Page 28 of A Bride for the Scottish Duke (The Gentleman’s Vow #5)
CHAPTER 28
Charity
C harity stumbled into the stables, hot tears spilling from her eyes. Why was he like this? What had happened? They had made such progress, had they not? And when he had kissed her, she had thought all would be well—that all would be good between them . And yet, everything was dreadful now.
“Ambrose,” she called softly.
The little horse nickered at the sound of her voice and trotted eagerly to the fence that enclosed him and Hector. His warm greeting lightened her sorrow, if only a little, but the moment she saw his dear face, something within her broke. More tears fell, flowing in fresh torrents.
“Ambrose,” she murmured, flinging her arms around his stout neck.
The Shetland pony nuzzled against her, tipping his head sideways as if to press it into her. He was gentle, as he had always been.
In her darkest hours, Ambrose had been her solace.
After her father’s passing, she had sought refuge in the stables, weeping in the corner of Ambrose’s stall while the little pony stood guard over her. Once, he had even lain beside her—an unusual thing for him—his head resting in her lap. She had found comfort in him when she could find it nowhere else. Not from her mother, who had been lost in her own despair, drowned in grief. Not from her sister Eleanor, who had clung to her , seeking comfort. Charity had been strong for Eleanor, as she had always been. But here, in the stables, she could allow herself to grieve.
She stepped inside Ambrose’s stall, mindful of Hector, who peered at her curiously from the neighboring enclosure. Picking up a brush from the shelf, she stroked Ambrose’s thick mane, the rhythmic motion soothing her frayed nerves.
“Ambrose,” she sighed, “I wish you were human. You would give me advice, I am sure. You are a wise little fellow, are you not?”
The pony nickered again, as if in reply, and she kissed his neck.
“I do not understand him,” she whispered. “I do not understand him in the least. I…”
“Charity?”
Millie’s voice rose from somewhere deeper within the stables.
“Charity, are you here? The butler said I might find you?—”
She placed the brush aside and lifted her head. “Millie? I am here.”
Her cousin emerged from the shadows, the skirts of her gown swaying with each hurried step. She wore a fitted bodice of dark blue velvet, laced at the front, with sleeves that tapered elegantly to the wrists. A modest but stylish bustle at the back accentuated her figure, the fabric falling in soft folds over a walking skirt of matching blue, now slightly damp from the morning mist.
The moment Millie saw her, she rushed forward.
“Charity, what in the world has happened?”
Charity stepped from the stall and drew a breath to steady herself, but before she could form a reply, a great sob broke from her chest, and she flung herself into her cousin’s arms.
Millie held her close, rubbing her back in soothing strokes.
“Charity, what is it? Can it be as dreadful as all that?”
“It is worse,” Charity choked out. “Millie, these last few days have been horrible. I—I cannot bear it.”
“What has he done?” Millie asked, stepping back to study her. “All of London is talking of your most dramatic kiss at the Arlington ball. I thought I would find you in high spirts, a true wife at last. What could have gone so terribly wrong?”
“I do not know,” Charity admitted, wiping at her eyes before squaring her shoulders. “I thought we got along better. I thought he genuinely cared for me. The kiss—I believed it meant something. But it did not. He said it was for show—a mere performance to convince society of our happiness, nothing more than a romantic flourish to complete our dance. And now…now he barely speaks to me. Every day, he runs off to see his cousin or attend to business, and when he is here, he avoids me. It is as it was when I first arrived.”
Millie’s green eyes narrowed.
“That is peculiar. I do not understand. Why would he act this way? You have not quarreled?”
“No. Nothing happened. We returned from the ball, and he was distant, but I thought nothing of it. I assumed he was tired. But the next day, he barely spoke to me. And the next. And the next. And now, at last, we have quarreled—because once again, he refused to dine with me. Once again, he told me to do as I please.”
Millie frowned. “And what did you say? Did you confront him?”
Charity nodded. “Of course I did. I have been trying to understand him. I thought I had unraveled the reason he wished to marry me—that he wanted to distance himself from his Irish mother, to have a child and carry on his line, to ensure that society forgot his grandfather’s drunkenness, and his father’s marriage to an Irishwoman.”
“That is a reasonable assumption,” Millie judged. “But you do not believe it anymore?”
“No,” Charity murmured. She hesitated, then lowered her voice.
“When I spoke to his aunt—the Duchess of Ashburn—she seemed startled when I mentioned I knew the truth about Eammon’s mother. Not startled that I knew the tale, but rather as if she had not expected me to know. And the more I think on it, the more I feel there is more to the story.”
Millie tilted her head. “You are certain?”
“I am,” Charity whispered. “Not just that—Eammon himself acts peculiar whenever the matter of his family arises. I know there is something more.”
She paused, glancing down at her shoes, which were now muddied and tangled with straw.
“At the ball, before Eammon and I danced, Lord Barron arrived. He is a cousin of Markham’s. He implied that Eammon had gotten what he wanted by marrying me. That many men had sought what he had.” She hesitated, then looked at Millie sharply. “And I do not think he was referring to me.”
Millie pressed her lips together. “Is it wise to lend credence to anything said by an associate of Markham’s? Especially his cousin?”
“I know it, but Eammon is so infuriating. I hardly know what else to do. Oh, truly, must my existence be so complicated and arduous?”
“I do not understand, Charity. Yet, perhaps you ought to consider indulging in something for yourself—something you take pleasure in. Something that might allow your mind to find a measure of ease. Call on your mother, or perhaps your sister,” Millie suggested.
“My mother holds my union with a duke in higher regard than anything else. It matters little what I desire. My feelings are of no consequence.”
Millie smiled then. “I almost forgot—your mother is not at home today. She has gone out with mine. Come now and visit with your sister. We shall have a delightful time, and you need not fret over your mother bestowing on you her enthusiasm for your new station in life. You may accompany me back to London and I will leave you at your sister’s.”
Charity pondered this as she glanced at a horse that had returned to its hay, then back at her cousin. Indeed, she did not wish to remain within the confines of the house for another night, haunted only by the sound of her own breathing and the relentless ticking of the clocks scattered within. It had been an eternity since she had shared time with Eleanor.
She nodded. “I am so glad you came to call on me. But pray, why did you?”
“We were meant to have tea together, my dearest cousin,” Millie chuckled, “but I do not hold you to blame for forgetting, given all that transpires within your household.”
“Goodness, gracious! I beg your pardon; I have been exceedingly scatterbrained of late.”
“I do not hold it against you,” Millie said, taking her arm and leading her from the stable. “Come now, let us partake of a cup of tea before we venture into London. You must inform your husband of your whereabouts, ought you not?”
Charity halted for a moment, gazing at Millie. “Nay, I shall not. He never divulges where he goes when he departs for hours on end. Why should I inform him of my own designs? Let him wonder. But I shall take my own carriage—otherwise I may not have a way to return when I please or before my mother returns.”
Millie paused for a moment but then nodded. “Very well. If that is your wish, then so it shall be.”
Together, the two cousins made their way out of the stable and into the bright sunshine.
As she lifted her gaze to the clear blue sky, Charity felt resolute. Today, she would do as she pleased, without seeking Eammon's approval or informing him of her intentions. If he wished for them to lead separate lives, then so be it. Let him witness the consequences of such an arrangement.