Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

F rederick sat alone in his study, staring at the untouched glass of brandy on the table in front of him.

Shadows from the low-burning fire cast a melancholy air over the walls that now felt too vast and vacant. Every sound seemed to echo painfully in the quiet. The crackle of the fire, the distant whistle of the wind against the windows, the ticking of the clock.

He had thought he would find some peace once Gemma left, and that the overwhelming emotions her presence stirred up in him would settle once she was no longer near. However, her absence only exacerbated how he felt, leaving him restless and irritable, haunted by her laughter, her scent, and the echo of her voice.

A knock at the door broke his reverie, and he straightened as Andrew strode in without waiting for an invitation, wearing his usual confident smirk.

“You look terrible, Fred,” Andrew said, crossing his arms. “It has barely been a month since she left, and you look as if you have been at war with yourself.”

“Good evening to you as well, Andrew,” Frederick replied dryly. He didn’t bother to mask the bitterness in his tone. “Did you come to offer your usual wisdom or merely to disrupt my peace?”

“Ahh, what peace?” Andrew scoffed, casting an appraising eye around the gloomy room. “This is hardly a refuge. More of a tomb, if I am to be honest.”

Frederick didn’t respond, his gaze drifting back to the fire, but Andrew wasn’t about to let him sink further into silence. “Come on, Fred. Get your coat, your bow, and your dog. We are going hunting. You need to clear your head.”

Frederick sighed. “I have no interest in a hunt today.”

“Nor did you the last time I suggested it, or the time before that.” Andrew crossed his arms, lifting his brow with a mix of exasperation and determination. “But we are doing this. You have moped in here long enough. It is either a hunt, or I will drag you by the ear to London. Imagine that—balls, soirées, endless chatter. I can be quite convincing.”

Frederick gave him a sharp look, though a hint of a smirk flickered in his eyes. “Spare me the theatrics, Andrew. Fine. We will hunt.”

He rose, and they made their way down to the stables. The familiar earthy scent of straw and leather greeted them, and the stable hands immediately set about preparing the horses, saddling Frederick’s large, black stallion, Arrow, and Andrew’s chestnut mare, Daisy.

Arrow tossed his head, whinnying softly as Frederick approached, his dark coat gleaming in the torchlight, and Frederick allowed himself a rare moment of calm as he ran a hand down the horse’s sleek neck.

“You have neglected him, too,” Andrew commented, eyeing Frederick’s stallion. “Just think, he has been just as cooped up as you.”

Frederick shot Andrew a warning glance but mounted Arrow without a word. The two friends rode side by side, leading the hunting party with a few servants and hounds following behind, eager for the day’s pursuit.

The air was crisp, and the rolling fields stretched out under the early autumn sky, the colors fading from vibrant green to a more muted palette as the season edged towards winter.

They rode in silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the rhythmic clop of hooves and the occasional bark of the hounds. Andrew finally spoke, his voice low and conversational. “Tell me, Fred, was it worth it? Calling on Gemma’s family?”

Frederick stiffened, gripping the reins tightly. “What was I supposed to do, Andrew? Leave her to suffer indefinitely?”

“No, but…” Andrew trailed off, glancing sidelong at Frederick. “You could have handled it differently. She is in London now, practically out of reach.”

Frederick’s jaw clenched. “And how, pray tell, should I have handled it? You seem to know all the answers.”

Andrew chuckled, shaking his head. “You are impossible. And as stubborn as an ox.”

“Then save me the lecture, Andrew. I am in no mood.”

“Not in the mood for anything but Gemma, I imagine,” Andrew replied, his tone turning teasing as he nudged Frederick’s arm.

“Andrew.” Frederick’s voice was low and hard, a clear warning.

But Andrew simply laughed. “Relax. You are going to have to pull yourself out of this state eventually. Either go after her or stay here, brooding like some cursed ghost of Blackridge. Just… pick one.”

“Do you think I have not considered it?” Frederick snapped, irritated by Andrew’s unyielding cheerfulness.

“Not seriously,” Andrew said, his gaze steady and clear. “You have not considered going to her because you are afraid. Of what, I cannot imagine. But if you do nothing, this—” he gestured at Frederick, as though presenting evidence, “—will be your life. And we both know that is not what you want.”

Frederick fell silent, looking away. The hounds barked excitedly as they neared a wooded area, sensing game nearby, but Andrew pressed on, undeterred.

“You will be miserable if you do not at least try, Fred. Your grandmother will have your head if you let her go without a fight.”

Frederick’s expression tightened at the mention of his grandmother. He could still see her disappointed gaze and hear her words from that night.

He shook his head, hating the helplessness that had taken root inside of him. “And what would you have me do? Write her a letter? I doubt she would even bother to read it.”

Andrew sighed, rolling his eyes. “Yes, a letter, you oaf. Women enjoy letters. A simple inquiry into her well-being would be a start. Might just be the olive branch you need.”

Frederick snorted, though the idea took root in his mind, a sliver of hope he couldn’t quite ignore. He was about to respond when the hounds suddenly burst forward, catching a scent. The deer, alerted to the presence of hunters, darted out from behind a grove of trees, and Frederick and Andrew spurred their horses, racing after it.

The thrill of the hunt surged through Frederick as Arrow leapt forward, his muscles taut and powerful under Frederick’s command. He could feel the wind against his face, and the adrenaline pumping through his veins as he focused on the movement of the deer, watching its sleek form as it wove through the forest.

Andrew was beside him, his bow drawn, and with a steady aim he released an arrow, striking the deer cleanly. The animal stumbled and dropped, collapsing into the damp leaves. Frederick slowed Arrow to a halt, his gaze fixed on the still form of the animal as the servants approached to dress the deer.

But as he dismounted and drew closer, something in the creature’s lifeless eyes stirred an unsettling feeling within him. The dark, vacant gaze mirrored the haunted look he had seen in Gemma’s eyes that last night in the gardens, full of hurt and betrayal.

The image settled heavily in his chest, a sense of hollowness overtaking the thrill of the hunt. He felt a bitter ache, as though something vital had been lost, left bleeding and mortally wounded. The servants set to work on the deer, flashes of steel entering the animal’s hide. Frederick could hardly stand to look.

Andrew glanced at him, his gaze shrewd as he noticed the change in Frederick’s expression. “Fred? You look as if you have just seen a ghost.”

Frederick shook his head, forcing himself to step back, his face a mask of indifference. “It’s nothing. I am fine.”

But Andrew wasn’t convinced, his gaze lingering. “Perhaps that letter is not such a ridiculous idea after all, is it?”

Frederick’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, watching as the servants finished their work, the blood staining the forest floor a stark red against the fading leaves.

When Andrew mounted his horse again he clapped Frederick on the shoulder, his gaze sympathetic. “Think about it, Fred. And if you cannot do it for yourself, then do it for her.”

Frederick nodded mutely, his gaze lingering on the path ahead, his heart heavy as he remounted Arrow. The thrill of the hunt, the sense of purpose that had once driven him, felt meaningless now.

All he could see was the pain in Gemma’s eyes, and how her absence would overshadow the days and years that stretched gloomily before him.