Page 22 of Duke of the Sun (Regency Sky #1)

CHAPTER 21

“P ack my bags at once.”

Michael strode out of the dining room in a hurry. The staff stepped aside as he shot around them, pressing their backs against the wall and waiting till he got far enough to whisper questions and surprised murmurs. Behind him, following close to his heels, was Hunters, his footsteps almost quiet when compared to Michael’s unavoidable strides.

“Your Grace,” Hunters called out to him, widening his strides to walk alongside him. “Can I ask what the meaning behind this abrupt exit is?”

“You may,” Michael replied, “But that does not mean I’d answer.”

In the back of his mind, Michael could only see Cordelia’s stricken face from the dining room. Each time he blinked, his eyes shuttering close for a second, her soft features warped with concern and anger flashed across his vision. It was as if she haunted him, making sure that he would never forget the pain he insisted on inflicting her with.

Perhaps he never should have returned in the first place. If he remained far away from Solshire, the rumors would have still lingered over her head, but his business could have continued. There would have been a hurdle to leap over every now and then, but at least he would not have been plagued in the way he was now. Cordelia sunk into his skin like a disease, grabbing a hold of his heart and refusing to let go. No matter what medicine he ingested, she remained within him like a lingering cough.

The word coward hung over him. Her sharp voice, tainted with brimming tears and frustration, echoed through his ears. He did not need much convincing to know she was entirely right. Michael was a coward, and had been one all his life. Events from his past shaped him into a reclusive creature, one who feared the light Cordelia threatened to bring into his life. No matter how much he wished to turn around and seek her out once more, to hold her within his arms and say the things she wanted him to say, Michael remained head strong, his heart hardened towards everything he wanted to have.

Because, in the end, the love Cordelia sought, the life she believed he could give her, was out of his hands. He had been rendered incapable of such a thing a long time ago, and there was barely any chance of getting it back. Either way, he had already made up his mind, and ordered the arrangements to be made. His things would be returned to his townhouse within the city. He planned on continuing his business for the rest of the Season. Earn as much profit for Cordelia to be as comfortable as she wished.

Perhaps he might order her an influx of canvases, enough to last her a lifetime. The idea of no longer seeing her artwork stunted him for a moment, but he pushed past it.

Once at his bedroom, Hunters whipped around to stand in front of him. “As your Butler,” Hunters snapped, practically out of breath, “And as your friend, I wish to implore you on making a different decision, your Grace.”

“Friend?”

Hunters winced. “Have I not been there for you all these years, your Grace? Have I not seen you grow, seen you fall? Does that give my word any sort of weight in your mind?”

“Perhaps,” Michael murmured, “But it will do you no good today. The arrangements have been made.”

Hunters’ shoulders sagged as Michael passed by him, retrieving his case. He watched as Michael gathered a few of his important papers and work things, remaining silent until the clasp snapped through the air, the bag shut.

“Your Grace,” Hunters began again, “I fear you might regret your actions in the future.”

“My future is beyond your worries.”

And then, the unthinkable happened.

Hunters shot forward, his arms finding their way around Michael’s body, bringing him into a tight embrace. Michael felt himself stiffen as the butler grabbed a hold of him, his arms snapping around him in a hug. He could hardly pull himself away, and barely found the will to force himself out of it. The embrace jerked him back in time, to when he was nothing more than a clueless child.

“Your future,” Hunters said, “Has been at the forefront of my worries for years, your Grace. For much longer than you might imagine.”

“Hunters -”

“You cannot see the good that has been brought to Solshire because you are so quick to leave it. Perhaps you believe you are undeserving of it, or that a life alongside a gentle and kind-hearted woman is out of your reach.” Hunters pulled away, bowing his head down. “I only wish you could hold yourself in the same regard as I do, your Grace, and realize that a settled life is very capable to be had in your future.”

Michael remained as still as a statue for a moment. He could only watch the butler, and see how much he believed the words he spoke. But Michael already has his mind made. Everything had been made the moment he realized how bound to Cordelia he felt. The jealousy of her speaking so publicly with Colin, how her hand felt within his own, how her smile and laugh riled him in a way he still could not understand. All of it led to one thing, and it was the single thing Michael refused to hand over.

“Hunters,” Michael finally said, barely recognizing his own voice, “I expect you to take care of Solshire while I am gone.”

The butler’s eyes narrowed. “Do you mean the estate, or the wife you leave behind?”

“Take it as you must.”

Turning away, Michael finished collecting his last few things, desperate to put space between him and Cordelia. Much to his surprise, Hunters stepped forward silently, beginning to help him get a hold of his things. Hunters grabbed a hold of his case and another bag of luggage, slipping out of the om without sparing another word.

Michael followed close behind him. They made their way to the foyer in no time, the rest of Michael’s things already being stored within the back of a carriage in front of the estate’s steps. Hunters went with the rest of the staff to place the rest of his bags with the others. Michael breathed in deeply as he began to walk towards the front doors.

“Your Grace!”

Pausing at the threshold, Michael glanced over his shoulder. Mrs. Bellflower hurriedly scurried towards him, something squared and rather large in her hands. A cloth covered whatever it was she held, wrapped neatly and tightly. She panted breathlessly when she came up to him, holding the package forward.

“What is this?” he asked.

Mrs. Bellflower merely extended it closer to him. “Something I believe you are meant to have, your Grace.”

He raised a brow. “I am going to need more information than that, Mrs. Bellflower.”

The housekeeper pressed her lips together as she looked down at the package, running one hand over it as though there was something priceless beneath it. “It is not my place to tell you, your Grace. I can only hope that you’d take it, and understand the meaning that is so blatantly behind it.”

Michael eyed the package warily. Not that he was afraid of its contents, but rather concerned on what it might force him to feel. He breathed deeply before reaching, and taking the package within his hands.

“You will return, won’t you?” Mrs. Bellflower asked.

Michael hesitated, unsure of what to say.

The housekeeper pressed her lips together and nodded slowly. “Perhaps you might consider returning sometime soon, your Grace. You are leaving…” she breathed in deeply, pulling a sorrowful smile across her face. “You leave far too much behind.”

Something about Mrs. Bellflower’s words hit him harder than he imagined they would. Michael merely gave her a nod, unable to even force a smile across his face. With the package tucked neatly beneath his arm, Michael spun around on his heel, and passed over the threshold of his childhood home, refusing to look behind him.

Hunters stood beside the carriage, overseeing the final pieces of luggage being stowed inside. “Your carriage is about ready, your Grace.”

Michael sighed. “Collect my steed, won’t you? I wish to ride there.”

“As you wish, your Grace.”

Hunters began to walk around the estate, heading towards the stables.

“Shall I pack that with the others, your Grace?”

Michael blinked a few times, needing an extra second to register the footman’s wods. “What?”

“Your package, your Grace.” The footman gestured towards the wrapped thing he held.

Michael shook his head, though he wasn’t sure why. The footman bowed his head before turning away, closing up the carriage to send it on its way. Looking down at the package in his hands, Michael pulled at the twine, loosening the fabric till it fell away.

His eyes widened. As if he stared into a looking glass, Michael stared down at a portrait of himself. He could hardly remember the last time he posed for a painting. Perhaps it was after his mother’s passing, when they needed new paintings to hang above the mantel. He could remember it as if it happened the day before: sitting in an ornate chair while his father, the late Duke, posed behind him, one heavy hand resting over Michael’s narrow shoulder. Each of them had sour expressions on their faces, and the painting remained within Solshire to that very day.

The portrait he looked at now, however, had a different air about it. While he wasn’t entirely smiling in it, there was something gentle about his expression. His brow was not furrowed, his shoulders relaxed and calm. His lips spread into a straight line, the corner tugging into the slightest of smiles. In an even greater surprise, the portrait had bright white scars peering up from his collar, striking across the exposed skin around his neck. No other paintings done of him ever showed the scars. Perhaps the artist never noticed them, or was too frightened of his scowl to include them in the final piece.

Michael flipped the canvas over. There was a name done in incredibly neat handwriting at the bottom corner, marking who the canvas originally belonged to. The air caught on the back of Michael’s throat as he realized who the artist was.

Cordelia Celeston.

“Hold there,” Michael called out, stopping the carriage from leaving the steps. He took a few wide strides towards it before slipping the painting in alongside the rest of his belongings. It disappeared the moment he dropped it within. As the carriage rumbled away, he could not understand the origin of the ache within the center of his chest.

Hunters rounded the corner with a horse trotting along behind him. “Your horse, your Grace,” the butler said, handing the sleek black reins over.

“Thank you, Hunters,” Michael said as he ran his hands down the steed’s long neck. The horse shook his head beneath his touch, letting out a short sound. Breathing in deeply, Michael pulled himself over the side of the horse, his feet slipping into place on either side of the steed. With the saddle fitting in perfectly beneath him, Michael felt at ease knowing that he would be flying through the countryside, the wind flowing through his hair and leaving everything he regretted behind.

“Your Grace.”

Michael looked down at the butler. “What is it, Hunters?”

“I hope to see you soon.”

The ache grew within him as he pulled his stare away from Hunters. Without saying another word, he flicked the reins, pressing his heel into the horse’s side. The steed let out another neigh before beginning to trot away from Solshire’s front steps. The further the horse took him, the more the pain within his chest seized him entirely. It was as if there was a rope tied around his waist that stretched all throughout the estate’s halls, till the other end tightened along Cordelia’s narrow figure. Somehow, after only a few short weeks, he found himself bound to her in more ways than he realized. But, still, he pressed on, refusing to disappoint her more than he already had.

Michael wasn’t too far from the front of the estate when he paused and took a greedy glance over his shoulder. While Hunters was no longer at the front steps, his eyes naturally gravitated towards where Cordelia’s room windows were. Perhaps what he saw was nothing more than a trick of the eye, but he could not look away.

Cordelia stood at her window, one hand holding the curtains back, staring out to where he was. Her expression was unreadable from the distance, but perhaps that was a blessing in disguise. He shook his head, sure that he was imagining seeing her there, and turned away. She did not know it now, but Michael was sure that his absence would lead to her ultimate happiness. She believed she wanted him to remain with her, to give her a life she believed she wanted. Michael, no matter how much it truly hurt him, knew that removing himself from her presence could bring her a peaceful existence.

Michael only wished he could say the same for himself.