Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
“Fortitude is a virtue that enables a woman to endure trials with dignity.”
Dr. John Gregory, A Father’s Legacy to His Daughters
Richard and Perry returned after several hours of tiresome introductions, endless cups of tea, and dainty biscuits, which they nibbled on to extend their visits and establish if any of the residents in the square were hosting the Hayward scoundrel. Alas, the venture had been to no avail.
Entering the vestibule of Balfour Terrace, they removed their overcoats, hats, and gloves to hand off to the footman in attendance before Perry mumbled something under his breath about needing the necessary, and Richard made his weary way to his study.
Pushing open the door, he was astonished to find the shorter John standing just inside.
The older man had a raffish air, sporting a taped gash over his right temple.
Richard swiveled his head to locate the man’s charge, Ethan, flinching in surprise at the sight that met his eyes.
His nerves were too frayed to deal with any of it.
A nursemaid he did not recognize was holding an infant, bouncing the babe whose shock of familiar chestnut hair informed him that his cousin’s heir was present. The nursemaid’s low humming soothed her charge as she bobbed.
His own son’s nursemaid, Daisy, sat sipping a cup of tea in a seat tucked in the room’s corner while Ethan sat on the floor in front of a low table playing chess with his cousin, the large blond Viking of the Markham clan. It was a confounding scene of domesticated perfection.
“Halmesbury?”
The duke looked up from his position on the carpeting.
“Just a moment, please.” He turned back to the table.
Ethan’s little face screwed in concentration.
He picked up a piece with his small hand and moved it, staring down at the board for several seconds, and then raised his head in triumph. “Checkmate!”
Halmesbury chuckled. “Well done, little cousin! I told you it would work!”
Ethan beamed before leaping to his feet and racing over to hug Richard’s legs. “I beat the duke, Papa!”
Richard reached down to swing his son into his arms. “Well done, Ethan. What say Daisy take you to celebrate with something from Cook in the kitchens?”
“I want to eat biscuits,” his boy proclaimed before squirming out of Richard’s arms to land on his feet when he lowered his son down.
Daisy and Ethan left hand in hand, the shorter John dedicated to shadowing their heels as he exited and shut the door behind them. Richard turned to find the duke seated in one of the plump armchairs by the fire, striking an imposing figure against the bottle green of the wallpaper that framed him.
“What the deuce are you doing here?”
“Your wife invited us. She said to meet her in the mews when you returned.”
Richard was lost. Halmesbury never visited his home. Sophia had never met the duke, so why would she invite him and his infant son over to visit? Was this some sort of visit for Ethan? He shook his head in confusion.
“Go find your wife, Saunton.” Philip’s steady gaze revealed nothing. As usual, his kinsman appeared wholly composed, providing no clues to his thoughts.
Bosh, my cousin can be infuriating!
Richard turned and stomped out, heading down the passage. He let himself out into the garden and crossed over to enter the mews, where he found the taller John standing at the entrance.
How did I think I would fool Sophia into thinking these rumpled guardsmen were actual footmen?
She would need to be blind and stupid not to notice something amiss. He blamed his lack of sleep and stress for his miscalculation of not informing her he had hired additional security.
“Where is her ladyship?” he demanded of the man, vaguely noting the distant sound of men at work in the carriage house.
“Down near the end in one of the stalls, milord.”
Richard’s mood worsened as he looked at the dim interior to the right. What was his wife doing here, and why had he been summoned to see her? He regretted his promise not to drink. He needed one to wash the taste of conflicting tea blends from his mouth.
He stomped down the corridor toward the workrooms at the other end of the mews, where he heard a woman talking, stopping mid-sentence at the sound of his approaching footsteps.
He forced himself to relax his face into more pleasant lines before walking into the stall to unearth what this summons to the stables could possibly mean.
Where he came face-to-face with the one person he had been dreading he would encounter this Season.
“Annabel!” He winced. How was he meant to address her? “I mean … Your Grace.” He bowed stiffly.
“Annabel is acceptable.”
Richard pulled a face before looking around to find his wife standing to the side with a sheepish expression on her blushing face. “What is this, Sophia?”
“I asked Annabel—Her Grace—Annabel …” Sophia ground to a halt.
“Your wife informed me of your heroics last evening, Richard. She asked me if I would visit today so you could say what you needed to say. According to her, a conversation with me would ease some of your troubles.”
Richard shot a look at his traitorous wife, who was studying her slippers in chagrin. “I see.”
“I thought it would help.” Sophia’s voice was but a whisper.
“Why in the stables?”
“If I may?” Annabel interjected with an amused smile.
Richard turned back to face her, finding it difficult to meet her eye, so his gaze settled on the brick wall behind her shoulder.
“I would not come otherwise. I have waited for your apology for some time now, and I thought it would be appropriate to pick up the conversation where we left off. These are different stables, of course, but I think it lends an air of authenticity to the completion of this discussion.”
Shame, irritation, and resentment squirmed in his belly. He wanted to turn and run, but he would merely look foolish. Eventually, he would need to admit that he had made a horrendous mistake with the woman standing in front of him. Richard huffed in defeat.
“All right. I suppose I owe you an apology, and you are in your rights to demand the time and place, considering …”
Sophia interrupted. “I will be standing right outside while you talk.” She hastily walked out of the stall to stand a few feet away, a nervous air about her as she folded her arms to wait.
Richard turned back to find the girl whom he had known since he was a lad and who had matured into a lady of elegance. Annabel had developed into a self-assured duchess of the realm while still retaining that spirited, intelligent glint in her brandy eyes.
He thought about what Sophia had pointed out earlier that day.
How could he ever have believed he could fool this woman regarding his indulgent habits if they had married?
Even two years earlier, it now made sense that he had been making decisions that would eventually sabotage the unprincipled life he had led and force him to become honest. Somewhere deep in his heart, he must have sought to change his path.
But what he had done to Annabel was … There were no words adequate to describe how deeply he had betrayed the woman who was once his friend.
His chest constricted with the burden of guilt he was carrying.
“I … am … sorry.”
Richard was surprised to discover that a small piece of the weight chipped off, and he found his thoughts began to clear. “I am sorry I misled you into thinking I planned on having a genuine marriage with you.”
More weight lifted, his breathing deepened, and air rushed into his lungs. “I am sorry I betrayed you with someone you cared about.”
The sheer relief at his words made him feel light-headed. “I am sorry that I showed no remorse.”
Finally, he shifted his gaze to look her in the eye. “My deepest apologies that I failed to respect your wishes or allow you control over your destiny when I refused to cancel the wedding.”
Annabel smiled widely at him. “Admit you feel better.”
Richard returned her smile, feeling ten years younger at that moment. “I do.”
“Good! I am glad you did everything you did because it led me to Philip. But I also knew you needed to say this. To accept responsibility for your actions, and that is why I remained firm on the point.”
She reached forward and grabbed his hands in hers. “I am so happy you found the right woman and that you finally found your way. I always knew you had it in you, Richard. You are a great man who influences many. I want you to live a long and happy life?—”
“CECIL!” At Sophia’s cry, Richard and the duchess froze. The sound of someone running could be heard.
Richard burst out of the stall just in time to see his wife throw herself at the legs of a groom, wrapping her arms tightly around his knees and bringing him crashing to the hard-packed earth with a loud thud.
The man, enraged, swung his arm back and struck Sophia across the face. She reeled from the blow but clung tightly to him, her determination unwavering.
A surge of fury rose in Richard’s chest at the sight. Roaring with anger, he sprinted forward, throwing himself onto the man and pinning him to the ground. “John!” he bellowed, calling for the guard as rage pulsed through his veins.
Unable to contain himself, Richard delivered a sharp blow to the man’s side.
How dare he lay a hand on my countess?
He heard John’s hurried footsteps approaching as his own fists continued to drive home the message: no one harms his wife without answering for it.
“Your lordship, stop! I am here. Let me take hold of the man.” Richard could barely hear the guardsman as blind outrage made him pull his arm back to throw another punch.
“Richard!” Sophia’s voice penetrated his frenzied haze. Richard froze. His heart beat loudly in his ears while he slowly unclenched his fist. He used that hand to push himself up and look back.