Chapter 33
Two days passed without any news. They had received a list of Devereau’s family holdings from Steven Devers, but none had yielded a single result. They had visited every property, every business associate they could think of, and none of it had come to anything.
“I cannot believe this,” Julian said, pacing his study. Nathaniel and Gideon sat with him. “How is this possible? How has nobody seen him? Three different scandal sheets wrote about it this morning, and still nothing.”
“It is as you say. They only wrote of it this morning,” Gideon said. “Just this morning. You must not be so impatient.”
“Impatient? I have been patient for nearly two months since David was left on our doorstep, and we have looked for Arabella the entire time with no success. And now, David himself? We are going out of our minds. The whole household walks about as though there has already been a funeral.”
“Perhaps they walk about that way because they fear that one wrong word from them will see them dismissed,” Gideon suggested.
Julian let out a low grunt. “Nobody has lost their position. Not even the poor girl who left him alone.”
“If Helena told it to me right,” Gideon said, “then that poor girl is fifteen years old and did not know there was any danger at all. Babies of David’s age are not watched every minute. They can be left for a short while so a girl can relieve herself which is all she did.”
“It is precisely this attitude that has your servants walking about so grimly,” Nathaniel said.
“And the fact that the whole house still believes this child is your own son and that you have lost him. It would be inhuman for them not to feel that loss themselves. They have cared for him. They have grown fond of him.”
“They have,” Gideon agreed. “Helena loved Lavinia as though she were her own when she was still in Helena’s employ. It is part of why she stood as godmother to all our children, even though it was rather retrospective by the time we got round to it.” He waved a hand.
Julian knew he ought not to be so hard on the staff. But the rage in him was difficult to control. The rage, of course, was directed inward more than anywhere else. He had let this happen. He had not taken every precaution he should have. He had been careless.
“I never should have spoken to that man the way I did at the ball,” he said. “I all but told him I suspected him.”
“It was a risk,” Nathaniel said, “but you could not have known he would be so bold as to come back here and take the child himself. No one could have known that.”
“I was distracted,” Julian said. “I was not focused. I should have been focused entirely on this and nothing else. This whole entanglement with Clara has made me less sharp than I ought to be. I have been fighting feelings within myself since the moment we married, and it has kept me from seeing the danger right in front of me.”
“Surely you do not blame her,” Gideon said, sounding genuinely taken aback.
“Of course not. I blame myself.” He pressed his hands against the desk. “This entire situation has been a tangle from the start. Arabella brought the child to the ball. Why did she bring him there at all? Why did she not bring him to Clara’s house?”
“And hand him to Clara’s parents instead?” Nathaniel said. “She did not live with you yet, Julian. She lived with her parents. What would they have said if an infant appeared on their doorstep? She had to bring him somewhere those who knew her would not suspect.”
“It was reckless,” Julian said. “Absolutely reckless. And why did she not bring him to me directly? Why did she not trust me?” He slammed his hand down on the desk.
These last forty-eight hours had been overwhelming.
His feelings swung between utter despair at the loss of David and Arabella and fury at his own actions.
The only moments of solace had come when he was near Clara.
Her presence soothed him. But lately, even that enraged him because he did not feel he deserved to be soothed.
“I should not have allowed myself to fall for her,” he said.
“This whole entanglement was foolish from the start. I should never have let her think I love her. I should never have allowed it to become so tangled; it has done nothing but harm us all. If I were a better man, I would tell her plainly that I do not love her and set her free. It is what she deserves.”
“Julian,” Nathaniel said.
“No, I am right. Our only task was to keep David safe, and instead we became entangled with one another, and suddenly, his safety was no longer paramount to either of us. I should tell her I do not love her and send her away. It is the only right thing left to do.”
“Julian.” Nathaniel’s voice was firmer this time.
Julian raised both hands and fell back into the armchair by the fire. The flames danced in the grate, almost cheerfully which only stoked his anger further.
“I should tell her that,” he said, “because I am not equipped to protect anyone. I could not protect Arabella. I could not protect David. And I will not be able to protect her either. I should save her from me by telling her I do not love her.”
“But you do,” Gideon said.
“Yes. And that is precisely the problem. My love for her has put her in danger.”
“You must stop being a martyr,” Nathaniel said.
“I have told you this before. Making yourself the villain of every misfortune is not helpful, Julian. You fall into this pattern, blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong, and I know you know it. This is the fault of Sebastian Devereau. Not yours, not Arabella’s, and not Clara’s either. ”
Julian knew this was the truth. And yet in his heart of hearts, he could not stop blaming himself.
He was the Duke after all. He had not managed to keep his wife safe nor his cousin nor her child.
In that moment he could not help feeling there was not a single thing he had done right in his entire life.
***“This whole entanglement was foolish from the start. I should never have let her think I love her. I should never have allowed it to become so tangled, it has done nothing but harm us all. If I were a better man, I would tell her plainly that I do not love her and set her free.”
His words cut through her, and she bent at the waist as though struck. He was going to tell her he did not love her and send her away. Why? Because he blamed her. It certainly sounded that way.
He believed that because of her, David had ceased to be paramount to either of them which was not true at all. David was everything to her. How could he think such a thing? How could he say it?
She shook her head. She stumbled to the stairs and sat down hard on the first step, her head bowed between her knees.
Julian blamed her. These last days had felt like nothing but a nightmare, and even the moments of warmth between them had apparently been nothing but a comfort she had imagined for herself, something that had never been real at all.
She could not stay here. Not another minute.
She hurried upstairs, fetched her pelisse and her walking shoes, and came back down and out through the door before she could let herself think too hard about where she meant to go.
She only knew she could not be at Lynden House.
She stepped out into the cool afternoon air, and the tears came freely, streaming down her face.
A stiff breeze blew, sending her pelisse backward. She hardly noticed it.
She had thought after Benjamin that she could not be further humiliated. She had been wrong. Two days ago, he had announced to everyone present that the two of them were truly together. And now, he meant to tell everyone the opposite.
This was all wrong. She would be humiliated again and not only before society.
Before her friends. Before his friends. She would never be able to show her face here again.
Jilted twice over. Not marriage material, that much would be settled for good.
The best she could hope was that Julian would be true to his word and shoulder the blame himself.
If he did that, if he gave her what he had promised, she could start again. Scotland, perhaps. Or Ireland. The continent if it came to that. She could be free. She could become someone else entirely.
But not now. Not while David and Arabella were both still missing. That would be unconscionable.
She would have to do something. Go somewhere. Continue looking for her friend. But where, and how?
“My Lady?”
She looked up. Nell was walking towards her with a basket over her arm. “What in the world are you doing out here?”
“I had to get out. My own thoughts were making me unwell.” She did not want to admit what had brought her to this state.
“I understand, My Lady. But do take care, there is weather coming. Why not come back to the house with me?” Nell pointed, and Clara looked and saw dark clouds gathering low on the horizon.
It would rain soon. But the thought of returning to the house, to Julian, was too much to bear.
“I think I shall walk a little further. I will turn back before the rain comes.”
“Are you quite certain, My Lady?”
“Yes. And if the rain begins before I return, I shall shelter at the posting house. Do not fret.”
Nell did not look entirely convinced, but the two parted ways.
Clara continued walking. She knew there was a posting house between Lynden House and London.
It was not so far a distance, and she could manage it easily.
If the rain began, she would simply stop somewhere.
There would be carriages for hire as well.
Perhaps she could hire one to take her north, towards Scotland.
She would leave a note for Julian, telling him that she had overheard him and that she knew how he truly felt.
He would not fret over her leaving, regardless, but she felt she owed him the note all the same.
She walked on. Occasionally a rider hurried past her on the road, likely a messenger about some urgent business.
She had walked perhaps three quarters of an hour before the first drops of rain began to fall on her head.
She quickened her pace just as a bolt of lightning cracked across the sky, and she ducked into the inn, instantly surrounded by the close, smoky air of such places.
Spilled ale, meat frying somewhere behind the bar, men arguing over a hand of cards in the next room.
She approached the innkeeper. “Pray, do you have carriages for hire?”
The man looked up. “We surely do, Ma’am. But none will be setting off in this weather. Where were you looking to go?”
She hesitated. She wanted to say Scotland, to her aunt, but she was hardly prepared for such a journey, not properly, not without arrangements.
“Into London,” she said. She’d go to Helena’s.
Helena would help, though she would worry, and Clara had no wish to be found and turned back before she had even decided what she meant to do.
“I see,” the man said. “This weather should pass before too long, and you are welcome to wait here until it does.”
“Thank you. May I trouble you for ink, a quill, and some paper?”
He brought what she asked for, and she settled into a corner with a small ale and began to write.
Julian. By now you will know that I have gone.
I overheard you speaking with your friends.
I know that you do not love me. I know that all of what passed between us was simply a distraction for you, and it has hurt me more than I know how to say.
I love you, genuinely, but I will not make a fool of myself a second time.
I will continue searching for those we love, but I cannot continue searching beside you. I genuinely wished that…
She stopped. What exactly was she going to write?
She had thought to go on to London. That much was true.
And after that, Scotland, perhaps, though leaving the country with Arabella and David both still missing felt like abandoning them entirely.
What good could she truly do for her friend if she left?
They had tried nearly everything already.
Perhaps if she went to Scotland, she could look for Arabella there.
Arabella had loved Edinburgh when she visited. She might have gone there herself.
Clara knew she was making excuses. She knew it perfectly well.
She sat for a while and finished her ale and did not return to the letter. She did not have the words for it. She leaned back and closed her eyes for a moment.
She was not sure how much time had passed, only that the weather outside had grown considerably worse, when a shadow fell across her table, and she looked up.
“Clara Hampshire,” the man said.
“Yes.” She had not been called by that name in some time.
“Miss Arabella sent me. I am to take you to her at once.”
She blinked. Arabella. How would Arabella know she was here at this inn at this hour? It made no sense, and yet nothing that had happened in weeks had made sense, beginning with a baby handed to her at a ball.
“Arabella,” she said again, as though saying the name twice would make the impossible coincidence settle properly into place.
“Yes, Ma’am,” the man said. “But we must make haste. Mr. Devereau will find her if we do not move quickly.”
She rose, leaving her ale and her unfinished letter behind, and followed him out into the dark. Her heart pounded. She was finally going to find Arabella. She climbed into the waiting carriage, and the man closed the door behind her.
Then she heard the click of a lock.
“Excuse me.” She reached for the handle and found it would not give. “Excuse me!” She rapped against the window. The coachman did not turn. She moved swiftly to the other side and tried that door as well. Locked too.
Panic rose in her, and she pounded on the glass. “Let me out! Let me out; please, help me!” A couple walking past glanced up, confused, and the coachman called something down at them. They nodded and continued on their way without slowing.
Then the carriage lurched into motion, carrying her away from the inn, away from the home that had been hers these last weeks, away from the man who had broken her heart yet again, and towards a future that could not possibly have been more uncertain.