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Chapter Nineteen

“I was cursed by some devil, and carried about with me my eternal hell.”

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

* * *

N ight was falling when the carriage reached Mayfair. Street lamps cast a glow onto the steps of Richard’s townhouse as Philip ran up to pound on the door. When no one responded, he pounded again. Eventually, a young footman in full livery, flushed from running, opened the carved door to greet him.

“I am looking for Saunton,” Philip demanded.

The footman’s eyes widened in surprise. “His lordship is in Saunton. We are not expecting him for at least two weeks.”

Philip scowled and cursed, causing the young man to wince ever so slightly while he fought to maintain his aplomb. Philip did not care if the footman reacted to his outburst as he bounded back down the stone steps to settle back into his waiting carriage.

“White’s!” he bellowed at the coachman as he closed the door behind him. Richard had not come to his home, so he must be living at one of his clubs, carousing the evenings away. Philip would walk into every club in London to find him if needed. This matter must be settled straightaway.

An hour later, Philip strode down the steps away from the bow window of White’s. Traffic on the roads had held them up far longer than his patience could handle, and when he searched through the club, no one there had seen Richard in at least a month. The earl had to be hiding out from his usual cronies.

Philip stood by his carriage under the street lamp, thinking. Where should he try next?

“Alfred Club,” he commanded before pushing his way back into the dark interior of his carriage. Alfred Club was dry for Richard’s tastes, but he liked to go there to debate with men of letters. One had to debate without the aid of liquor, but it made for an evening of creative thinking.

As the carriage turned off Piccadilly onto Albemarle Street, Philip looked out the window and noted they were driving past the publishing offices of John Murray. It brought to mind Annabel’s love of Pride and Prejudice , and he pondered the possibility of locating a first edition for his wife as the carriage drew up outside Alfred Club. He had missed Annabel over the past few days of hard travel, and he wanted to return to her as soon as possible. A gift would not be amiss, considering he needed to ease her feelings of infatuation and … and he enjoyed her happiness.

Alfred Club turned out to be uneventful. The club had been full to the rafters with members, but no one had seen Richard in some time. An author of several popular books had scratched his head and offered—of no help whatsoever—“I thought Lord Saunton was getting married. Is he not in the country with his bride?”

Philip had turned and left in disgust. Where was his rascal of a cousin? This search had taken up days.

As he stepped back into the night, he was thankful for the nighttime entertainments of London, which allowed him to keep searching unhampered. The last thing he needed was to head to his own townhouse in a futile attempt to sleep. Annabel was waiting for him at home in Avonmead, and he was afraid he had terribly botched that last conversation they had had several nights ago. He did not need a restless night turning the details over in his mind.

As he approached his carriage once more, he racked his brain for another location to look for Richard. He could not recall whether Richard kept a membership at Arthur’s Club. He should have planned out a route to the clubs systematically instead of bouncing around London in this haphazard manner.

Oh well, too late to be concerned with that. “Arthur’s Club on St. James’s Street,” he called up to the coachman, who gave a brisk nod in response.

The carriage continued down Albemarle Street and traversed around the block before reentering, facing the opposite direction. Soon Albemarle turned into St. James’s Street as the carriage drove slowly through the evening traffic of carriages and horses of gentlemen visiting their clubs, and they drew to a stop in front of Arthur’s Club.

Sometime later, Philip was standing back in the street. Arthur’s Club was as lavish as he recalled from his last visit, predating his first marriage, and he had encountered many old acquaintances who wanted to talk to him, causing his search to drag out endlessly until he had escaped after determining that Richard “was in the country getting married, don’t you know, old chap?” As a matter of fact, he did not know.

A thought occurred to him while he stood out on the lamplit street. Did Richard not have many genuine friends? Was the earl like him, surrounded by hordes of people but always alone? Philip reflected on the years since their separation. He had to admit that losing his friendship with Saunton had left a hole in his life, Richard being one of the few genuine friendships he maintained. It had not helped him cope with the loss of his wife when he had thrown out his friend right when he needed him most. If only he had not so quickly jumped to conclusions.

On the other hand, if events had not unfolded in that precise manner, he would not now have his delightful Annabel waiting for him at Avonmead. She would be married to Richard now, not him. The past had already taken place. What remained was to mend this misunderstanding with Richard before taking full advantage of his new life with Annabel, because … because … because they had a future generation of Markhams to produce, he told himself.

* * *

The library was in shadows as heavy rain drummed outside the wall of windows. Annabel looked around her at the piles of amassed books, not quite interested but nevertheless determined to keep herself busy because she missed Philip and their shared routines. It had been six days since she had last spoken to him. She was back in action, taking walks and forcing herself to eat full meals. And she had read her new Debrett’s volumes cover to cover, taking copious notes. The effort might be wasted if Philip planned to keep his distance and not take her to London with him, but she did not have much to do while she awaited the duke’s return.

She had intended to visit the nursery to make plans, but she felt uncertain about her future. Her husband loved Avonmead, but it seemed certain that he did not return her love. How angry was he at her error in judgment? He had already concluded in the few minutes they had argued that Annabel had known about Richard Marley for a while, having flung that question about her clumsy interrogation regarding the Marley family.

She sighed heavily. When had she become so stupid? You fall in love one time and suddenly you want to do anything and everything you can to earn the admiration of your heart’s desire.

If only she had told him, she would not have felt guilt-ridden with secrets and perhaps the second error of blurting out her heart would have never occurred either.

Earning his love had been a futile endeavor from the start. His heart belonged to the exquisite Jane, who had rejected him and closed off his heart. The young woman who had made the duke fall in love in the ballrooms of high society, just as Annabel had first envisioned when she had gazed upon her likeness. Jane, who had captured him with her beautiful features, soft blonde curls, blue eyes, and rosebud lips. Not to mention her accomplishments with the pianoforte, needlework and, she surmised, watercolor paints. The perfect debutante and exact opposite of Annabel in every way. All Annabel could hope for was to earn his affections.

I promise to not have unreasonable expectations.

She would love their baby, and she would earn Philip’s friendship again, if he would allow it. And she would keep her admiration to herself, shut inside her heart where it belonged! She decided her husband would feel compelled to sort out their disagreement, if for no other reason than he was a gentleman who believed in fidelity.

Her advice to Philip had been correct. One could drive oneself insane with these thoughts bouncing around one’s skull. She sat up and rubbed her belly, smiling wanly as she recalled stating that very idea to Philip less than a month ago. If these thoughts kept chasing around her head, she would be forced to talk to herself out loud, just to get them out of her head and out in the open where she could hear them. Judge the logic of them. If that happened, she wouldn’t have to worry about being sent to another estate. She would be sent to Bedlam instead.

* * *

It had taken Philip the better part of one evening plus another day to inquire at all the clubs and gaming hells he could recall Saunton mentioning. He had been forced to go to Markham House, his London townhouse, in the early hours to allow his footman, his coachman, and himself to eat and rest. With a fresh change of horses, they had recommenced their crisscross of London’s districts.

When he finally succeeded in locating the earl, it was at the Stratford Club on Little Portland Street in Mayfair. They must have sailed past the club multiple times in their search while Richard had played whist through the night.

Philip did not have a membership, but when he made himself known, and whom he sought, they ushered him in.

He had expected to find Richard deep in his cups or buried in a high-stakes card game. In his mind, Richard would be as drunk as … well, drunk as a lord. He was taken aback to find Richard seated in the shadows at a back table—alone—facing the room, and sober, in a frightening way, his face severe as he surveyed the men playing cards throughout the room. His affable cousin did not look … affable.

Richard ignored Philip’s approach until the duke stood right next to him, where he hesitated, unsure what to say.

“I hope you are here to apologize for stealing Annabel,” Richard stated after a long pause, tilting his head back to focus on Philip’s towering form standing above him. “I am still quite angry about that.”

Philip took the seat beside him and opened his mouth to apologize. Then he shut it, realizing the one thing he could never apologize for was taking Annabel away from him. He wondered at this, why he felt that way, before attempting another reply. He did not know what words he would say until he heard himself speak. “Annabel deserved better. You did not treat her well.”

“You are better?”

Philip took a deep breath. He had not expected his meeting to be easy, but it surprised him just how difficult it was to sit here, to talk to his estranged cousin, his—how maudlin a sentiment—former best friend. “Saunton, Annabel has uncovered the truth. That you never betrayed me with Jane. I am here to apologize for misjudging your intentions during that visit three years ago.”

Saunton’s lids slitted into a suspicious glare. “What do you mean, Annabel uncovered the truth? What truth?”

“Jane had a twin brother.”

This was met with an expression of perplexment. “And?”

“His name was Richard Marley.”

Saunton’s face gradually cleared as he digested the information. “I see. And Annabel believes that Richard Marley is the one Jane was calling for in her fever?”

“Marley died when she was young, and apparently, the loss was … traumatic.”

“Ah.” Richard looked down at his untouched drink. Philip waited for his cousin to sort through his private thoughts. Eventually Saunton looked up, not quite meeting his eye, but staring somewhere beyond Philip’s shoulder. “I have missed you,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Her Grace was a beautiful woman, but I swear I would never have interfered between you and your late wife. I tried to tell you at the time. I could never have done such a thing to you. Especially when I was present because you had requested my help.”

“I know that now. And, for jumping to conclusions and failing to hear you out, I offer my profound apologies.” Philip cleared his throat, chagrined by the force of his relief at reuniting with his cousin. He was grateful to Annabel for clearing up their misunderstanding, despite her personal history with the earl providing her with good reason to not reveal the truth. He had an inkling she had finally disclosed it for his sake, because she wanted him to be happy.

Saunton coughed into his hand, looking abashed at revealing his sentiments. “I have had a deuced awful month since encountering you at Baydon Hall. Quite depressed, in fact, old chap. Have not even had the will to drink or visit any beds. Can you imagine? It is hell, I tell you!”

Philip snorted in response. “I missed you. I did not know how much I missed you until I married Annabel and rediscovered the joys of friendship.”

They both sat in silence, staring at the table between them, lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Saunton looked up. “The joys of friendship? Is that what you and Annabel share? How is that different from what I was offering her, then?”

Philip chuckled as he thought of his wife. “Annabel is amazing. She is funny and kind. She loves looking after people. She loves looking after me …” Philip grinned as he thought of their past weeks together, his chest warming in fondness. “She is clever and adventurous. I can talk to her about anything, and she jolts me from my maudlin thoughts. I could spend a hundred years with her and never grow tired of her company. I think about her all the time, and I missed her more this week than I missed you in the past three years.”

Saunton tilted his head in a bemused query. “Halmesbury, what you just described, that is not friendship, I do not think.” His cousin was staring at him with a strange expression when Philip refocused on him, bringing his mind back to the present. Philip frowned in confusion.

His cousin continued. “Do not misunderstand me. Annabel is all of those things. That is why I believed she was the one woman I could abide marrying. Losing my chance with her has made me feel at odds for the past month. I do not know if I want to drink myself under a table, sober up, change my life completely, or just return to what I was doing before the idea of marriage entered my head. But what you just described, and the way your face lit up while you were talking … I do not think you were describing friendship, cousin.”

Philip stared at Saunton for some time, trying to make sense of what the man was implying. Slowly, he collected his wits. “What are you saying? You think I love her? Why do you think … that … that … Oh … blast … I do … I love her … I loved her the moment she stole into my study and asked me to come to her aid! How could I not? She was the very antithesis of Jane, all boldness and brightness driving back the shadows I had been living in. She always says what she thinks, and she makes me talk when I am troubled. Jane would not even be in the same room with me, let alone talk to me, but my Annabel seeks me out to smother me with warm affection?—”

Richard smirked. “Must be nice to be wanted.”

“And I ran off nearly a week ago to hunt you down! Right after she told me she loved me, I ran off! What must she think?”

“She probably thinks you are a terrible blackguard who does not love her. You failed to mention any reciprocation within that little narrative?”

“Hell, Annabel is right! If you do not say these things out loud to someone, these thoughts get trapped in your head until they turn into deranged, illogical conclusions. I was so startled that this remarkable, vivacious woman could love me, I left her crying in her bedchamber. Botheration! She was pleading for me to forget that she voiced her feelings and apologizing for uncovering the truth about Jane’s brother!” Philip’s chair tipped as he jumped up, but he reached out and grabbed it before it fell over. “I have to go … I have to go tell my wife I love her.”

Saunton raised his tumbler in toast. “Long live true love.”

Philip gave a short bow. “Once again, my friend, my sincere apologies for doubting you. I will make some time for you so we can reconnect once I have sorted out this matter with Annabel. But do not come to Avonmead. You still acted like an utter dog with Annabel, and I don’t want to force your company on her unless she wishes to see you.”

The earl grimaced. “Understood. Do not come to Avonmead unless I am invited. I won’t say I don’t still resent you stealing my bride, but now that you have her, go make it right, Halmesbury. She is rather special, you know.”

Philip assented and turned to walk back out of the club.

“Oh, Halmesbury?” Philip stopped.

“Thank you … for coming to find me. I find myself … feeling … uplifted somehow. I think I needed this … our reconciliation.”

Philip’s lips curved. “Me, too, cousin. Me, too.”