat well with me since.”
Bridget smiled at Katie appreciatively as she reached out for her hand.
“You are a good friend,” she praised, giving her hand a warm squeeze.
“I admit that I did struggle with such intense questions. However, the truth is, I was most embarrassed by myself. The ladies, though harsh, forced me to accept that I do indeed know very little about my husband. Other than the fact that he is making a fool of me.”
“You are no fool,” Katie assured her as their tea was brought in.
A moment of silence stretched between them as they stirred sugar into their tea.
“I take it that since you are… redecorating,” Katie ventured tentatively. “That your husband has not returned yet.”
Anger and hurt flashed through Bridget’s heart as she lightly tapped her spoon against the lip of her teacup.
“No,” she muttered. “He has not. Though throughout my ‘redecorating’, I was hoping to find a clue as to where he may be.”
“I take it you have not?” Katie asked.
Bridget shook her head, her anger gathering like a dark cloud.
“I have ‘redecorated’ his study, and his private chambers, and have found nothing,” she confessed. “It seems my husband is very good at keeping secrets while also not hiding his shenanigans when he must.”
Katie pressed her lips tightly together as her gaze fell to the table; a faint blush filled her cheeks.
“I know you well, Katie,” Bridget said, studying her friend’s features. “Something is on your mind. Did the ladies say something more after I left last night?”
“No,” Katie answered, looking up. “After you left, I chastised them for their poor treatment of you, and they made sure to keep their questions and gossiping thoughts to themselves for the rest of the evening.”
She paused, pursing her lips again.
“However,” she went on, “you see… When John and I go to bed, we have a bit of snuggle and talk about our day.”
A quiver of jealousy moved through Bridget. She could not even begin to imagine how lovely that would be.
“So you told him what happened at the party?” Bridget ventured.
“I did,” Katie confessed, “And in turn, he told me that your husband was also the topic of conversation at White’s last night.”
Bridget’s cheeks turned crimson with embarrassment.
“Spare no details,” she demanded, setting down her teacup. “I want to hear everything.”
“I will not burden you with such gossip,” Katie said, an edge to her voice. “However, I do believe that it is good that you are searching for your husband. I believe he may be in trouble with the wrong sort of people.”
Bridget’s head spun as she thought of all of the things that could mean.
“John mentioned that there was a possibility of tracking him down,” Katie went on. “Though it is…” Katie’s blush deepened. “It is a most unsavory quest.”
Bridget’s cloud of anger grew darker as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“Speak plainly, please, Katie,” she implored.
“Have you spoken to your husband’s valet yet?” Katie asked suddenly. “Perhaps he knows something?”
“He is missing as well, Katie. Please, tell me what John said!”
Bridget’s voice quivered as she did her best to keep her volume below a shout, but she was growing more exasperated by the moment.
“There are places,” Katie said, her eyes shining with sympathy. “Places that allow men to set up accommodations for days on end. Places that also provide a special amenity that other establishments do not offer.”
Bridget felt herself shrink into her seat.
She knew of brothels. Such places were never discussed in polite society, but that did not mean that society was unaware of their existence.
Of course, she had thought Warren might be occupying such a place, but the thought of going into one herself to search for him? That she did not fathom.
“I… I could not,” she whispered, feeling her stomach churn.
“That is why you must find your husband’s valet,” Katie gently insisted. “Insist that he go search out your husband at these places.”
“How would I even begin to search for Warren’s valet?” Bridget asked, feeling her exasperation grow. “And what if he is already with Warren?”
“Most unlikely,” Katie answered. “From what I understand, these places are willing to accommodate the wealthy gentlemen but not their servants. It is highly possible that your husband simply dismissed his valet while he was away. And if that is so, then it is very possible one of your other staff will know where he is.”
Bridget rubbed her face, overwhelmed.
“You know… I recently accepted that I never got the opportunity to love my husband,” she said softly, bowing her head.
“He grew so cold so fast after we were wed. However, I never once thought that I would feel so humiliated by him. I thought someone of higher breeding would show more tact than this.”
She looked up at Katie, shoving her envy aside.
“I am so happy that you do not have such a marriage, my dear friend. I see that yours and John’s love for one another is so strong, and though I will never know what that feels like for myself, I am blessed to know that at least such a love does exist.”
Katie offered her a small, sad smile.
“You truly believe that your husband never loved you? Even just a little?” she asked.
Bridget let out a tired laugh.
“To be honest, I lost such hope within a week after our wedding,” she said, feeling bluntly honest. “Once Warren consummated our marriage, it did not take me long at all to realize that he had no wish to be intimate with me ever again.”
Not that I would have wanted him to.
A moment of tense silence stretched between them, and for a moment, Bridget feared she had shared too much. Then Katie leaned forward, joining their hands again.
“Oh, Bridget,” Katie sighed, slowly shaking her head. “I am so very sorry, my darling. You deserve so much more than that.”
Bridget let out another bitter laugh as her throat grew tight and tears welled in her eyes. She squeezed Katie’s hands tight, appreciating the kind gesture.
“Thank you,” she rasped.
She sniffled and then added, “In truth, I do not want him any more than he wants me. The one time he did touch me, it just felt… wrong.”
As she said so, the spark she had felt the night before, as the Duke had closed the distance between them, ignited in her belly.
He did not feel wrong. In fact, she had never felt anything more right.
Bridget shook her head at the thought, knowing it was most inappropriate for a married woman to feel such things for a stranger, and pressed on.
“I just wish he had kept his affairs a little more discreet,” she said with an exhausted sigh. “This humiliation he has caused me feels positively suffocating. I just know everyone in London is laughing behind my back.”
“Your husband needs to know how you feel,” Katie insisted, pulling back. “If anyone deserves to feel shame for his actions, it is him.”
Bridget let out another bitter laugh.
“What would that do?” she asked. “It is not as if he would change.”
“Perhaps not,” Katie agreed as she rose to stand.
“But you will at least have your say. Perhaps doing so would bring you some peace. At the very least, it would stop you from suffering in silence. And after what you have just told me, you have done that for far too long already. It will do you good to have an honest and civil discussion with him about everything.”
Bridget rose to hug her friend, contemplating her words. The instilled need to be meek and polite shed a little bit more.
“You are right, Katie,” Bridget agreed, standing up. “I will find Warren, but I assure you that our discussion will be far from civil.”