Page 41 of Duke of Emeralds (Dukes of Decadence #2)

“ W hy must I remain in bed when I am perfectly able to walk?” Hester gripped the edge of the coverlet, ready to yank.

Miss Holt pressed a hand to her own chest as if bracing for musket fire. “His Grace was most insistent you stay abed, Your Grace. He said you were to take not one step until the doctor called again.”

“Then tell His Grace I am alive and would prefer to die of boredom in the drawing room rather than of bedsores in here.”

The maid’s mouth twitched, almost a smile, but she schooled her face and began fussing with the tray of tea on the bedside table. “Would you care for breakfast now? Or perhaps another volume of the novel?”

“I want,” Hester breathed, “to know if the world has ended, and if so, whether it has been mended by all this infernal coddling.”

Miss Holt kept her eyes on the teacups. “His Grace left before dawn. He rode out toward the city but gave no further instruction, save for your rest. And he said not to admit any visitors, except for family.”

The news stung more than she had prepared for. She tried to ignore the sudden urge to fling the pillow into the hallway. “He’s been avoiding me, you know.” The words surprised her. “Since… the fall.”

Miss Holt gave her an anxious look.

“He’s angry with me, then.”

“Oh, no, Your Grace,” the maid rushed to say. “Nothing of the kind.”

Hester set her jaw, grinding her teeth until it felt like she might gnaw through the bone. Then she propped herself up, which made her head swim. “He cannot possibly keep this up for the whole day. Not if I walk out myself and find him.”

“The doctor said you are to?—”

“I will not obey the doctor or the Duke, not today. Bring me my robe, and I shall meet my fate upright.” She flung back the covers, exposing her legs to the chilly morning, and was gratified to see Miss Holt scurry to fetch the dress.

In the brief time it took Miss Holt to return, Hester ran over the conversation in her mind.

Why did it matter so deeply that he’d left without so much as a word?

Why did she feel raw and shamed, like a schoolgirl scolded for giggling in church?

Was he truly angry? Or did he simply wish to be rid of her?

And why should that matter? Had she not always wanted a life free of the liability of love?

Yet, when she thought of the past two days—how he had barely entered the room, how he had spoken only in stiff, formal phrases—it hurt. Not physically but somewhere else, somewhere that she could not compress into reason.

Miss Holt returned with the robe and helped her into it then fetched slippers for her feet.

A knock at the door startled both women then it opened and Thomas strode into the room. He was dressed in a somber blue that looked almost black, and his eyes avoided her at first.

Hester’s heart skipped then promptly fell into a ditch. She studied him, and there was not a hint of play, none of the warmth she had come to expect. Just a cold, shuttered mask.

“You are up,” he said. “How do ye fare?”

“I am not dead,” she replied, “though you may check my pulse if you require proof.”

He did not smile. “The doctor will call again in the afternoon. Until then, ye must remain in bed or in that chair.”

“Is it necessary to station a sentry at my door?” She meant it as a jest, but the line sat flat.

He looked away then motioned for Miss Holt to leave. The maid retreated and closed the door.

Silence bloomed between them before Hester braced herself, determined to shatter it first. “You are very attentive today, Thomas. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten your vows to plague me.”

He did not answer. Instead, he poured a cup of tea from the tray, added nothing, and set it within her reach.

She tried again. “I was told you have been busy.”

“Aye.”

“What business?”

He straightened, every muscle taut. “I have something to tell you. It will not wait.”

Hester felt a prickle along her arms. “If it is about the accident, I am sorry to have caused such a fuss.”

Thomas shook his head. “Not that.”

She drew herself up, spine rigid. “Is it about Bella? Or the servants?”

“You said once that you do not desire a true marriage. That we should not interfere in one another’s affairs, and no children.” His words were slow, each syllable like a stone in the air.

Hester’s throat closed. “I remember.”

He went on, “It has been almost two months, and the Season is drawing to a close. We have made the necessary public appearances. There is no further reason to keep up the act.” He stared at the window and not at her.

“You may remain here in Lushton House if you wish, and when you travel to Dorset, Lushton Castle is there for ye.”

Hester’s hands went numb. “What are you saying, Thomas?”

He flinched at that, but his voice did not waver. “We will live separate lives henceforth, Hester, and Arabella will stay with you as we agreed.”

She tried to speak but found her tongue stuck. “And where will you go?” It sounded petulant, even to her own ears.

He did not look at her. “Ye need not worry where I will be. I assure ye that I shan’t be in yer path.”

“You wish to live apart,” she said, as if it needed repeating.

He nodded.

“And if I wish to stay?”

His head jerked up, his eyes meeting hers for the first time. “Do you?”

She opened her mouth then shut it. “If I wished it, would it matter?”

He did not answer, and in the silence, she realized that the question was not for him but for herself. She searched his face, looking for a crack, a sign that this hurt him even a fraction as much as it did her.

Hester found nothing.

“Very well,” she said, her voice thin and strange. Her anger grew, crowding out the pain. “Are you punishing me for the accident? For being foolish?”

“I am punishing myself, Hester. Not you. I am sorry for—” He stopped, the words breaking off. “It’s for the best.”

She thought of the long, empty hallways of the castle, the echo of footsteps, the way her own mother had disappeared into the shell of herself when her father died. The thought of living like that, every day, was a terror greater than anything she had ever known.

She wanted to say, Stay. I want you to stay. I do not want to be alone.

But the words would not come.

Instead, she forced her features into stillness. “Thank you for telling me plainly. I appreciate it.”

He nodded, once. “I will leave ye to rest.” He turned for the door then stopped with his hand on the knob. Thomas turned slightly, as though he had more to say, but then he turned the knob and left.

He left.

Hester stared at the empty air where he had stood. The room felt larger now, and colder. She pressed a fist to her mouth and bit down, hard, to keep from making any sound at all.

It is what you wanted, she told herself. This is what you asked for. There is no reason to mourn the loss of a thing you never believed in.

That evening, Hester stood at the top of the staircase and watched as the footmen dragged Thomas’s trunks down to the foyer. It was raining—of course, it was—and Thomas was already in the carriage.

She told herself she did not care. That he had done her a favor by leaving so efficiently, with no protracted farewells or hollow assurances. Yet she watched from the shadows with her chin resting on the banister, feeling as though she was losing a part of herself.

The carriage did not move for a moment, as if waiting for her to bolt down the steps and beg forgiveness or perhaps simply to confirm that she had seen him go. She refused to give it the satisfaction. Hester turned, climbed back to the landing, and shut herself in her chambers.

She did not sleep that night. Nor the next.

Where would he go? The question gnawed at her, more than she cared to admit.

There were clubs in St. James’s that catered to every vice; there were women who knew the art of comforting men newly rid of their inconvenient wives.

The notion that he might go to one of them—worse, that he might find solace there—burned so hot she wanted to rip the sheets from the bed.

She spent the first day in a haze, wandering the hallways, inventing errands for herself and discarding them moments later. Even Arabella, who trailed her through the house like a small, confused wraith, could not tempt her into conversation.

The second day, the mail arrived. Hester looked through the missives, hoping to find one bearing the Lushton crest or at least Thomas’ strong penmanship, but there was nothing of significance.

On the third day, a knock came at the front door, louder and more impatient than any servant would dare. Hester heard it from the top of the stairs and froze, her hand on the banister.

Moments later, Anna’s voice floated into the house. “If she has died of heartbreak, at least put her in a room with proper ventilation!”

Hester rolled her eyes, but she could not keep the smile from her lips. She made her way to the drawing room where Anna was already shedding her shawl. “You are a hurricane,” Hester said.

Anna advanced and swept Hester into a fierce embrace, one arm around her neck, the other patting her back as if to burp a recalcitrant infant. “You did not reply, so I came to conduct a rescue.”

“I do not require rescuing.”

“You do,” Anna said. She held Hester at arm’s length and surveyed her, frowning. “You look as if you haven’t eaten in a week. And I sent you four notes; did you read any of them?”

“I did not get the chance,” Hester lied, untangling herself. “And I have not had an appetite.”

“Appetite is for the living, and I intend to restore it.” Anna rang for tea then made herself comfortable on the settee, as if she owned the place. “Now. Tell me what has happened.”

Hester sat, smoothing her skirt until her hands stopped shaking. “It is nothing. Thomas and I have decided to live apart. It was always the plan. There is no reason for fuss.”

Anna scoffed then crossed her arms. “Your plan was to be miserable?”

“It is not misery. It is practicality.”

Anna studied her. “You loved him, then.”

Hester flinched. “That is absurd. Love had nothing to do with this.”

“I see. And that is why you look as if you have swallowed poison.” Anna leaned in, and her voice softened. “Hester. I know you. You do not break so easily unless something has gone very wrong. Was it—did he hurt you?”

Hester’s throat closed, and for a moment she could not answer. “No,” she managed at last. “He did exactly as I asked. That is the problem.”

Anna was silent for a long moment. “I do not think you know what you want.”

Hester almost laughed. “Does any woman?”

“Some do,” Anna said, “though most are too wise to admit it.” She reached for Hester’s hand and squeezed it tight. “You should speak to him.”

“He is gone,” Hester replied, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Gone where?”

“I do not know.”

The tea arrived, and for a few minutes, they drank in silence. Anna’s presence was a balm, but Hester’s heart was still shattering.

At length, Anna set her cup down. “You are allowed to want things, Hester. You are allowed to change your mind, even.”

“That is not how the world works.”

Anna shrugged. “Then make a new world.”

Hester shook her head, the anger and longing warring in her chest. “It is too late. I have already lost him.”

Anna’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “If he is truly lost, then you may as well say what you feel. There is no risk, is there?”

Hester stared at her tea then the words bubbled up before she could stop them. “I do not want to be alone,” she whispered. “I do not want to live apart. I want—” She stopped, mortified.

Anna pounced. “You want him.”

“I want things to be different.”

“That is not the same.”

Hester felt the tears gather, hot and unwelcome. “It is all I can manage, Anna. I am not like you. I am not brave.”

Anna reached over and brushed the hair from Hester’s cheek, gentle as a mother. “You are braver than any woman I know. You have survived things that would have crushed me to dust. If you can survive that, you can survive telling a man you wish for him to stay.”

Hester shook her head. “He would laugh at me.”

“He would not.”

“He is better off without me.”

Anna snorted. “He is a man. Men are never better off alone. They turn feral within the month.” She stood, pulling Hester with her. “Go to him, or write, or do something other than sit here and fade. I will not stand for it.”

Hester clung to Anna’s hand. “What if he does not wish to see me?”

Anna’s smile was a wicked, perfect thing. “Then you shall haunt him with the memory of your courage, and he will never know another moment’s peace. That, at least, is something.”

Hester could not help but laugh, even as the tears threatened again.

After Anna’s departure, and when she was alone again, Hester sat by the window and watched the street. She pictured Thomas, somewhere in the world, as lonely and angry as she was. She wondered if he thought of her.

She wondered if he would welcome her if she tried.