Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“ M adeleine, it has been almost three weeks,” Tessa’s latest worry came from the doorway of the library that remained to be Madeleine’s sanctuary, still.

She was dressed up in a beautiful green gown the color of the woodlands that had surrounded Silverton House.

Stop thinking of it , she chided herself. Do not think of that place. That is in your past now.

Except she ached for it like nothing she had experienced before.

“It has,” she answered her friend. “Am I… overstaying a welcome?”

“Not at all,” Tessa said quickly. “I do not say it for that reason. I say it because… well, you have not left the house. At all.”

“I went into the garden to look at a rose that bloomed near the fountain,” Madeleine pointed out.

“That was over a week ago, and that does not count.” Tessa’s voice was softer, a kind smile on her face.

“You did not wish to attend the teahouse with us. I would not ever force you to go somewhere you could not handle but please do take even a small walk with me tomorrow, perhaps. This evening, Colin must attend dinner at his mother’s house and we cannot decline the invitation.”

“Madeleine, you must come with us.” Colin appeared in the doorway, already looking exhausted at such a prospect of visiting his mother.

“I cannot bear my mother-in-law asking me about mine and Tessa’s children. Come with us and help me bear such weight.”

“I am not in the mood for socializing,” Madeleine murmured. “Please go without me and give your mother my regards, Colin. I think I may rest here.”

“Madeleine.” Tessa’s voice was tight with pain.

“Tessa,” Colin said quietly. “We must honor her wishes. We will face the force that is my mother together. Allow Madeleine her rest. The heart can be a weary thing to carry.”

“Indeed,” Madeleine agreed quietly. “I will be fine, I promise.”

She held her friends’ gazes, nodding, urging them to go on without her.

In truth, she wished she felt up for visiting and dining as a group, for she was tiring of the same four walls. But her body was heavy, her mind was heavy, as was her heart. She could not stand it. She could not imagine facing another member of the ton and explaining why she was staying with the Easthalls.

To explain her argument with her husband was a thing she could not even stomach to think about.

Eventually, Tessa conceded and the couple left Madeleine alone to her woes.

Drifting through the remainder of her day, she tried to read once again, to no avail.

Every few lines her mind would drift back to her husband. What was he doing? Was he thinking of her? Had he returned to the countryside?

Her thoughts spun right through dinner. When she looked across the empty table, she swore she could imagine him. Those piercing eyes watching her, peeling back her defenses, complimenting her food and wine choice, the way he had looked at her as though she was more appealing than the meal itself.

So why had he suddenly closed her off and shut her away from him?

The question never once left her mind in the weeks since he had told her to leave him.

After dinner, she retreated back to the library. Her guest chamber was large and empty; she did not like being in there without it being necessary.

She had no sooner sat down with another book when the door opened and the butler was there.

“Your Grace, I have a message for you.”

He moved closer to her, offering her a letter.

It was not the thick, cream-colored letter with the Silverton seal she hoped for but she took it anyway, thanking him. He left, and Madeleine read the brief note.

My dearest wife,

I am writing to apologize to you for my heinous words. It was entirely uncalled for. Come home to me, Madeleine. Or, if you are reluctant to come home, then meet me at the West Pier by the Thames in an hour. I shall be waiting so I can display my true apology to you.

Yours,

Alexander.

Madeleine traced over the signed name, trying to figure out if she had seen her husband’s handwriting before.

She frowned, reading the words. They were not the usual smooth way he usually had but perhaps he felt awkward to apologize. His ego was large; coming to her to admit his wrongs likely was a pride hit.

And yet…

Something about the note was not right. Had the time apart made her husband sound so stiff with her? He could be formal at times when he was defensive but this seemed overly so.

Perhaps his actions truly had upset him too and he did not want to be too overly friendly, knowing forgiveness would be hard won.

It had been three long weeks—and was this very letter not what she had been waiting for? She had been waiting for him to welcome her back with open arms and an apology.

Hurrying to her feet, she ran upstairs to her chamber with a renewed sense of energy.

Her heart rose with hope, and a smile crept onto her face. Was it truly possible Alexander wanted her back, wanted to apologize?

She would see her husband again.

Madeleine giggled to herself as she fixed herself in the mirror. She had her hair brushed and styled, pretty once again. She changed her dress into a fine, pale pink gown that she would be able to go by the river in without it getting ruined.

Her stomach swept as she moved, nervous and excited, as if they were strangers courting for the first time.

By the time she made it outside to the stable, she had decided that waiting for a carriage would take too long. Instead, she had a horse prepared, and rode side-saddle all the way to the West Pier.

She did not enjoy riding in the growing darkness but she would do anything for Alexander. If he was willing to apologize, then she could meet him.

Her smile widened as she got closer to the pier, seeing Alexander standing against the water’s horizon.

“You can imagine my surprise when your butler told me that the mistress of the house is residing elsewhere.”

Alexander stiffened in his study as he poured two glasses of whisky. How could he explain? Surely John would land a blow to him, the very way he had wanted to the day he had returned from war, finding Alexander and Madeleine together.

He turned to his friend, bracing for the anger, the I told her you were bad for her accusations.

His mind already raced with the quickest way to diffuse the tension. “John, I can explain?—”

“Sit down, Alexander.”

He did not often take orders but he sat, wearily lifting his attention to his friend. Except that instead of anger, he only found calm understanding.

John laughed, spreading his hands. “I am the Viscount of Halthorpe. I cannot be going around punching dukes, can I? Friend or not, it is not a terribly good impression.”

Alexander winced, saying nothing.

“Friend, I have long made peace with your marriage to my sister. It took me some thought, both while I was here as your guest, and then when I arrived at my estate. Madeleine is extraordinarily happy, and she was right when she told me that was the most important thing.”

Alexander was gutted with guilt. In his mind, he could see Madeleine’s smile as he danced with her at the ball, at her stubborn lift of her chin even when her strength was crumbling. And then he saw her shining, tear-filled eyes as he had told her she was not safe with him.

“Tell me what has happened,” John said gently. His voice was kind and coaxing, the very tone he used to use when Alexander woke to nightmares of holding his mother in his arms as she died. The tone of a man ready to listen. “For I wish to know where my sister has gotten to if not here.”

There was no blame—nothing in the way of accusation, either.

Clearing his throat, Alexander told him vaguely what had happened.

“I… My history seems to have caught up with me, and I have realized that I am what everybody has always told me I am. Dangerous to be around. Madeleine is the best thing in my life, and I cannot risk her safety. She is best if she is away from me.”

A groan came from John as he tipped his head back. “Alexander, you are unbelievable. The best for whom? Because you certainly look more miserable than you usually do, and if I know my sister, I know she will be just as upset. You mean to truly tell me you have pushed away a woman that you clearly love?”

Alexander blinked, rearing back in surprise.

“Oh, do not try to pretend,” John said. “I have never once seen you look this forlorn. And, for the record, I have never seen you look at anybody the way you looked at Madeleine when I first arrived. It was actually the look in your eyes that threw me off—because I was not used to such a side of you, and it caught me off-guard. I am sorry if this is bad news for you, but it is clear that you love Madeleine.”

Alexander did not know what to say. “It is not bad news. Just… surprising.”

“Listen to me.” John leaned forward and took a moment to take a drink. “I remember how your mother died—” Alexander’s mouth twitched, holding back a snarl, “—and whatever it is you are doing now is what your father did to her. Pushed her away—except that did not protect your mother. If anything, it made her less protected because your father was not there to fight for her.”

“But—”

“You are not protecting her,” John told him. “You are abandoning her.”

“I am not?—”

“Listen to me,” he insisted. “You are only making Madeleine face this alone, as your mother faced it alone. A true man stands by his wife, and I know you to be true, Alexander.”

“I have to protect her,” Alexander told John. “And I—I have received threats.”

“She is no more protected away from you,” he countered. “I have always known you to take what you wanted, so why are you running now? What has got you spooked?”

Something snapped inside Alexander, and he felt the weight of how cowardly he had been.

Why are you running now?

Felix’s words one must look out for one’s own happiness rang true to him as well, and Alexander stared both declarations down.

He truly had been like his father: running from his problems, avoiding them and distracting himself from them in order to not face them head-on.

He had intimidated others, made them as miserable as him—exactly as his father had done.

And deep now, he had not only been running from Madeleine’s departure or Donald’s threats but his own feelings for Madeleine that he had been too cowardly to admit.

To love was to put in the line of danger. That was what he had always believed—but what if it did not have to be that way?

No, he would not be like his father.

“I cannot be like him,” Alexander said quietly, and then again, with more confidence, he declared it to John. “I will not be like my father.”

“No, you idiot, you will not. And especially not where it concerns my sister, or then I truly will punch you, titles be damned.”

“I must go after her.”

“And I shall see myself out. Ride fast, Alexander. If I know Madeleine, she will try to be strong but she will be miserable.”

Alexander was already flying out of the study and running down the hallway.

He would get his wife back.