Chapter 28

Twenty-Eight

V ictor broke the seal on the note, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the paper. His London butler stood by, the man's expression tense, indicating the urgency of its contents.

Your Grace, Lady Amelia has taken ill. The child's condition is serious. Your attention is required at Kilton Castle at once.

Victor's heart lurched in his chest, a cold dread settling deep within him. He could almost feel the weight of the words pressing down on him, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. Amelia… ill. The words repeated over and over, a horrifying echo in his mind.

"Prepare a horse," he barked, his voice tight with urgency. "Immediately."

The butler nodded swiftly and rushed away. Victor stood motionless for a moment, the letter still clutched in his hand. Amelia... How had he allowed himself to be so far away when his daughter needed him? When his family needed him?

The horse was ready within minutes, and Victor mounted it without hesitation. He rode hard, the hours passing in a blur as the landscape flew by, each mile bringing him closer to Kilton. His thoughts raced faster than the horse's hooves, guilt gnawing at him with every second. He should have been there. He had made a mistake in leaving.

It was long after nightfall when he finally arrived at Kilton Castle. He barely paused to hand the reins to a waiting stable hand before rushing through the front doors.

"Smith!" Victor called, his voice sharp as it echoed through the grand foyer.

The butler appeared at once, his face somber. "Your Grace."

"What happened?" Victor demanded, his voice strained. "Tell me everything."

Smith stood at attention, speaking with calm efficiency. "The Duchess took the children for a walk in the gardens. During the outing, Lady Amelia became separated from the group. When they found her, she had been drenched by the rain. She developed a fever shortly after."

Victor's breath hitched in his throat. Without another word, he turned and took the stairs two at a time, the weight of what Smith had said pressing heavily on him. Amelia drenched in the rain... sick . His heart pounded, the fear clawing at him as he raced up to the third floor.

When he reached Amelia's bedchamber, he paused at the door, his hand resting on the doorknob for just a moment before he pushed it open. The room was dimly lit by the flicker of a fire, the warmth of it doing little to dispel the chill in his chest.

Christina was asleep, slumped in a chair beside Amelia's bed. Her head rested against the mattress, her hand still clutching Amelia's small fingers, as though she had refused to leave her side for even a moment.

Victor's heart tightened at the sight. She looked exhausted, her face pale, her hair falling loose around her shoulders. She hadn't left their daughter's side, not once. Of course she hadn't.

Mrs. Brimsey appeared quietly in the hallway, her voice soft as she approached. "The Duchess has hardly left the young lady's side, Your Grace. Only for an hour earlier to rest. But the fever... it's finally breaking."

Relief flooded through Victor, though it was tempered by the weight of guilt that settled deeper in his chest. He nodded at Mrs. Brimsey, his voice thick with gratitude. "Thank you."

With quiet steps, he approached Christina and gently scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She stirred slightly as he lifted her, but didn't wake. Her body felt light in his arms, her exhaustion evident in the way she leaned against him.

He carried her to her bedchamber, pushing the door open softly with his foot before laying her gently on the bed. For a moment, he stood there, looking down at her, the peaceful rise and fall of her chest a stark contrast to the turmoil inside him.

Then she stirred, her eyes fluttering open. It took her a moment to recognize him, and when she did, her expression crumpled.

"It's all my fault," she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "You were right... I don't know what's best for them. I never should have let Amelia out of my sight."

Victor knelt beside the bed, taking her hand in his. "Christina, no," he said gently, his voice softer than it had been in days. "We'll talk in the morning. Right now, you need to rest."

Tears welled in her eyes as she whispered, "I don't want them to get hurt."

"They won't," he reassured her, squeezing her hand. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "Rest now. We'll speak in the morning."

Christina's eyes fluttered closed, her exhaustion overwhelming her once more as she drifted back into sleep. Victor stood, watching her for a moment longer, feeling the weight of his absence, the way it had burdened her. He had failed her, and Amelia, in ways he couldn't yet fully comprehend.

As he quietly left her bedchamber, he descended the stairs to the grand foyer, his thoughts still heavy with guilt. Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, Miss Peversly stepped out from the shadows.

"Your Grace," she greeted, her curtsy very low.

Victor gave her a curt nod, intending to continue past her, but she took a step forward, clearly eager to speak.

"I trust you do not think me incompetent, after what occurred these past few days," she began, her voice careful. "What happened with Lady Amelia—it was entirely the Duchess's fault. Her stories of adventure encouraged the child to wander into the woods. You always forbade such reckless?—"

Victor raised his hand sharply, cutting her off. His voice was cold and restrained. "Did you accompany them on the walk?"

Miss Peversly faltered, clearly thrown by the question. "Y-yes, Your Grace. I did."

"And where were you when Amelia wandered off? Should you not have prevented it?"

The governess paled, her composure slipping. "I... well, I did my best, but the children?—"

Victor's patience snapped. Anger surged within him, though not entirely at Miss Peversly. He was angry with himself—angry that he had left, angry that Amelia had fallen ill, angry that Christina had been left to shoulder the burden alone.

"I will hear no more," he said sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You are dismissed, Miss Peversly. I will not tolerate any further disrespect toward my duchess."

Miss Peversly's eyes widened, clearly stunned by the dismissal. "Dismissed, Your Grace?"

"Immediately," Victor replied, his tone final. "Pack your things and leave Kilton Castle. Tonight."

Miss Peversly sputtered, struggling for words, but seeing the unyielding resolve in Victor's expression, she curtsied stiffly and retreated without another word.

Victor gently closed Amelia's bedchamber door behind him, the soft click echoing in the quiet hallway. Relief had washed over him as he'd watched his daughter's fever finally begin to break, but it was a fragile relief, undercut by the weight of everything that had happened—the choices he had made, the distance he had forced between himself and his family.

As he took a deep breath, gathering himself, a maid approached, her expression uncertain as she held out a folded note.

"Your Grace," she said softly, handing it to him.

Victor frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion as he took the note. Who would be writing to him within the household? Breaking the seal, he unfolded the paper and instantly recognized Christina's handwriting. His stomach tightened with unease.

Victor,

By the time you read this, I will be gone.

I am sorry for everything. I thought I could make this work, that I could make us work. But I understand now that my place is not here, not beside you. I know that you want us to live separately, and now that you are home to care for Amelia, I thought it best to leave so that you can keep your vow. There's no need to prolong this any longer.*

Please give my love to the children. They deserve better than this.

Christina.

The letter trembled in his hands, the words blurring as his heart pounded in his chest. She was gone. The very ground beneath him seemed to shift, the world falling apart in a way that made him feel utterly untethered. He could hardly breathe.

No . It couldn't be. She couldn't have left him. Not like this.

Without another thought, Victor turned and ran, his feet pounding down the hallway and toward the stairs. He had to find her. He had to stop her before it was too late. The house was coming alive with the early morning bustle of servants, but he paid them no mind as he descended the grand staircase two steps at a time.

As soon as he reached the foyer, Smith appeared before him, looking grave.

"Your Grace," Smith began, stepping forward.

"Not now," Victor said, brushing past him, his focus solely on finding Christina.

"Your Grace," Smith persisted, his voice firm, "Miss Peversly is responsible for Lady Amelia's illness."

Victor halted in his tracks, the words so jarring that for a moment, they didn't make sense. He turned to face Smith, confusion etched on his face. "What are you talking about?"

Smith stood tall, his expression serious. "One of the maids heard Miss Peversly telling another servant what she had done. She lured Lady Amelia away from the group during the walk, sending her back to fetch a fan she claimed she had dropped. That's how Lady Amelia got lost."

Victor stared at him, disbelief coursing through his veins. "Lured her away?" His voice was barely above a whisper, the anger beginning to simmer beneath his skin.

Smith nodded grimly. "Yes, Your Grace. The maid came forward, and we have detained Miss Peversly in the drawing room. She has not denied the accusations."

Victor's mind raced, fury building within him. He could scarcely believe it—Miss Peversly, the woman who had been entrusted with his children's care, had deliberately put his daughter in harm's way. And all this time, Christina had shouldered the blame, believing it was her fault.

Without another word, Victor stormed toward the drawing room, his anger surging with each step. As he entered the room, he found Miss Peversly sitting stiffly in a chair, a footman standing guard beside her. She looked up at him, her face pale, but she maintained a thin veneer of defiance.

Victor approached her, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his voice low and controlled. "Is it true? Did you lure my daughter away?"

Miss Peversly's composure faltered, but she managed a weak nod. "Yes, Your Grace… but I didn't intend for her to become so ill. I only wanted to?—"

"Why?" Victor's voice cut through her excuses, sharp and cold. "Why would you do such a thing?"

She hesitated, her eyes darting away from his. "I did it to undermine the Duchess."

Victor recoiled slightly, his disgust palpable. "Undermine her? Why ?"

Miss Peversly broke then, her hands trembling as she pressed them to her face, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Because I love you!" she cried, her voice cracking. "Everything I've done… it was all for you. To prove that I could be what you needed. I was abandoned once—left at the altar by a man who didn't love me. I couldn't bear the thought of it happening again. I needed to show that I was worthy."

Victor stepped back, his stomach churning with revulsion. "You're mad," he said. "You think putting my daughter's life at risk, tearing apart my family, would prove your worth?"

Miss Peversly sobbed, her hands trembling. "I didn't mean for it to go this far. I just… I wanted you to see me. I wanted you to know that I was capable, that I could take care of your children better than her."

Victor stared at her, his anger boiling over. "You did everything wrong," he said through gritted teeth. "And that is no excuse for the way you've treated my wife, my daughters. You will not remain in this house a moment longer."

Miss Peversly's tearful eyes widened in desperation. "But, Your Grace, I?—"

Victor raised his hand, silencing her. "If you ever return, you will have no one but yourself to blame for the consequences."

He motioned to the footman, who stepped forward and took Miss Peversly by the arm. She struggled, still pleading, but Victor had already turned away from her, his mind focused solely on one thing—Christina.

As he stood in the center of the room, the weight of everything that had transpired crashed down on him. He had pushed her away, forced her to believe she wasn't wanted, and now… now she was gone. He had made her believe that his promise to live separately was more important than his love for her. But that couldn't be further from the truth.

He loved her. More than anything. More than he had ever admitted, even to himself.

And now he had to find her. He couldn't let her leave. Not like this.

Without another moment's hesitation, Victor rushed from the drawing room, determined to bring his wife back to the home—and to the heart—where she belonged.