Chapter 30

30

Two days later, Patience's steps echoed softly on the cobblestone streets of Oxford, the ancient stones worn smooth. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of April—a mix of damp earth and the faint, sweet bloom of the clusters of daffodils planted in a few squares along her way. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders, the cool breeze teasing loose strands of her hair from under her bonnet.

She looked over her shoulder. A footman had accompanied her and Mademoiselle Antoinette to Oxford. Should she have brought him with her on her errand today? No. She'd told them both she would meet with Sir James Edward Smith, a renowned botanist—which was an outright lie.

She'd sent a footman from Rath Hall to tell Dorian she was going to Oxford to meet Sir Smith, as well. How betrayed would he feel if he found out the true reason for her excursion?

Sir Smith didn't live in Oxford.

And she felt like a fraud.

But she had been compelled to come here and learn what she could of the secret that haunted her marriage .

As she wandered, the muffled sounds of the town enveloped her—the distant clop of horse hooves, the soft chatter of townsfolk, and the occasional burst of laughter from students spilling out of doorways. She passed by towering spires and grand, ivy-clad fa?ades. The sunlight filtered through the budding trees, casting dappled shadows on her path, and for a moment, she could almost feel the presence of her brother, John, in the laughter and footfalls that surrounded her.

This was the place where Dorian, Luhst, Pryde, and John had all somehow become intertwined in an incident that had been kept secret the past twelve years.

An incident that had required a physician—Dr. Long.

And that was the interesting thing.

The girl she'd been when she'd married Dorian wouldn't have dreamed of going against her husband's wishes and finding a way to continue her investigation. Because she would have been afraid to displease him. Afraid to cast a shadow on their peace.

And especially afraid to face her family's dark past.

She'd always wondered why John had killed himself when he'd been such an enthusiastic and charming man who seemed to never stop smiling.

Looking at those dark ideas and thoughts was not the Rose way. Did not correspond well with folding the negative emotions neatly up and putting them into a basket.

And yet, here she was. Facing them straight on.

She hadn't done the basket exercise since she'd found the doctor's bill two days ago. And, surprisingly, it felt right.

Patience found herself in front of a house in the center of Oxford. Dr. Long's office was supposedly on the first floor. However, she soon learned that the doctor had died five years earlier, and it was now the office of a solicitor. Disappointment ran through her.

She'd come to Oxford to speak with the physician who'd treated Dorian's burns and lacerations on the same day her brother had died, to ask him if he thought there could be any connection between the two events. But now she'd never know.

On the ground floor was the student pub, its wooden sign, with a bear against a red background, creaking gently in the wind.

The Bear , she read.

It sounded familiar. John had mentioned this pub before, she was sure. As a six-year-old, she had wondered if there was a real bear inside.

The door stood ajar, inviting her into a world her brother had once known. It was early afternoon, and she heard no signs of one of the loud, drunken debaucheries her brother had mentioned. As a child, she'd wondered if such a reckless crowd of people would have bothered a real bear… If there had been one.

Needles prickled her skin as she stood watching the pub, the stained-glass windows dark. It was half-timbered, with a wooden frame, white plaster filling the spaces between the beams. She wondered if this was one of the last places John may have been in his life. And if Dorian had frequented the pub, too.

A woman in her early thirties came out of the pub and began slapping out some wet cloths. She was dressed like a servant, with a grayish cap and an apron. She had beautiful red hair under her cap and a tired face with more wrinkles than she should have at her age.

Patience stepped back so that the wind wouldn't blow crumbs and dust on her, and the woman stopped, looking at her.

"Oh, I am so sorry, my lady," she said with a genuine expression of regret. "I thought you were just passing by. Ladies don't come here, so I didn't think you were waiting…"

"Oh," said Patience, suddenly feeling out of place since someone called her "my lady."

She should be used to this by now. And yet…

"No, I can't walk in anyway," she said with a thankful smile. "I was just thinking of my brother."

"Your brother, my lady?" asked the woman. "Does he study here?"

"He used to. A long time ago. And he talked about The Bear many times."

"Ah, I see. Yes, well, most students do come here for some ale and some trouble."

Patience chuckled. "Some trouble. That was what John was after, no doubt."

"John?" she asked and frowned, thinking. "Mayhap I know him, even from a long time ago. I've been working here my entire life. My father owned this public house, and I've always been the maid here. I'm now the owner. Never married, you see."

Patience smiled sadly and shook her head. "I doubt it. It was twelve years ago."

The woman nodded. "My name is Christine, by the way. And you are?"

"I'm Lady… Ahem, forgive me, I still can't get used to my title. I'm the Duchess of Rath."

"Oh, Your Grace," said Christine and curtsied. "We do have some dukes and their sort visiting, but never a duchess. Twelve years ago, you say… Yes, I was the maid here then. Where's yo ur brother now? Is he a solicitor? That's what most young men become when they graduate. Or perhaps a vicar?"

Patience's chest ached painfully. "He would have been a solicitor. He died twelve years ago."

Christine's face changed, a shadow of alerted concern crossing it. "What was the name of your brother, did you say?"

"I doubt you knew him. There must have been so many students passing through your public house. His name was John Rose."

All color drained from the woman's face. She stood in complete silence, looking like a statue made of human flesh.

"Mr. John Rose?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Patience took a step forward, afraid Christine might fall. "The very same. Did you know him?"

The woman's hand still clutched her wet linen, which moved weakly in the slight breeze blowing through the street. "Oh, I knew him. And you're…the Duchess of Rath? Why does that sound so familiar?"

Patience's senses tightened and sharpened at the same time. As though a crack ran through her very existence. There had been the part of her life before the crack. And there would be the part after. Would Christine's next words split apart her life completely?

Patience swallowed hard. "Did you know my husband, too?" she asked, her voice croaking through the tension in her throat.

Christine took a few steps towards her and clutched the wet cloth to her chest, her eyes wide and strangely unseeing. "I did," said Christine, her blue eyes framed by reddish eyelashes glancing over Patience. "John looked like you…back then. Pretty. Golden curls. Blue eyes. The face of an angel."

Patience licked her lips nervously. She may have come closer to the truth than ever before. She chuckled softly. "Yes, all Roses look alike."

Christine's gaze shifted, distant and unfocused, as if peering through Patience to something unsettling just beyond. A tremor passed through her. "John attacked me," she said. "I know I should not speak ill of the dead. But…"

Attacked her?

John?

Patience shook her head in disbelief.

On that quiet Oxford street with daffodils in bloom and geraniums on the windowsills, under a blue sky, her world was shattering.

No. It was as though Patience was hearing about a completely different person. The John she knew had taught her how to do country dances, had helped her climb a tree to rescue a kitten, had brought her a bouquet of wildflowers every time he went out for a walk.

"He forced himself on me," said the woman shakily. "And Lord Perrin, he found us. He protected me against John. He threw him off me, and he saved me from utter disgrace…"

Lord Perrin… Dorian! Dorian had been Lord Perrin while his papa was alive.

He had protected this maid…from John?

John had forced himself on Christine? No, surely not John… Could she believe this woman she'd only just met? A stranger? Yet, somehow, she did. Christine's gaze, so full of fear and desperation and helplessness, could not lie.

But what did that mean? Was this the Oxford incident Dorian had been hiding from her? Could she be wrong about John? Was it possible that John was a terrible man and Dorian simply didn't want to destroy her opinion of her brother…? Despite her confusion and sadness over John's actions, her chest filled with warmth. Dorian had been broken by his father, but he was honorable and kind. He rescued women in peril—and rescued her family from financial ruin. That was the man she knew and loved.

Christine's gaze fell on something behind Patience's shoulder and her eyes widened. "Oh, no," she whispered, dropping the cloth from splayed fingers. For a moment she contemplated picking it up, then turned and rushed back through the dark door of The Bear.

"Christine!" cried Patience as she picked up the damp cloth.

She was set to run after her despite the social rules forbidding an unchaperoned woman of good standing from entering such an establishment.

"Patience."

She'd know that voice among hundreds, thousands, a million others.

The only voice that made her entire being reverberate like a tuning fork and stand at attention with the joy of being alive.

Her husband.