Page 58 of The Big Bad Duke (The Shadows #9)
She had found love here, complicated and impossible though it might be. Yes, it would be difficult to stay, to navigate the social prejudices and find a respectable place in this society, but wasn’t love worth fighting for?
But then she looked at Emir’s excited face, saw the hope there, and the joy at the prospect of returning to the familiar, and her resolve hardened. She had promised him they were going home, and they were going. His happiness had to take precedence over her own desires.
She hadn’t seen Gideon since that night in her room. When she made it clear that she couldn’t accept the role of mistress, he had accepted her answer and left. He had bought their passages to Smyrna, overfilled their trunks, and their parting kiss was something she would remember for a lifetime.
But that was it. He’d done exactly what she’d asked and then disappeared.
Part of her had hoped he might try to change her mind, find some alternative they hadn’t considered. But his absence spoke louder than any argument could have.
She just hoped to see him once more before they left, if only to say a proper goodbye.
“The carriage is ready,” Payne announced, appearing in the doorway with his wife. “We’ve loaded your trunks, so we’re just waiting for you.”
“Are you sure you want to leave so soon?” Lady Payne asked. “You’re welcome to stay in our house as long as you need. There’s no rush.”
Leila smiled sadly. Remaining would only make the eventual parting more difficult, and she couldn’t impose indefinitely on the Paynes’ hospitality, no matter how generously offered. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,” she said, approaching Lady Payne for a warm hug.
She curtsied, her throat too tight to say anything more, and followed Emir out to the street where their carriage waited.
As she approached the vehicle, another carriage came to a stop behind theirs. A spry, middle-aged man with a balding head and wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose jumped out with surprising agility for someone of his apparent years.
“Lady Leila, is that you?” he addressed her without ceremony, then seemed to remember himself and bowed low upon noticing the others present.
“Apologies for my lack of manners, but I was instructed to arrive at the last possible moment before your departure, and it seems I almost didn’t make it in time. ”
Leila felt her heart skip a beat. “Instructed by whom?” she asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.
The man straightened to his full height, which wasn’t particularly impressive, and cleared his throat. “My employer,” he announced with obvious pride. “His Grace the Duke of Wolverstone.”
“What did he say?” Leila stepped forward eagerly, her mind racing. Was he ill? Had he changed his mind about letting her leave? Did he send this man to stop them?
“I am his solicitor, Mr. Barry,” the man introduced himself with a slight bow. “And he instructed me to give you this.” He held out a sealed envelope. “With specific instructions that you were to open it only once you were already aboard the ship bound for Smyrna.”
He handed her the envelope, which felt heavier than if it held a single letter.
“Can I get your signature confirming that you received this?” Mr. Barry produced a small leather portfolio and extracted a document.
But Leila was already tearing at the envelope’s seal, her fingers trembling with anticipation and anxiety.
“But he said—the instructions!” Mr. Barry exclaimed, grabbing his balding head in frustration. “His Grace was very specific about when you were to open that!”
“I’m sorry,” Leila said without taking her eyes from the envelope, “but I can’t wait that long.”
She expected a love letter, a goodbye, some expression of feelings… What she found instead was something far more practical—and far more shocking.
Her eyes widened as she read, her breath catching in her throat.
Mr. Barry stood to one side, literally biting his nails as he watched her reaction.
“What is it?” Emir asked, stepping forward with concern. Without a word, she handed him the paper.
It was an account certificate from the International Bank of London.
Gideon had opened an account in her name and deposited the substantial sum of ten thousand pounds, accessible through the attached letter of credit.
The amount was so significant that Leila had to read it twice to be sure she hadn’t misunderstood.
And that was all. No letter, no explanation, no word of affection or farewell—just the cold, practical provision of financial security.
It wasn’t as if she could refuse it. The deed was done; the account was established whether she wanted it or not. Of course, she could ignore it, but then the money would simply sit there, unused and useless.
With ten thousand pounds, she and Emir could live like royalty. They could buy a beautiful house in Smyrna, establish themselves in business, and never want for anything again. It was more money than most people saw in a lifetime.
Gratitude and relief warred with frustration at his presumptuousness and anger that he had sent a solicitor instead of delivering the document himself. He hadn’t even left a note—no explanation, no goodbye—nothing personal at all.
No, Leila couldn’t leave it like this. Not with so much unsaid between them, not with this impersonal gesture standing as their final communication.
She was going to confront him.
“Mr. Barry,” she said, turning to the nervous solicitor who was still wringing his hands. “Where is His Grace now?”
“I—I’m not certain I should—”
“Please,” she interrupted. “This is very important.”
The man looked around nervously at the assembled group, clearly torn between his employer’s instructions and the determination radiating from the woman before him.
“He’s at his townhouse, my lady,” he said finally. “But he specifically instructed me that you were not to—”
“Thank you,” Leila cut him off, already climbing into the carriage. “Can you make a brief stop before our final destination?” she asked the driver, and he nodded.
“Of course.”
She said her final goodbyes to the Paynes, and once Emir joined her, they set off for Gideon’s townhouse.