Chapter 19 #2
He took his leave, going out into the worsening rain.
Night would soon be falling too, and all Audrey could think about was where Hugh might be.
She hoped he would stay in Wanstead for the night.
Out of this rain and in relative safety.
Worry for him nibbled away at her as Greer helped her change into a dinner gown.
They were having dinner at home that evening, and Audrey knew she ought to use the time alone with Philip to tell him everything having to do with Hugh and the case.
She could hardly believe that Philip still did not know of her outing to Mr. Potridge’s offices, or anything that had occurred afterward.
She had been almost certain the solicitor would have sent word of the duchess’s unexpected and unconventional visit.
“You look lovely, Your Grace,” Greer pronounced as she finished with the small buttons up the back of the dinner gown—a wine red satin silk, the bodice sewn with onyx beadwork.
“Greer,” she began, her mind still turning over what Lord Thornton had said as she stood before the boudoir’s oval mirror, “you were in service when the scandal between Lord Neatham and Mr. Marsden took place, weren’t you?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said, fiddling with the short train of the gown, attending to her just as assiduously as she would have had Audrey been about to be presented at a ball.
“Do you recall anything about that time in regard to Colonel Trenton, Lord Neatham’s younger brother?”
“How do you mean?” her maid asked, finally stopping to peer at Audrey in the mirror’s reflection.
“I’m not sure,” she said, realizing how scattered and capricious she must sound. “I suppose I just wondered if you knew anything of the colonel’s reputation. His manner.”
Greer frowned, faint lines bracketing her lips.
She was slight and young in appearance, but in truth Greer must have been in her early thirties.
A spinster by any other name, but proud of her position as lady’s maid to a duchess.
Greer was not an overly warm person; no servant should be, or at least that is what Audrey’s mother had always said.
But then again, it could be said that Audrey was not a warm person either.
She was distant, aloof. Some had even accused her of being a snob.
It was a duchess’s right, after all. But Audrey was simply guarded.
She had learned long ago to only give of herself to those whom she could trust. And she’d found trusting so very challenging.
It was then she realized she had requested her loyal servant to gossip about a peer. And this from Greer, who never spoke a disparaging word against anyone. Audrey’s cheeks colored. “I should not have asked. Never mind.”
Greer shook her head. “I don’t know anything of his manner, I’m afraid. But there was talk,” she said, raising a brow. “The servants at Neatham House never believed the accusations against Mr. Marsden. They always suspected another man played the role in Miss Neatham’s ruin.”
“And Mr. Marsden was the scapegoat,” she replied. Greer parted her lips to speak when a light rap sounded on the door connecting Philip’s sitting room to the boudoir.
“Come in,” Audrey called.
The duke entered the boudoir, as he often did when crossing between rooms. He was still dressed in what he’d worn to the military review, though his valet had tossed on a sable robe, to warm him, surely.
“You’re back,” Audrey observed, albeit mundanely. Of course, he was. He was standing right here, wasn’t he? Her questions about the colonel had discomfited her. He had something to do with all of this, and the feeling that she was closing in on some dangerous truth had set her nerves aflame.
She wanted to be able to speak to Hugh, to discuss it with him.
But she instead grinned at her husband and dismissed Greer with a nod.
“You look to be feeling better,” Philip said, and for a moment Audrey puzzled at the comment. Then, she recalled her excuse for leaving Hyde Park earlier. Cassie and Genie would have informed Philip once they saw him again.
She swallowed. It was time to tell him. “I am. I—”
“Audrey we must discuss something,” he said, his words rushed and solemn.
Something weighed on his mind; she could always tell when he had disagreeable news to share.
It became difficult for him to meet her eyes, and he would prevaricate by inspecting objects close by.
Now, it was a gray velvet tufted stool. He ran his hand over the embroidery.
Her head swam as she wondered what could be so serious. Had he heard something about Hugh? Had something happened? Audrey stood with her hands clasped before her, fingers strangling one another.
“Say what you must,” she urged after a few protracted moments.
“This isn’t easy for me,” he said, still fiddling with the velvet tufts. Then he pocketed his hands and turned to face her. “I am leaving for the Continent.”
The boudoir swallowed the words, stealing them away before they could properly settle into her mind. Audrey peered at him, bewildered.
“You… The Continent?” she spluttered. “Leaving?”
“Yes.” He took a breath, deep enough to expand his chest. His brow furrowed. Pain. She saw it etched there in the lines of his forehead. Not physical pain, but something more profound.
“I have been given a second chance. With Freddie,” he said, the last whispered as though his boldness was wavering.
But as shock wove its way through Audrey’s limbs, Philip held his chin high.
“I never stopped loving him, and now that he is here, now that he, too, has been given a second chance, I… I must go.”
For how long she gaped at him, she didn’t know. But when Philip took her arms and asked her to breathe, to say something, Audrey snapped free of her stupor.
“You cannot be serious.”
He released her arms. “I am, very much so. I am in poor health; everyone is aware of that. It isn’t so uncommon for the afflicted to travel to warmer climes. The Mediterranean, for instance.”
“And you will travel with Mr. Walker?”
“No, that would be…ill advised. We will meet there,” he replied.
The velvet tufted stool suddenly appealed to her aspic-like legs. She went to it and sat. “How long will you be away?”
The question was inane. She knew the answer, even if she didn’t want to accept it. Could not accept it. The pain she’d seen on his expression deepened. It was pain not for him, but for her.
“I am not returning.”
The small dressing room warmed. Then almost instantly, chilled.
“You cannot abandon me,” she whispered, her mind reeling.
This wasn’t her husband. This wasn’t the Duke of Fournier speaking. This man was a stranger inhabiting his body.
“I love you, Audrey; you are my dearest friend. I cannot abide the idea of hurting you, but you must see the truth of the situation—”
“The truth? The truth is that after less than one week of Mr. Walker being back in your life, you’ve decided to run away together!”
“The truth is that neither you nor I have even the slimmest chance at happiness if I stay,” he said, his voice rising with conviction.
She glared at him, refusing to permit he was even fractionally correct. She was far too furious for that. “So, you will tarnish the Fournier name and legacy, you will abandon your duty to it, to your estates and those who depend upon you, while you live out your life in warmer climes?”
Her temper was quickly overtaking her, causing her to raise her voice. She slammed her jaw shut and clenched her teeth. Risking any of the servants overhearing would be a disaster. Even Greer.
“No, I do not plan to ruin the Fournier name by living in open scandal on the Continent,” he replied tightly, then lowered his voice. “I plan to die.”
Audrey balked. Her festering rage dropped to a simmer. “I don’t understand. Are you…” She slid from the stool, but her legs wouldn’t hold her, so she sat down again. “Are you so very ill?”
A flicker of a smile touched his mouth and then was gone. “No. I’m not as ill as that.”
Understanding whipped her, sparking lash after sparking lash. “You are going to fake your own death?”
“It is the only way, don’t you see? For both of us. I would never leave you to shoulder the burden or embarrassment of my choice.”
“But Michael, Cassie, Tobias…they will be destroyed. They love you. You are their brother. You would let them believe you are dead when you’re not?”
Guilt cut across his face. It was genuine, Audrey knew, but she also suspected that it would not be enough to stop him.
“I have given this thought, Audrey. More than you know. And not just now, because of Freddie. The plan has crossed my mind before.” He sighed and came toward her, though he stopped short of reaching for her hands, which were balled into fists in the lap of her dinner gown.
Her throat thickened. Betrayal poured into her like molten lead. He had thought of leaving her before?
“Michael has Genie, and now, a son. He will fill his home with children and love. And anyhow, Michael will be a much better duke than I ever could be. You know it to be true.”
The title would pass to Michael, then to little George.
She refused to agree verbally, stubbornness stitching her lips together.
But Philip was correct. He had always been more academic and closed off, while Michael was business minded and outgoing, social and commanding.
Philip had always given the impression that he was a reluctant duke, lamenting that he had been firstborn.
To him, the title was a baleful duty, not a privilege.
“Tobias will leave university and make his way in the world. He has friends and,” Philip shrugged, “he has always been much closer to Michael anyhow. Cassie will soon marry, and her life will be full and busy. They will all recover.”
“And what of me? I love you too. You are telling me you will never come back, that I will never see you again.”