Chapter 27

The household was dead.

Everyone was very much alive, of course, but it was as though the life force had left it. William hated it, and he knew exactly what was missing, but nobody else dared mention it. In fact, there was one member of the household that was happier than ever.

Well, she was not exactly a member of it.

"It is a wonderful day, Your Grace," Margaret smiled, "I was wondering if you might like to promenade with me this afternoon?"

"I have work to do."

"No, you do not. No correspondence has arrived for you for days now, and with how efficient you are it is not possible that you have anything to do."

"Then allow me to rephrase. I do not want to promenade with you, but I was raised to be a gentleman, and so I regret to inform you that I have work to do."

"I do not wish to be courted by you, if that is your concern. I only have eyes for Scott, and you know that."

"Then promenade with him."

"But if I am to marry him, you and I ought to find some common ground."

"You will not be marrying him, thus I am not required to do so."

"Your Grace, I understand that you miss the girl, but that is no reason to be so unkind to me. I am trying to be a good guest."

"A good guest would not have been so unkind to a member of my household. You have been nothing but work from the moment you arrived, and if it weren't for my brother you would have been sent away by now. The only reason that you are still here is because my brother brought you here, and he is still here."

"Margaret!" Scott called as he approached the two of them, "I was wondering if you might like to promenade with me this afternoon."

"Oh, Scott," she said softly, "I- I am afraid that I cannot. I am actually feeling quite under the weather today."

"Nonsense!" William said brightly, "You were just telling me how lovely the weather is and how much you would like to spend it outdoors. What perfect timing, you can go with your suitor."

"Suitor?" Scott echoed.

"He is saying it in jest," she replied quickly, "Very well, I suppose some air would do me some good."

And just like that, William's day became ever so slightly better. It didn't change much, of course, because he knew that those few upcoming hours would fly by, and then they would be back and it would be back to his new normal, the one that he simply could not stand.

The silence did not last long.

"William? God, look at you. I have never seen you be such a wreck!"

It was a woman's voice, and a familiar one at that, but it was not Miss Staunton's. Then again, upon seeing the woman speaking to him, he was immensely grateful all the same.

"Beatrice!" He exclaimed, "How are you? Why are you here? How did you know I was here?"

"You are asking rather a lot of questions, and I shall answer them in time. For now, the four of us have a lot of belongings to be brought in, and your mother has said that the tea will take a while to be prepared."

"The four of you? Do you mean that you are all here?"

"Of course! Luke, Stephen, Lily and me. We came to see you."

William followed her to the drawing room, and he could not believe his eyes. It had felt like an eternity since he had seen them all, and he suddenly felt homesickness wash over him.

Oh, how he missed London.

"You look dreadful," was the first thing Luke said to him.

"Yes, your wife spared no kindness in telling me."

"My apologies," she smirked, "But I hadn't been expecting it, even with the warning that we were given."

"Warning?" He echoed again, "What do you mean?"

"It is perhaps better if I explain," Stephen nodded, "Come, sit."

He sat opposite the four of them, and they exchanged worried glances with each other, each avoiding William's eye.

"So," Stephen continued, "We received letters from your mother. It was strange, for there were no addresses on the letters. I understood once I read it, as she likely simply did not know where we were and did not want to guess, but Luke was quite worried before opening it."

"I thought it might have been that awful girl somehow," Luke winced.

William laughed quietly. Luke had had a terrible ordeal with some lunatic two years prior, and even though they would never have to see her again Luke tended to be on edge at times.

"So my mother sent you letters," he nodded, "Why?"

"She said that you were having a difficult time," Stephen explained, "She did not go into much detail, but she gave us an invitation to visit for a while so that we might make you happier, and told us that all would be explained upon our arrival, so I suppose that it is your turn to explain."

"Yes," Beatrice said quickly, "And it ought to be a good explanation, because you have had us worried sick."

"What? Why?"

"You disappeared!" Lily sighed, "One moment you were there, and the next you were gone. We were completely blindsided and had no idea where you had gone. We thought that something terrible had happened to you."

"Well, I am fine. I came to see my mother, that is all."

"You and I both know you would not have done that for no reason," Stephen laughed, "So go right ahead and tell us what happened. We shall not judge you, so have no fear there."

"It is quite the predicament," William sighed, "And frankly you will judge me."

"Then we will promise not to be too harsh in our judgments. Go right ahead."

"Well, I received this letter. It was from a neighbor here, telling me all about my mother and how he was terribly and deeply concerned for her due to a guest that had been staying here. I came here to see it for myself and it was a young lady. We argued, several times, and I truly did want to see her gone."

"As you so often do with ladies," Luke chuckled, but his wife nudged him.

"But then something happened. I liked seeing her. She changed the household. It was as though she made it a home, which it has never truly been before. She and I formed a friendship in the end."

"Then where is she now?" Stephen asked.

"We made a plan to find her a husband. My brother is unmarried, and I thought that maybe if she married him we could at least remain friends. Unfortunately, he came with this awful girl Margaret and two gentlemen that I still do not know the names of and they were so cruel to Miss Staunton that she left."

"Where did she go?" Lily asked, "You could find her and profess your feelings to her."

"I do not know where she went," he sighed before realizing the second thing that she had said, "Feelings? I never said anything about that."

"You did not need to," Beatrice laughed gently, "We know you, William, and you would never be in a state such as this over a girl that you did not at least like a great deal."

"Even if I did, it does not matter. Miss Staunton no longer wishes to see me, she has made that clear, and so I will respect her wishes. There is nothing more that I can do."

"You are so defeatist. Of course there is more that you can do. We could find her, and then-"

"No, Beatrice, we cannot. If she wanted me to know where she was going, she would have said. She had probably had her fill of people that did not openly care for her and had to go, and if that is the case then it would be wrong of me to try and change that. I respect her decision, and you should too."

"Then come home," Stephen shrugged.

"Home?"

"Well, you are miserable here. Your mother told us as much. It is quite clear to us that the only reason you have been happy here is because of that girl, and as she is gone there is nothing keeping you here."

"My mother is here."

"And she can visit you anytime she wishes. As far as I am concerned, you are not happy here, and we cannot come racing to Bolton every time you feel sad. Come back to London, attend some balls with us and remember what real misery is!"

As much as he hated to admit it, William did miss the simplicity of the London season. He hated how the mothers would throw their daughters at him, and how he had to be cruel to everyone in attendance in order to be left alone, but he longed for the lack of scandal brought upon himself. There was nothing difficult about it as a duke; make an appearance, turn away young ladies, and enjoy the free refreshments.

"I suppose that wouldn't be completely insufferable."

"You are free to leave," his mother said gently, appearing in the doorway, "I would hate for you to stay here on my behalf. If you do not wish to be here any longer, then you must go home. I only want you to be happy, dearest."

"But, Mother, you will be alone."

"And I am perfectly fine with that. William, it is not a terrible thing to be alone."

"Do you not miss her? You have not cared a bit about her absence, after everything that she did for you."

"I care immensely, but I learned how to handle such a situation when you left. There is nothing that you can do about it, so you need to simply accept it. I will miss Olivia so much. She has been the friend that I have needed ever since I married your father, but there is nothing that I could say or do to make her return. Besides, she has written to me. I know where she is, and she is perfectly safe."

"Where is she?"

"I cannot tell you."

"Mother, you-"

"I cannot tell you. She made a point of it in her letter. She does not wish to be followed, and she is doing something that she has had to do for a long time. I do not want to hurt you, Dearest, but she knows you would want to stop her and she cannot have that. She is alright, though, you can know that much."

"She hates me, doesn't she?"

"Quite the contrary. That is why she had to leave."

William had a feeling that Miss Staunton had liked him a great deal, and in his cowardice he had refused to admit it. That did not matter, though, because he had lost his one chance. His mother had a look of absolution on her face; she was not going to tell him a thing. He needed to cut his losses.

"Then we will go," he nodded, "We will leave for London first thing in the morning."

"You are leaving, Your Grace?"

"Margaret, you are supposed to have left by now," he groaned.

"Is this her?" Beatrice asked.

"Oh! You have talked about me, have you?" Margaret blushed.

"The very one," he groaned, not acknowledging her.

"I know you!" Beatrice exclaimed, "You are the girl that was caught alone wandering outside a brothel one evening two summers ago. I wonder, has that reputation of yours recovered?"

"Bea!" Lily gasped, and Margaret immediately turned scarlet and ran away.

"What?" She giggled.

"I did not know that you had such cruelty in you," William said.

"Oh, I know her very well. She has been incredibly cruel about my sister's situation, and so frankly I believe it fair that I defend her, especially if she has done the same to the young lady that was living here."

"You are all very close to one another, aren't you?" His mother asked, smiling wistfully, "It is nice to know that my son is in good hands."

"The very best, Mother," he nodded, smiling in spite of everything that was going on.

Margaret did not return that evening. She locked herself in her bedchambers, refusing to come out until William had left and taken the horrible Duchess of Munro with him. Nobody had cared all too much about that, including Scott, who seemed more at ease than he had throughout his time there.

"So," Scott began when he and William were alone that evening, "I believe I owe you an apology."

"Not me," he sighed, "You owe it to Miss Staunton, not that you shall ever see her again."

"It was wrong of me. I know that. I should never have spoken to her in such a way. I only did so out of panic."

"There was no need to panic, and there was certainly no need to have been so cruel."

"I know, but it frightened me. I do not wish to be a husband, Will, not to anyone."

"Even Margaret?"

"When have I ever given that impression?"

"When you had her live in your lodgings all that time. Also when you had her accompany you on this trip. Oh, also when she told us several times that she will be your wife, and that you are all too happy for that to be the case."

"Well I never said that last thing myself, and so that hardly counts. And it is as I told you, she is a friend. Honestly, at this point it would be more accurate to say that she was a friend. I have never seen this side of her, and now that I have I do not like her. She has never once suggested that she felt anything romantic for me, and if she had I would have set her straight. Now, I do not even consider her a friend, and I do not think that I ever could again."

"Be that as it may, you ought to give her some grace. She likely thought she could change your mind."

"Perhaps, but that did not give her any right to act so entitled."

"Then it is your choice, brother. I only wish she would have shown her true self before Miss Staunton had gotten hurt."

"I don't understand," Scott huffed.

"What?"

"Well, it is quite obvious that you love her, and yet you were so desperate for her to marry me instead. You know I would make a terrible husband, and that I have no interest in being one, so why would you do that when you could just as easily have married her yourself?"

"Because I would be a terrible husband. It does not matter how I feel about her. I am not the sort of man that would be good to his wife, not when I am so much like him."

"If it means anything to you, I do not think you are anything like him at all."

"That means more to me than you know, but it changes nothing. She deserves more than I could ever offer her, and so I have to let her go."

"If you insist," Scott shrugged, "But you're a fool for doing so."

William hated to admit that his brother was right.