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Chapter Twenty-Nine

G emma sat in the carriage beside her sister and grandmother, her forehead pressed to the cool glass of the window.

Condensation was beading on the glass, and it felt damp against her skin.

Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.

Squeezing her fingers together almost painfully helped keep her thoughts from careening off into dark places.

“Gemma, dear, this is highly inappropriate,” said the Dowager Marchioness, for at least the fifth time. “When I told you about your father, I did not expect you to come flying out of the house in the middle of your own festivities.”

“Grandmother.” Gemma's voice came out sharper than she intended. “That is enough. I told you, I have made my decision.”

The Dowager Marchioness pressed her lips into a thin line.

“I see,” she said. Her expression conveyed the knowledge that she would acquiesce to her granddaughter on account of her lofty title—but that she did not have to like it.

Gemma gave her apologetic eyes. She had never intended to pull rank on her own grandmother.

But if it put an end to this infuriatingly circular conversation, then so be it.

Beside her, Veronica reached over and pressed a hand to Gemma's wrist. “Father has the best physicians,” she assured her. “The money His Grace sent us made sure of that.”

At the mention of her husband, something clenched in Gemma's chest like a fist. The tears she had been wrestling with all evening welled up behind her eyes again.

Tonight, she and Wyatt were supposed to spend the night in each other's arms. Tonight, she had planned to confess her love for him.

Tonight was supposed to be the night they put an end to the childish games they had been playing with their emotions; put an end to hiding their true feelings from one another.

And now? Now she had discovered that her husband did not trust her an inch.

And that he would willingly wash his hands of her shameful family.

She had learned far more about his true feelings than she had ever wished to know.

“That's right,” the Dowager Marchioness said, a forced brightness in her voice. “Your father does have the best physicians. And I am sure His Grace is doing all he can to put this right.”

At her grandmother's words, Gemma's tears spilled. She swiped at them hurriedly, but not before the Dowager Marchioness caught sight of them. “Gemma?” she said tentatively. “The Duke is doing all he can to fix this, is he not?”

Gemma sniffed. Telling her family about Wyatt's refusal to help them hurt almost as much as hearing the news from him in the first place.

She shook her head, unable to meet her grandmother's eye.

“He says he will not help us, Grandmother,” she sniffed.

“He says he will not taint his family's name any further by trying to protect Father.” The words were difficult to get out.

“What?” The Dowager Marchioness's voice wavered slightly—whether with fear or anger, Gemma could not quite determine. “But you told me it was that dreadful Miss Henford behind all this. Surely His Grace will not let your father take the blame for the theft when he knows he is innocent!”

He should not have needed to find out Miss Henford was involved to know Father is innocent. He ought to have known it the moment I told him!

Gemma squeezed her hands together and stared into them. “His Grace ordered Miss Henford to go to Lord Tarver and tell him Father was not involved in the thefts. So Father will be spared the wrath of the constables…”

“But not his creditors who are coming to the house tomorrow morning,” the Dowager Marchioness finished.

“I see.” Her words were clipped and cold.

Gemma knew her grandmother's anger was directed at Wyatt, but she could not help but feel as though she had let her family down.

They had been counting on her husband to save them.

And she had not been able to convince him to do so.

“I am sorry, Grandmother,” Gemma murmured.

The Dowager Marchioness reached over and covered Gemma's hands with her own.

“No, my dear. I am sorry.” Gemma wondered if she was thinking about her plan to see her married to Wyatt.

Did she regret doing so now she had caught a glimpse of the Duke's true nature? She gave Gemma's hand a gentle squeeze.

At the touch of her grandmother's fingers against her bare skin, Gemma realized distantly that she had gone tearing out of the house without her gloves.

And what did that matter, she thought? How petty such things seemed now, when Volk House was about to be scraped clean like a pauper's house and her heart was on the verge of breaking.

The coach moved slowly through the wet streets, starting and stopping as it crawled through London's dreadful evening traffic.

Gemma bounced her knees up and down, seething with impatience.

All she longed for was to be back home at Volk House, by her father's side.

She would tell him the news of Miss Henford's involvement, and assure him that somehow, his name would be cleared.

Hopefully that would go some way to improving his health.

And tomorrow morning? When the men come to collect their debts?

Well, she would just have to face that moment when it came. If they were forced to hand over every last piece of furniture inside Volk House—or even the house itself—to pay off the Earl's debts, then so be it. All that mattered was that her father survived.

And as for what the ton thought… Gemma realized she did not care anymore.

During the month of her marriage—and for so many years before that—she had been obsessed with what high society thought of her and her family.

The thought that she might be seen as improper or licentious had cut her to the core. But now none of it seemed to matter.

The only person whose opinion she cared about had already shown how little he valued her. How could she bring herself to care a scrap about the rest?

As Wyatt had made his way back downstairs towards the ballroom, he had found himself churning through a raft of ideas to put an end to this cursed ball. Impending hurricane? A sudden outbreak of smallpox? Wild animal attack? What was the quickest way to get all these damn people out of his house?

Maybe he ought to just announce the ball was over. After the night this had been, tongues would no doubt be set wagging all over again whatever he did. So what did he care where it went from here?

I have to get to Gemma . It was the only thought that kept circling through his head as he reemerged into the ballroom.

As he went from group to group, explaining that sadly the Duchess had suddenly taken ill, and the festivities were to come to a premature end.

He had no doubt it was a lie everyone saw though.

No doubt by now news of the Earl of Volk's demise was filtering through the ballroom.

Wyatt would never forget the look in Gemma's eyes when he had told her he would not help her father. And now his insistence on upholding his family's name may well have cost him his wife's love.

Worst of all was the knowledge that in her own sick and twisted way, Henrietta Henford may well have succeeded in what she had clearly been aiming to do when she had come here tonight: to come between the Duke and Duchess of Larsen. How long had she been planning such an underhand scheme?

I ought to have seen it coming. From the moment he had heard Henrietta conspiring to rid Larsen Manor of his mother and grandmother, Wyatt had known she had a vicious streak. And I went ahead and invited her back into our lives.

Now Lord Volk's life was in danger. And Wyatt's marriage was in pieces. He felt a sudden, searing pull of rage.

But as much as he wanted to drop all the blame for this at Henrietta's feet, he knew he could do no such thing. Wyatt knew that he alone was responsible for the things he had said to Gemma. It was the distrust he had shown her that had sent her tearing off into the night.

I ought to have believed her when she told me her father was innocent. I ought to have trusted her . I ought to have ? —

“What in heaven's name do you mean the festivities are ending prematurely?” his mother demanded, cornering him in front of the buffet table.

Wyatt wrangled himself out from her purview. “Not now, Mother.” He turned in the direction of the musicians, to tell them their job was done. His mother grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.

“And where is the Duchess?” she demanded. “If you expect me to believe she has taken ill, you're a far bigger fool than I thought.”

“I said, not now.” I am a fool , Wyatt thought dully. The biggest of fools.

“Where do you think you are going?” the Duchess demanded.

“I've made a stupid mistake,” Wyatt told her. “And I need to fix it. Urgently.”