Page 22 of His Runaway Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #3)

CHAPTER 22

E dward lay on his back on the floor of his study, staring up at the ceiling. There was a cobweb up there. He could see it drifting back and forward in an unseen, unfelt breeze.

It wasn’t the maids’ fault, of course. Such a thing was easy to miss, and who was to even say whether their dusters could reach it?

It was strange how one never noticed things like this. Unless, of course, one looked up.

I don’t spend a lot of time looking up, it seems.

Early morning sunlight streamed in through the window, a square of yellow light warming his lower half. As the morning progressed, the light would creep upwards and upwards until it shone full on his face, blinding him.

He still had the letter, crumpled in his fist, which rested on his sternum. So far, no ideas had been presented themselves. His wife had gone, left him. The driver had returned, confirming that he had dropped the Duchess off at her mother’s house.

“She was in a state, Your Grace,” he added, casting a nervous glance at his master. “I hope she is well.”

Edward hadn’t answered. It wasn’t as if he knew himself, was it?

Part of him had expected something else. A note, perhaps. Something to let him know she was home.

And then what? Something to tell him that she would not be coming back? An accusation? An expression of defiance? An apology? An offer to make amends?

Oh, he didn’t know what he expected. Not this echoing, resounding silence .

But then what more do I deserve? This is all my fault.

He closed his eyes, tightening his fist around the letter.

I kissed her. I touched her and acted as though she meant something to me.

He closed his eyes, imagining her. The vision came almost immediately, of the two of them in this very room, Daphne’s hand on his chest, the warmth of her fingers driving him wild. He could feel the arousal thudding inside him as if he were there, as if she were there. He’d seen the heat and longing in her eyes too as she stretched up to kiss him.

He could have kissed her. It would have been the easiest thing in the world. He could have kissed her, pressed his lips to the pulsing vein in her neck, unlaced her gown and pushed it down her shoulders to expose the creamy swell of her breasts, and kissed her there , too. He could have done all of that.

But what had he done instead? He had turned his back. He had told her to stop. He told himself that she meant nothing to him, but the words had begun to ring hollow, like an overplayed tune full of wrong notes.

Because, you fool, she does mean something to you.

He wasn’t ready to consider this. Why couldn’t they have an easy, simple marriage, like the one he and Jane had? There’d been no talk of love there , no twilight kissing in a pond, none of the feelings that plagued him since wretched Daphne Belmont had crossed his threshold. Jane was more than happy for them to live separate lives, once they had an heir.

But Daphne isn’t Jane. They’re entirely different people.

For a moment, he could imagine his first wife sitting at his desk, an amused smile on her face.

“You’re a fool, my friend,” she would say. “Here you are, pretending you don’t love the woman. Here you are, wasting time lying on the ground like a child. What on earth are you waiting for? Not for my sake, I should hope. I told you to go off and be happy, did I not? Heavens, you are infuriating at times.”

He groaned aloud. “Stop making fun of me, Jane.”

Her voice echoed in his head this time. She loves you. And Heaven knows you love her.

“She doesn’t love me,” he said bitterly. “How could she?”

The door creaked open, and he tilted his head back to see who was there. An upside-down version of Clarissa stood there.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked, baffled.

“Nobody. Myself. What is it?”

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and folded her hands demurely in front of herself.

“I heard the news, of course. The new Duchess has taken herself to her mother’s house, like a sulking child. It’s rather shocking, I must say.”

“It’s my fault,” he responded, hauling himself up into a sitting position. “I drove her away with my coldness and my unkindness. It’s my fault.”

The words echoed blankly in his head. The realization was beginning to sink in. A man whose wife had abandoned him with something of a pitiable spectacle, somebody who would hear whispers spring up as he went by, the recipient of meaningful stares and sympathetic smiles.

I should be used to that already . How could I have made such a mess of my life already?

She wanted me. I know she did. And yet I drove her off.

He gave his head a tight shake, pushing himself to his feet. His back ached from lying motionless for so long, and pins and needles shot down on his limbs.

Clarissa watched him, anxiety written all over her face.

“You haven’t had breakfast,” she noted. As if that mattered.

“I’m not hungry. Does Alex know? Everyone else seems to, and I’d hate for him to find out from somebody else.”

She sighed. “He asked about Daphne this morning. Mrs. Trench knows, as well as the servants, but we thought it was best to keep it from him, for now. Mrs. Trench is keeping an eye on him, and nobody will tell him without our permission. But he must be told soon, Edward. Sooner rather than later.”

“It’ll hurt him badly, knowing that she left without saying goodbye.”

He saw the annoyance flash across his stepmother’s face, hastily swept away.

“He’s a child,” she responded firmly. “He’ll get over it quickly. Don’t I always know what’s best for you?”

Edward swallowed hard, leaning against the edge of his desk. At some point, Peter had come in and placed a stack of correspondence on his desk, probably in the hope of distracting him. It hadn’t worked. The jade-handled letter opener rested on top of the stack.

“You’re good to us, Clarissa,” Edward murmured, avoiding her gaze. “And I’m not always grateful.”

Clarissa shuffled closer, smiling. “I don’t take care of you both for gratitude , Edward. I care about you, you know that.”

Somewhat hesitantly, she lifted her hand to his face, patting his cheek. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch.

“You… you told her about the baby you had. The one you lost. You never talk to me about that, Clarissa.”

The words came out almost unbidden, and he sensed her stiffening.

“It was so long ago,” she answered shortly. “I never had my own child, but I had you , Edward. It doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

“I don’t like to talk about it, you know that. I only told her in the hope of making her see her duty, of making her care .” She sighed, shrugging her shoulders. “It didn’t work, I suppose. But that doesn’t matter, Edward. She wasn’t worthy of you, and that’s that.”

He opened his eyes, frowning. “Unworthy? She isn’t unworthy. I… I cared about her, Clarissa.”

Clarissa’s mouth tightened. “Well, clearly your feelings were not reciprocated. If they had been, if she had been worthy , she wouldn’t have left, would she? For all her words about caring for you and Alex, she isn’t here, is she? What mother—even a stepmother—could leave a child behind?”

Edward shook his head, pushing away from the desk and turning his back to Clarissa. His legs still felt like jelly, and he braced himself against the mantelpiece, staring down into the empty grate.

“I’ve ruined everything,” he murmured, his voice barely louder than a breath. “How could I have made such a fool of myself? And of her, too. Of Daphne. I drove her away from the place that should have been her new home. She should have felt safe and happy here, but all I offered her was coldness and a sense that she was not welcome.”

Clarissa sucked in a breath. “She was not welcome, Edward! Or have you forgotten? She planned this. She came here to trap you into marriage. This was her doing.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “You know that’s not true, Clarissa. The whole business was an accident. Rather a funny one, I suppose, to an onlooker. It was as if the fates conspired to bring us together. If I believed in such things, of course. But then why should I not believe? The curse, after all, is very real. It killed my mother, and my wife, and drove away the woman I loved. I’d be a fool to believe that I was not cursed.”

There was a long silence after that, long enough that Edward began to believe that his stepmother must have tiptoed noiselessly out of the room. When he turned to look behind him, however, she was still standing there, bone-white, her hands interlocked tightly together.

“You are not cursed,” she managed. “Your wife… that is, Jane, was small and frail. The midwives were concerned about the birth even before the baby came. She was unlucky , Edward. You both were. Jane knew the risks. She knew that she was not built for childbirth. But she did not care. You know how excited she was about the baby.”

He shook his head. “And what about my mother, then? What about her death? It was so sudden. Nobody expected that .”

“Edward—”

“Leave me, Clarissa, please. I’d rather be alone.”

She let out a frustrated sigh. “You’ve been alone a great deal until now, Edward. And do not dismiss me so brusquely. I am your mother, after all.”

“You are not my mother.”

He immediately regretted the words.

Clarissa rocked back on her heels, clearly taken aback. Guilt rushed through him like a river, and he took a step forward, taking her hand in his.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet. “I should not be so sharp. You know me, Clarissa. My tongue runs away with me if I let it. The words spill out if I don’t keep my mouth shut. They did with Daphne, and now she’s left me. Forgive me, please.”

She bit her lip, glancing away. “You are forgiven, Edward. You’re always forgiven. I can deny you nothing. I… I’ll even write to Lady St. Maur if you like, and demand that she send her daughter back.”

He shook his head. “No, Clarissa. I won’t have my wife dragged back. If she chooses to leave me, she can do so.”

“But she is humiliating you by being undutiful ?—”

“She married me out of duty,” he interrupted. “She is a kind and dutiful woman, I know that. She was willing to marry an odious stranger to save her sister. She is full of love and forgiveness, and if I have gone through her store of patience and compassion, then that is my fault and mine alone.”

“I can have her fetched back,” Clarissa persisted. “As her husband, you have the right to?—”

“To what?” he said, with a short laugh. “I promised her she could live as a spinster. I can’t exactly go back on my word now. If she chooses to leave, that is her business. I will give her an allowance, and a house, perhaps.” He swallowed hard, tilting up his chin. “I hope she’ll agree to see Alex occasionally. He does adore her.”

Clarissa stared up at him, a frown marring her brow.

“Well, if you don’t want her back, then so much the better,” she said, at last.

You have no idea . I want her back. I want her back so badly that it hurts. If I think of her for too long, I ache. I want to hold her, touch her. Even being around her would be enough for me.

Unfortunately, I have ruined all of it for myself. And for Alex, too.

I truly am the worst father in the world. My father might have been a cruel wretch who resented me for taking away his wife, but at least he didn’t separate me from Clarissa.

Edward crossed the room to where the whiskey decanter sat on the side. He was faintly aware that he had been drinking too much lately, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He poured a glass and threw it back, barely tasting the liquid as it burned down his throat.

“Perhaps it’s for the best,” he said aloud, pouring himself another glass. “After all, I killed my own mother just to start living. What sort of start is that? No wonder I’m cursed.”

Clarissa let out an anguished groan. “Don’t say such things! She didn’t deserve you, Edward! She never did.”

She began to pace up and down, muttering under her breath. She didn’t look at him.

He paused, the glass halfway to his lips. “What do you mean? When you say she didn’t deserve me, do you mean Daphne?”

Clarissa shook her head—a short, irritated gesture. “What? No, no. Your mother.”

He set down the glass with a clink.

“I don’t understand,” Edward said, choosing his words carefully. “You said my mother didn’t deserve me. Why? What had she done?”

Clarissa let out a short, mirthless laugh. “Oh, Edward, you have no idea. You know that your mother and I were friends, didn’t you? We were close friends, once. We both wanted the Duke when he came to choose a wife. Both equal in looks and accomplishments, we were. I had more money, but she had a title. And breeding, of course. As if anybody could have any control over that.”

Edward swallowed thickly, a sensation of unease lodging itself in his gut. He generally avoided thinking or speaking of Clarissa’s baby, a child that had died barely after taking its first breath. It was none of his concern, and it upset Clarissa to speak of it. Still, he knew that she had only been married once, and that was to his father. That meant that her previous child was illegitimate.

He cared nothing for that, of course. Clarissa’s business was her own, and it hardly mattered, even if Society felt differently.

“Clarissa, I don’t understand.”

She continued her pacing, shaking her head. “She married him, of course. I begged her not to, but she wouldn’t listen. I warned her. I warned her to stay away. And how was it fair? How was any of it fair? Why did she get to keep her baby, you , when I barely had a chance to hold mine? Not that she would have had much of a life.”

Abruptly, she stopped in front of Edward, pressing his face between her hands. He was too surprised to pull away.

“But for the tiniest twist of fate, you would have been my real son,” she whispered. “Think of that, Edward. You would have been mine, I would have been the rightful Duchess all along, and none of it would have had to happen.”

None of it would have had to happen…

The words went round in round in Edward’s head. The feeling of unease had solidified into a real, jarring worry.

“Clarissa,” he said carefully, “explain what you mean. I don’t understand.”

She released his face abruptly and went back to her pacing. There was a manic energy about her now, something strange in her eyes. The taste of the whiskey was sour in Edward’s mouth. He could still feel the burn in his throat and wished he hadn’t drunk any of it at all. The unease was like an itch in the back of his mind, a warning bell ringing shrilly.

“Clarissa, I must demand an explanation,” he heard himself say, his voice shaking only a little. “You aren’t yourself. What are you talking about? I’ve never heard any of this. I’ve never heard you say that my mother didn’t deserve me, or my father. I thought you two were friends.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “We were friends until she stole your father from me. She said that we could remain friends, that she would help me, that she would find me a suitable match. Well, I didn’t forget. I forget nothing, you see. She stole your father from me, and I stole you from her . And see how well I’ve done! I knew I would be a good mother. Money and titles count for nothing when it comes to raising a child. I raised you well, and I am an even better grandmother. You can ask Alex if you don’t believe me.”

She moved over to the desk, turning her back. The morning light shimmered around her, tracing a glowing outline.

Edward’s heart was pounding faster and faster. He remembered once, as a child, skating on a frozen pond. Halfway across the pond, the ice had begun to crack and shift. Terrified of falling into the frozen water below, he’d skidded across as quickly as he could, flinging himself onto the icy banks in relief. Still, the sensation of shifting ground beneath him, crackling and crunching ominously, had remained with him always.

He felt that now, as if the ground might split open at any moment, depositing him unceremoniously into the icy, deathly, dark water below.

“Clarissa, I don’t understand,” he said, once again. “What are you saying?”

“She never fit in with us,” Clarissa responded. Her back was still turned, her voice small. “I’m sure Daphne is not a bad person, not really. But she never really fit in with us, did she? And I suppose, when you get down to it, you don’t need her. You and Alex only need me. Your mother, and your grandmother. I love you, and you love me. She only ever got in the way.”

There was a pause between the second to last sentence and the last. This time, Edward didn’t risk asking whether Clarissa meant his mother or Daphne.

“Did you have anything to do with Daphne’s decision to leave?” Edward asked, his voice shaking. “Clarissa! Look at me.”

He hadn’t intended to raise his voice, but even so, it echoed through the quiet study. Clarissa did not turn around. She was staring down at his desk, her head and shoulders bowed.

“I know what I’m doing, Edward,” she answered quietly. “I wish you would trust me more.”

“I would trust you if you would tell me what you mean . What does any of this have to do with me, Daphne, or my mother? I don’t understand. You say you know what you’re doing, but what are you doing?”

Clarissa turned around slowly, and Edward took an involuntary step back. Her arms hung at her sides, and she clutched the jade-handled letter opener in her right fist. The blade gleamed silver.

“I did what had to be done, Edward,” she said, her voice soft. “Just like I always do.”

He swallowed thickly, his gaze darting between the blade and his stepmother’s strangely blank, impassive face.

“What have you done?” he whispered. “Clarissa, what have you done?”