Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“ M y goodness! Why do you look so ghastly?” his sister gasped in horror, her hands reaching for his face but stopping a few inches away.

Oliver was beaten bloody, his face swollen and tender. However, it didn’t matter to him. All he knew was that the house felt empty without Alexandra there.

He never thought he would see the day when he would want someone else to be in the house, aside from his discreet servants. He had been used to the solitary life at home and the chaos in Devil’s Draw. For a time, it had felt enough. It was a strange kind of balance that worked for him.

Now, he wondered if he could have handled the situation better. He still felt betrayed, but he realized he could have sat down with Alexandra and asked about her day instead of throwing a barrage of accusations at her. Ellen had told him about the cloaked man with the letter. His wife must have been shaken enough to make a colossal mistake.

If Alexandra cared for John Prescott more than a student would her music teacher, would she deny it? A part of Oliver still raged with jealousy, yet his more reasonable part concluded that his wife would speak her mind even if it hurt him. She would have said that she loved Prescott if that was the truth.

But Oliver was riddled with doubt. He never knew a time when he could simply say he was certain about anybody. For as long as he had been fighting at Devil’s Draw, he had seen darkness mirroring his own.

Even though he knew Alexandra was on her way back to the countryside, he wanted to avoid everything that reminded him of her. Staying in his London townhouse would only torture him with thoughts of whether he had made a mess of everything. There was only one thing he could do—he would go to Catherine’s.

His sister was indeed younger than him by a few years, but she seemed older and wiser. She had saved him once from his debts. Perhaps, she could offer some help now too.

But this time, the Duke of Westgrave didn’t want his sister to know that he needed saving at all.

Unlike his house, Catherine’s home was organized. The Duchess of Newden had ensured all her servants had the proper training and manners. The butler opened the door promptly and announced Oliver’s arrival.

Oliver could only shake his head in amusement, though the action jarred the bruises on his neck and face.

Then, Oliver frowned at Catherine’s comment. Was it that bad? He remembered seeing a cut on his brow and a purplish tint on his left cheek.

Peter the Giant had lived up to his name. Would Oliver be fighting him again? If the opportunity arose again, he would. He had already felt what it was like to get beaten by the man and would love to see the giant on the floor for once.

It was a frightening thought that he would willingly risk his life again. What value did he place on it starting today? Nothing much. Alexandra would arrive in the countryside by nightfall and would begin a new life there without him. It was always what she wanted.

“Uh, boxing,” he finally replied, bowing his head and trying to hide the full extent of his bruises from his sister to no avail.

Catherine scrunched up her nose and shook her head in disbelief before fanning herself.

“You can’t be serious, Oliver. You look terrible. I thought you were done with that nonsense,” she scolded as she turned around and motioned for him to follow. “You’re a married man.”

“It’s nothing,” he muttered as he looked left and right.

His sister’s house was elegant and polished. His own house was, too, and because of Alexandra, it had looked more like a home than a sterile building to sleep in.

“Where is Alexandra, by the way? I thought the two of you had become inseparable. Has she seen your face?” Catherine asked as she entered the sitting room, where she flung herself on the sofa. She patted the space next to her.

Oliver sat down next to her. “She went to the country for a little break. The soirées and calls have taken a toll on her. You know that she had gotten used to the quiet of the countryside,” he explained, almost believing his own words.

“Hmm. Might she be expecting, Brother? You certainly were very attentive to her after you two had your little reunion. George would be happy to have a playmate.” Catherine clapped her hands together excitedly, her eyes sparkling at her own imaginings.

George was her three-year-old son. Oliver loved his nephew with all his heart. The thought of his own child running around with George made his chest tighten. He had never entertained the idea of having a child. He was the son of an unfaithful man and a dependent woman. He didn’t see romance going the right way. In fact, he’d just accused his wife of being unfaithful.

“I-I don’t think so,” he said, threading his fingers through his hair. He pulled at some strands to wake up his weary brain, still rattled from being punched by Peter the Giant about two hours ago. It had been a long day. “She seems fine.”

“Not all women are the same when they are expecting, Oliver,” Catherine said, clearly enjoying the conversation. If she only knew what was really going on.

“May I stay here for the night, Catherine?” Oliver suddenly asked.

At that moment, the glee in his sister’s eyes vanished. He was sorry that he dampened the mood, but there was no going around it.

“Oliver, something’s wrong. Do you want to talk about it?” Catherine asked, her voice softer and gentler. She had also straightened her back and focused on him.

“I am not ready to talk about it,” Oliver simply said. And that was that.

Catherine had her maids prepare a room for him, and the siblings retreated to their rooms.

The only reason Oliver fell asleep that night was because he was exhausted from the fight. Good choice, then.

The next day, sunlight streamed into Oliver’s room like an unwanted guest. He groaned as he tried to cover his eyes, but his blanket had been pulled off him. He tried to pull it back to no avail.

“Wake up, Oliver! We have an invitation to a soirée, and it’s already noontime!” his sister cried.

He was about to mutter foul words when he heard a little giggle. Oh no. George was in his room.

“Catherine, you are not playing fair. Where is your husband? Why do you have George with you?” he asked, barely keeping his temper in check as he stumbled out of bed, grateful that he was wearing breeches and a nightshirt.

“Uncle Oliva!” George called out, jumping into Oliver’s arms.

Despite his sore muscles, the Duke of Westgrave caught the future Duke of Newden in his arms with ease.

“Your uncle must bathe as soon as possible, Georgie. He needs to accompany Mummy to a party.”

George immediately left his uncle alone and ran to his mother. “Can I go?” he asked.

“Unfortunately, no, sweetheart. You will be utterly bored there. It’s all talk. No games.”

“No games?” George pouted. Then, he looked at his uncle wistfully before he left the room.

“We are expected at Lady Arthur’s house in two hours, Oliver,” Catherine declared, folding her arms over her chest as she watched her brother hold on to one of the bedposts.

“Why do you have to do that?” he groaned.

“I don’t want you wandering around my house looking like a lost puppy. I also believe that you’ll tell me exactly what happened between you and Alexandra.”

And that was that. It was how Oliver got himself invited into Lady Arthur’s soirée. For the first time in a long time, he was going to attend with a sour face and without his better half.

To be fair, Catherine had always been a wonderful sister. She still was. They had a reason to be at the soirée together. Her husband was away on business, and she was terribly bored. So, she invited her brother to accompany her. Meanwhile, Alexandra was supposedly indisposed. She probably was, after what happened the day before.

The Duchess of Newden also made sure to walk beside her brother and assist with answering any questions from the more curious attendees. It didn’t mean, however, that she was finished interrogating him.

“Where is Alexandra? Everyone’s asking about her. They’re looking at you with deep suspicion, Brother,” she whispered at some point while swirling her glass of sherry.

“You’re the one who thought it a grand idea to bring me here,” he whispered back, all the while plastering on a smile for everyone else.

He gripped his brandy glass in his hand and kept the server within his line of sight. He felt he needed something stronger for tonight—something that would make him survive the blatant curiosity and invasive questions of the ton .

“Well, you must tell me what is happening. Did you send her back to the countryside? Have you gotten tired of having a wife and missed being at Devil’s Draw?”

“Catherine, what do you think of me?” he asked, although he did not miss the way his sister raised her eyebrows at him.

“I can help, Oliver. Whatever it is, it may be merely a misunderstanding.”

“Alexandra is better off where she is at the moment, Sister,” he said, his hand moving to his cheek, which stung as if it was mauled by wild animals—not that he had experienced that firsthand.

Catherine looked at him one more time, feeling defeated. With her shoulders slumped, she left him on his own and headed for some of her acquaintances.

Oliver felt miserable about ruining his sister’s good mood, but he could not help it.

The introductions were over. Therefore, most of the ton had moved from the drawing room to the music room, where someone notable was supposedly expected to play a piece. It was then that the conversation a few ladies were having had become so loud that even the growingly apathetic Oliver could not help but overhear.

“I heard from someone reliable that J. Lewis will soon release a new piece,” one lady gushed excitedly.

“Where did you hear that?” her friend asked, fanning herself as if it had gotten hot in Lady Arthur’s music room.

“Someone who works for the orchestra. It is going to be better than anything he had ever composed before.”

“Do you think we’ll hear it here?” another friend asked.

“No, I doubt it. This one’s a fresh acquisition. A gentleman I know said that he was going to watch the comings and goings at the music director’s office so that he can finally unmask J. Lewis,” said the lady who had initiated the conversation.

“Hmm. Were there any suspects among those who frequent the office?”

“This is where things get very curious, indeed. They say it’s that music professor, John Prescott.”

“Oh. Him? He is a respected man. Handsome. But he is still unmarried. There have been whispers about him,” the lady with the fan said, her voice dropping lower that Oliver had to strain his ears to hear.

He moved closer to the gossiping ladies, pretending to closely inspect what remained of his brandy. One of the ladies noticed him and smiled. Then, perhaps remembering he was married, her smile faded a little and she reengaged with her two friends.

“Yes. There are rumors that he has a special friend who visits him at his lodgings,” the lady who was speaking continued.

What?

Oliver tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Could they be talking about Alexandra?