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“Where is Diana?” Gilbert demanded icily. “And do not parrot me nonsense about her father’s estate. You know what I mean.”

Leopold closed the ledger, then set it aside.

“She departed this morning,” he said. “I arranged her carriage as she was determined to go.”

Gilbert advanced, his posture rigid with anger.

“She was determined,” he echoed. “And you aided her, behind my back?”

Leopold swallowed, not meeting Gilbert’s furious stare.

“I feared she might try to leave on her own, without any proper accommodations. You know she has been unwell. She required assistance.”

Gilbert felt a bitter taste well up in his mouth. “She was unwell, and you did not see fit to inform me?” His retort emerged through clenched teeth. “You conspired with her to keep me ignorant.”

Leopold’s voice remained calm, though his eyes were clouded with worry.

“She said you were too occupied to accompany her. She… asked for privacy, for respite. I did not think forcing her to stay would help.”

“You have no right to decide on my behalf. She is my wife, not your ward,” Gilbert hissed, trying to quell his roil of emotions.

Leopold’s expression tightened.

“Your wife was miserable,” he said quietly. “That is not a matter of deciding anything for you. I only respected her choice to find peace away from here.”

“So, you hide behind a claim of respecting her,” Gilbert sneered. “Tell me, if she was so miserable, why did she not speak to me? Why this secrecy? Did you whisper that I would never consent or some such nonsense?”

“I whispered no such thing; I merely offered to help her travel safely. She believed you would not understand,” he said, shaking his head.

“Understand what, precisely?” Gilbert demanded, rage churning in his gut. “That she found everything so intolerable here that she had to flee?”

Leopold hesitated, clearly weighing his words.

“She struggles with your steadfast refusal to consider certain… possibilities,” he said. “She is unhappy with the distance between the two of you.”

“You speak in riddles. If she is dissatisfied, she should have told me plainly. We could have addressed it.”

“Perhaps she doubted your willingness to bend. She asked nothing of me except that I might keep her departure discreet.”

Gilbert paced irritably, each stride echoing in the small sitting room.

“This is absurd,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “When did the two of you become confidants?”

“She is hardly my confidant,” Leopold said, stiffening. “But I have seen her faint, I have seen her near tears, and I wish to atone for my part in her original scandal. You cannot blame me for trying to ensure she did not suffer alone.”

Gilbert halted, repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fists. He wanted to strike something, to shout at Leopold for meddling, yet guilt pricked at him. He wondered if he had trulyneglected Diana’s unhappiness to a degree that she had felt it necessary to seek help from Leopold.

“She left no word for me except a note,” Gilbert said, forcing himself to calm down. “That note is pitifully brief. Did she confide more in you? If so, tell me.”

Leopold appeared conflicted upon hearing Gilbert’s demand.

“She said little—only that she found no relief here and that the country air might improve her health,” he replied. “She seemed to be… in despair.”

Gilbert’s throat tightened with an unfamiliar ache.

“Despair,” he repeated, his fury deflating into a raw, gnawing worry. “And you assured her flight was the best course? By heaven, Leopold, you have gone too far.”

“I told her a respite might serve her well. That is all. If you had seen her face this morning, you would know she was not to be swayed.”