Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Monty!”
He was dimly aware, as he heaved invectives at Leith, that someone else was calling his name. But he ignored them, so lost was he to rage, and so desperately did he want to pummel his best friend.
But the voice cried his name again. And he couldn’t help but look over.
It was Henrietta. “Monty,” she repeated, “Olivia is gone. She left.”
Montaigne looked around the drawing room and realized that Henrietta was right. Olivia had vanished. He had been so caught up in his anger at Leith that he hadn’t even realized it.
He dashed into the hall and through the rooms on the lower level of Edington House, calling for her. Given that the rooms on this level were many in number, this activity was no small feat. But he received no response. She was nowhere.
“Monty,” Catherine said, when he returned to the hall, “I think she has left. Her pelisse is gone.”
“Bollocks,” he swore. Before he left, he took one last look at the drawing room door. Even now, he wanted to storm in there and beat Leith until his face, known for its storybook handsomeness, was no longer recognizable. That he could hate someone so much in this moment—someone who he knew that, no matter what he had done, he still loved—disturbed him.
But it was more important to find Olivia. He dashed out the door, onto the street, and realized that she must have gone back to Bloomsbury. Having no idea what path she had taken, he resolved it was better to return there himself and wait for her at the townhouse.
And, so, that is what he did. When he entered the house, it was empty, but given that he had taken his carriage, it was not surprising to him. But then an hour passed and then another. He realized that she wasn’t coming. Terror pumped in his veins. It had been dark for hours. What if something had happened to her on the streets? Anywhere in London at night could be dangerous. Or, worse, what if she had fled from him again, leaving him? Where had she gone?
He saw now that he had erred. While no one could blame him for his anger at Leith, he had known that Olivia was worried about the reaction of his world to their nuptials, that she feared they could never be happy together because of the differences in their stations. That was why, in large part, he had orchestrated the dinner tonight. His friends would have done, he knew, anything that he asked of them, and he had wanted to show her that. To make clear that while, yes, there were people in his world that would object to their relationship, it didn’t matter. For her, he would tilt the world—he would reshape it for her comfort. His friends were part of that—he had meant to show his control over the very thing she feared. And, instead, it must have seemed to her a confirmation of her worst suspicions. That she would wreak havoc on the only life he had ever known. To see him fight with Leith like that—he understood why it would have alarmed her.
He was, of course, irate with his best friend. That Leith had watched him suffer all those years and said nothing…It was abominable. He was angry with himself, too, for not suspecting immediately, for being so benighted for so long. Of course, it made sense that Leith had done it, much more so than Astrid or Mr. Brownlow. Leith liked order. And there was nothing less orderly than his love for Olivia.
When it became clear that she wasn’t coming home, he became nearly frantic. Where could she have gone?
The Mappertons, answered a part of his mind that had kept, in his disquiet, some of his faculties.
Of course.
Throwing on his coat, he ran out the door. He rushed the two streets that separated the townhomes. When he saw the Mapperton door, he was flooded with relief. Yes, she had to be here.
He pounded on the door. Blessedly, he only had to wait a moment for it to open. Chassey, the Mapperton butler, stood before him. The man looked a bit nervous.
“Your lordship,” he bowed. “How may I help you?”
“I need Miss Watson. Is Miss Watson here?”
Chassey cut his eyes away from him. “At the moment, Miss Watson is not at home.”
Not at home.She was here, but she didn’t want to speak with him.
But why?
Damnation,he had really bollocksed up this situation. He sighed.
“May I come inside?”
“At this time, unfortunately, there is no one to receive you, my lord.”
Very well then. At least he knew she was safe. The man he had been a mere two months prior would have pushed past the butler. But he knew that the last thing that Olivia likely wanted to see at this moment was him raging at yet another person.
“May I speak to Mrs. Mapperton?”
Chassey seemed uncertain about this request.
“I can see if she would see you, my lord, but I hate to leave you waiting on the doorstep.”
“I can bear it,” he said, with a grimace.
The man shut the door. He waited, his heart pounding. After what felt like an eternity, the door opened and Eloisa Mapperton stood there.
“She won’t talk to me,” he said, flatly, with no preamble.
“Not right now,” Eloisa replied.
He thought of how similar this moment was to the first night he had seen Olivia at the opera. Once more, he was outside the house, begging for admission, begging to see her.
Only this time, instead of looking enraged, Eloisa looked rather sorry for him.
“Is she calling off the engagement?”
“That’s not for me to say,” Eloisa said, her voice tentative. “But I’m not sure she is thinking of that now. She is shaken.”
“What should I do? You know her so well, Eloisa. Do I barge into your home and demand that I speak with her? Or do I let her be for now?”
“Let her be for now. I will take care of her here.” She paused. “She does love you, Augustus. I do know that. No matter what happens.”
His stomach did an uncomfortable flip at this last statement. But he understood that there was nothing he could do. Not tonight, anyway.
“Thank you, Eloisa. Please tell her that, whenever she wants me, I will be at home. Our home.”
Eloisa nodded and he turned away. He heard the door click behind him.
He walked back to his own house slowly. He felt more dreadful than he had in a very, very long time. His fear of losing Olivia felt like a living thing inside of him, hatched from his very soul and set loose in his chest.
When he returned to the house, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and then another. It had been a long time since he had coped in this way. He knew how to control himself around drink, but there had been times, especially right after he had lost Olivia the first time, when he had chosen not to. He found it difficult to resist the impulse now. In his gut, he knew that she wasn’t coming home tonight.
After he drained his third tumbler, he heard a knock at the door. For a moment, his heart rose in his chest and he thought it might be her. But then he realized it couldn’t be. She wouldn’t knock. He rose, wary of this visitor. The scrim of alcohol furred his vision.
Montaigne opened the door.
When he saw their faces, he groaned.
He should have guessed.
Of course, it was them.
John, Trem, and his weasel-faced, idiot best friend.
“Hello, Monty,” Trem said, his voice a trifle cheerful for his taste.
“Go away,” he said, moving to close the door.
John stopped it. “Mate, come on. Did you find her?”
“Yes, but she won’t talk to me. She is at Mrs. Mapperton’s.”
“She didn’t care for the sight of you nearly strangling Leith to death in my drawing room? Curious,” John said, “I thought women loved when their fiancés transform into unhinged, violent madmen.”
“I don’t want to speak to him,” Montaigne bellowed, pointing at Leith. “You two can come in, but not him.”
“Monty, please,” Leith said. “You have to forgive me.”
“We wouldn’t have brought him here, brother,” Trem said, “if he wasn’t really sorry. We aren’t delighted with him ourselves, of course. It was a bit of bastardry, no doubt.”
“Did you two know?” Montaigne said, suddenly stumbling on that horrible possibility. “All of this time, did you know?”
“Of course we didn’t know, Monty,” John snapped. “We would have never kept that from you.”
“I know how you all see me,” he said, noticing that his voice was not slurred, exactly, but softened with drink. “I’m just an amusement to all of you. Perhaps you all thought it was a lucky idea to meddle in my affairs. Perhaps it was not just Leith.”
“John and I were away that summer,” Trem countered, “Don’t be ridiculous. Let us in. Look, you can pummel Leith all you want, if you just let us inside.”
“Excuse me,” Leith objected.
“Don’t protest, Leith,” John retorted. “Or I will pummel you myself. You do deserve it.”
Leith sighed, seeming to accept, to Montaigne’s surprise, that characterization.
“Fine,” Montaigne said, feeling weary, “It doesn’t matter, anyway.”
When Olivia wouldn’t talk to him, even his anger at Leith felt futile.
He trudged into the house and heard one of his friends shut the door behind them. He went back into the pretty little drawing room, the one that Olivia so adored, and reseated himself on the sofa. He took up the bottle and poured himself another tumbler.
“How many of those have you had?” Trem demanded.
“As many as I need.”
“Has she broken the engagement?” John said, “Not that I see why she would. It’s not your fault that Leith is an addlepated simpleton.”
Leith didn’t even sulk at these words, Montaigne noticed. He did look contrite. The expression didn’t come naturally to him, but it was there all the same.
“She has been worried that my world won’t accept her. I almost had her convinced that it wouldn’t be so bad. And then it ends up that one of my best friends was the one who separated us so long ago. So much for her feeling like our love is possible.”
“Monty, I—am so sorry,” Leith repeated. “Once I did it, back then, and I saw how miserable you were, I regretted it immediately. I even tried to find her again. I did! I thought she couldn’t have gone far. But she was nowhere. I felt terribly. I was young and stupid and didn’t understand—”
“You still don’t understand,” Montaigne snapped. “You’ve never cared for a woman once in your life. You have no idea what it feels like to want someone, to love someone, the way I have always loved her.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” Leith conceded. “But I saw how devastated you were. How devastated you are now. And I’d do anything to take it back. I would.”
“None of you understand me. And the truth is that I cannot fully blame you. I’ve lied to you for years.”
“What do you mean?” John said, consternation stitched across his face.
“I’m not a rake,” he said, simply, pushing away his glass. He didn’t want it, he realized.
He had been afraid to tell the truth to his friends, but now he found he didn’t care about their reactions. He even reveled in the idea of shocking them. He wanted to scandalize them with how not scandalous he actually was. And he knew it was the only way for Leith to understand the depth of what he had done to him. He had downplayed his own pain for years and he would have to now put it in terms that his best friends would understand.
“What do you mean?” Leith said. “We’re all rakes. Or we were—before everyone changed.”
John, Trem, and Montaigne all rolled their eyes at these words.
“I don’t understand what you mean, Monty,” Trem interjected.
“Before Olivia came back to London, I hadn’t bedded a woman in thirteen years. Not since she left, the first time.”
It didn’t even pain him to say the words. They were merely, he thought, the truth. To say them aloud was, in fact, a relief.
Three pairs of stunned eyes looked back at him.
“You’re jesting,” Trem said.
“That’s impossible,” John cried. He turned to the others. “It’s just a jape.”
“It’s not,” he insisted.
“But, Monty,” Leith said, “You always—the servants—”
“I never slept with any of them. I’d give them money and they’d stay in my chambers, but I didn’t touch them. I didn’t want to. I only wanted her.”
“But thirteen years, Monty,” Leith said, “Without a woman…”
“I know. It’s an age. Believe me, I felt it. But I couldn’t have anyone else. I couldn’t let myself.”
Leith opened his mouth and then closed it. He opened it again and once more failed to make noise.
Finally, he found words.
“Monty, I’ll do anything to make it up to you. And to Olivia.”
Montaigne was about to pronounce to his friend that no such remedy was possible. He was about to tell Leith that he was no one to him, that he was done with him, that he could enjoy a life without his oldest and best friend.
But then he had a second, better thought.
While the fear that Olivia would leave London again without even speaking to him had slithered down to live cold and hard in his gut, he knew that, strictly speaking, such an outcome was not wholly realistic. After all, last time she had left, she had thought that he hadn’t wanted her. She had thought that he had dismissed her, asked her to leave his house. Would Olivia flee the city when she knew how much he loved her, when she knew he had called at the Mappertons, and, more so, given all she had learned about him since she had come back to London?
No, he had more faith in her and their love than that. She might be upset now, she might be having doubts, but she wouldn’t flee without speaking to him.
He looked at his best friend in front of him. Leith was a fool, but he was not to be blamed for all that had transpired between him and Olivia. What he had once concluded about Astrid was also true in Leith’s case. If Montaigne had been clearer with Olivia back then—no, even graver, if he had even been able to think further than the next time he would see her—she would have never believed that silly note. Yes, Leith had done something awful to him. He had betrayed him and then kept silent about it, letting him wonder. Perhaps, letting him wonder had been his worst crime of all. But once he had taken the step of leaving the note and Olivia had fled, the knowledge of what had happened to make her go wouldn’t have helped him find her. He would have had no way of locating her, either.
Now, he wouldn’t give himself over to despair, to drink, or to raging at Leith—it was not behavior that Olivia would admire. It was not behavior that was equal to her. And he wouldn’t throw out his longest-standing friendship just because Leith had made a foolish mistake, no matter how angry he might be with him at the moment.
“Yes,” Montaigne said to Leith, the plan beginning to unfurl in his mind, “You will make it up to us. And I know exactly the way.”