Page 21 of His Runaway Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #3)

CHAPTER 21

“ W hat do you mean, she isn’t here?” Edward thundered.

He was aware that he was shouting, his voice entirely too loud for the small space. The poor maid, Joan, only flinched and fixed her eyes on the ground.

Father used to shout like this. He had us all cowering in the corners when he was in one of his rages.

An image flashed through his head, of himself trying to hide in a wardrobe, shaking. How old was he? Six? Seven? Younger than Alex. He remembered Clarissa pulling him out of the wardrobe, hustling him along the corridor, and whispering in his ear. Don’t worry, come and sit in my parlor, she would say. He won’t come in there, I bet.

Do I want to be like him?

He cleared his throat, deliberately forcing his voice down to a normal volume.

“Forgive me, Joan, I should not have shouted. Only, I don’t quite understand. You say that the Duchess has gone out? Where? It’s dark, and supper is on the table.”

Joan twisted her apron between her hands. “She made me promise not to tell you until you asked, Your Grace. And when I helped her pack, I kept saying?—”

“Wait. Pack?”

Joan swallowed audibly and nodded. “There’s a letter, too, Your Grace. She slipped it into your study right before the carriage was called. Told me to tell you that it would be there. You weren’t in at the time, on account of playing chess with Master Alexander. Her Grace seemed pleased to hear that you were doing that.”

Edward raked a hand through his hair and was horrified to find that his hand was shaking.

“Am I in trouble, Your Grace?” Joan ventured, glancing briefly up.

“What? No, no, of course not, Joan. You were being loyal to your mistress, although I wish you could have mentioned it to me.”

“She specifically told me not to, Your Grace.”

“Of course. Of course. Well, why don’t you sit here with Alex? If Daphne isn’t coming down to supper, I might as well take my meal with him.”

Joan paused. “Will Lady Clarissa eat alone, then?”

Edward felt a wave of guilt so intense that it made him swallow. How could he have forgotten about her? Did he really take her for granted so often?

“We shall invite Lady Clarissa to eat with us in here,” he said. “Excuse me, Joan.”

He pushed past the hapless maid and strode away down the corridor.

It was dark and notably cold after the warmth of Alex’s little parlor. He had been a little shocked to discover that his son not only knew how to play chess but was also good at it. Worryingly good.

“I hope you aren’t letting me win, Papa,” Alex had said, narrowing his eyes at him.

Edward had grimaced. “Don’t worry, son. I’m not.”

She’s sulking, that’s all . She’s gone to clear her head. She’ll be back when she decides to forgive me.

She will forgive me, won’t she?

He burst into his study and saw the letter at once. It sat in the middle of the table, weighed down with the jade-handled letter opener. Snatching it up, he tore it open and began to read.

Edward,

I’m writing this letter in a hurry. You’ll know by now that I have packed up my things and taken the carriage. I won’t tell you where I am going, although I’m sure you can guess easily enough. I intend to live life as a spinster, as you always wished, and it seemed expedient to take myself away.

You see, I won’t be able to stay with you and keep my opinions to myself. I feel that you are doing many things wrong in raising your son and living your life, and while I don’t intend to criticize, I can see how you might think of it that way. I promised no more advice, so I shan’t give any, only that I hope you’ll listen to Lady Clarissa, and Peter and Mrs. Trench, and that you’ll try and pay attention to what Alex wants.

I hope he recovers well, and if you remember, do write me a few brief notes about his recovery.

My only regret is leaving without saying goodbye to Alex. I know it was cowardly, but I couldn’t face him. He would be better off without me, I think, as will you. Besides, you were in there with him, playing chess, and I thought you might have tried to prevent me from leaving. Tell him, if you will, that I care about him and I’m sorry for everything. It’s all a mess, and I kept thinking that I could tidy it all up if only I tried hard enough.

I like to fix things, you see. I did it with my sister, taking her place at the altar, and we all know how that turned out. I don’t think I can fix you, Edward, because you do not wish to be fixed. And besides, it’s none of my business.

Anyway, I’m rambling. This was only meant to be a short note, can you believe it? I’m sure you’ll consider yourself well rid of me. Perhaps our paths will cross again, or perhaps they won’t. Either way, Edward, I think this is goodbye. There’s a virtue in knowing when to give up, after all.

Daphne.

Edward read the whole letter again as if there might have been some sentences he’d overlooked, as if he’d somehow misinterpreted the whole thing.

He hadn’t.

He sat down with a thump, crumpling the letter in his hand.

She’s gone. She’s left me. Gone to her mother’s or her sister’s house. I won’t be welcome there, for sure. She hasn’t forgiven me. I went too far.

How am I going to tell Alex?

A throat was cleared in the doorway, and he flinched, glancing over to see a pale Joan watching him.

“Lady Clarissa is asking for you, Your Grace,” she whispered. “Supper is getting cold. When is the Duchess coming home?”

Edward closed his eyes. “She isn’t.”

Octavia Belmont, known to many as the Dowager Viscountess St. Maur, sighed in satisfaction and propped her feet up on the fender.

Outside, darkness was crowding in, a flutter of rain idly hitting the windowpane. It was good to be home.

The Duke of Thornbridge’s vast house was nice enough, but really, once a woman got to a certain age, there was no place like home. There was also a certain comfort in knowing that two out of her three daughters were well-married. To dukes , no less.

Not bad for a trio of girls with no money and the reputation for leaving and being left at the altar .

They were rich now, thanks to Anna’s marriage, and now with two duchesses as her sisters, Emily would be a highly sought-after lady.

But then was she free to marry? Octavia wasn’t sure. Emily hadn’t explained just what had gone on with that wretched Duke of Clapton. It was clear that some force was compelling the girl down the aisle for starters, but the twins had been uncharacteristically troublesome and had told neither their mother nor sister what was going on.

She sighed.

They’re too insular, those girls .

Blackmail was the obvious thing, but what could Emily possibly be blackmailed about? And why would a man like the Duke need to blackmail his wife? And why Emily, in particular?

At least the Duke of Thornbridge’s motivations for marrying Daphne were reasonably straightforward. He was compromised, she was compromised, and they had to marry. That was that.

Is that a good thing? What if he despises her?

Octavia shifted again, a pang of guilt returning. She had intended to tell Daphne that she could live in disgrace if she couldn’t bear to marry the Duke, but really, she had been so relieved when the offer was not accepted. It hardly mattered now. The wedding had happened, it was official, and that was that. Daphne was married. She was no longer Miss Belmont. She was the Duchess of Thornbridge.

No longer my little girl.

That was an upsetting thought. Octavia glanced across at her other daughter, the only one remaining at home.

The four of them had once made the little parlor seem overfull, but now with just her and Emily, there seemed to be more space than she had imagined.

Emily was reading, of course, the firelight glinting off her round spectacles. Sensing eyes on her, she glanced up and gave a smile.

“What’s wrong, Mama?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Octavia murmured. “I was only thinking about how quickly children grow up.”

“Well, I suppose that’s natural.”

I was also thinking about why you won’t tell me what exactly is going on with you and the Duke of Clapton. There’s no talk of an engagement. Is he too humiliated to try again? I’m not sure I want to wrangle a duke with a grudge. I’m too old for this nonsense.

“Emily,” Octavia said, as firmly as she could imagine. “Emily, it’s time for us to talk.”

“Oh?” Emily did not look up.

“Put that book away, dear. Now, you and the Duke…”

Emily’s head shot up.

Aha! Octavia felt a flare of triumph. We’re getting somewhere.

“Yes, I wanted to ask?—”

“Mama, hush.”

Octavia choked faintly. “Don’t you tell me to hush!”

“No, Mama, can’t you hear that? Carriage wheels outside, coming up the drive.”

Octavia paused, and then she heard it too. Gravel crunched, and a horse whinnied. Both of them were on their feet immediately, rushing over to the window. Their breaths fogged up the glass, but Octavia spotted the blocky shape of the coach, slick with rain.

“It’s the Duke of Thornbridge’s crest on the side,” Emily said, her voice grim. “This must have something to do with Daphne.”

Octavia’s heart plummeted, and a cold shiver rolled over her body.

No . Not my baby girl. I lost my husband, but my daughters… No, I can’t lose them.

She pried herself away from the window, throwing her dignity to the wind and hiking up her skirts to run downstairs and across the hallway, her heart pounding.

“The door! Open the door!” she shouted at the hapless night footman. The poor man barely got there before she did.

Octavia rushed out into the night, cold air and rain nipping her skin.

“What news?” she shouted at the driver. “What’s happened? Tell me quickly, man!”

She heard the patter of footsteps behind her and knew that Emily was hurrying down, too.

The wretched coachman only looked at her, perplexed, and reined in the horses.

For the first time, Octavia noticed that there were a few bags and boxes lashed to the roof.

Then, the door opened, and Daphne herself stepped out, swathed in a traveling cloak. She was white and pale, and she clutched at the door as if for support.

Octavia gave a cry and hurried down the slippery front steps.

“Daphne, my girl, what were you thinking about, traveling at this time of night? The Duke doesn’t know about it, I bet.”

“He will know soon enough,” Daphne responded listlessly.

Her hand, when Octavia took it, was limp and icy cold. Clenching her jaw tightly, Octavia pushed away her worries and questions and concentrated on what she was good at—arranging things.

“You, take down these boxes, please,” she instructed the footman. “Ask the housekeeper to take them up to Miss Bel—that is, the Duchess’s old room. Get the coachman something to eat and drink, before he returns.” She helped Daphne up the steps and caught Emily’s eye. “Emmie, go and order tea. Hot tea, perhaps a little cake, and something savory and refreshing. Have a hot bath set up in Daphne’s old room. We can talk to her and drink tea while it is being readied. Yes?”

There was a brief silence, and Octavia clapped her hands.

“Go!”

They went.

After ten minutes or so in front of the fire, Daphne appeared to warm up a little. The color returned to her cheeks, and her hands felt less like blocks of ice.

“It was so cold in the carriage,” she murmured. “I only took my cloak—no rugs or blankets or anything. I didn’t even bring my gloves. That is, I did bring them, but they’re packed.”

Octavia exchanged a glance with Emily, who was pouring the tea.

“You said that the Duke would know soon enough that you’d gone,” Octavia said carefully. “My darling girl, has he hurt you?”

Daphne shook her head. “He’s not cruel. He’s fairly kind. I… I even thought I might like him. But he’s cold, Mama. I cannot live with him, not like this. And he wants me to go. He said I should expect a spinsterish life.”

Octavia pressed her lips together. A spinsterish life as a married woman meant no children, she guessed. No warmth, no romance, and, of course, none of the other business . It was an arrangement that suited some women and men, and if so, that was well enough.

She might have guessed that it would not suit her hot-blooded daughter, however.

“Things came to a head after the little boy had an accident,” Daphne continued, staring down at her hands and flexing her fingers. “He’s well, don’t worry, but it was my fault. I realized that my interference was not making things better. Edward did not want me there. He never did. I didn’t want to marry him, but I thought…” she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know what I thought.”

“And you had this arrangement in place before the wedding?” Emily asked, with a little more curiosity than was seemly.

Daphne avoided their eyes. “Yes,” she responded staunchly. “I agreed to it. But when I wished to negotiate, he did not.”

“Well, he’ll be sorry,” Octavia promised. “We’ll… we’ll sue him for something or other. Defamation, perhaps? No, that won’t stick. Breach of promise? Perhaps?—”

“It’s lawful for a man to send his wife away,” Emily interrupted. “Even a duchess.”

Daphne flushed. “He didn’t send me away. I left of my own accord. As I said, he wasn’t cruel to me, or even very unkind. He just… just wasn’t who I wanted him to be. And that’s not fair, is it? For me to want him to be somebody other than who he is?”

Octavia swallowed hard. Emily, she knew, would have nothing to offer here. How could she? Octavia was the mother, the one with life experience, the one who her girls thought had all the answers.

No answers were forthcoming.

Daphne’s face crumpled, and tears leaked out, and Octavia’s heart felt as though it were breaking.

“I’m so sorry, my poor girl,” Octavia murmured, putting an arm around Daphne’s shoulders and pulling her close. “Men can be disappointing, it’s true. But you are safe here, you know that. You always will be.”

“It’s so unfair, Mama,” Daphne wailed. “I know I sound like a child, but I can’t help it. I liked him, Mama. I think I could have loved him.”

There was nothing to say to that.

Octavia held her daughter tightly and let her cry.