Thirty-four

Gwendolyn

"Lady Gwendolyn?" Daphne stood at my doorway with an obvious frown. Since my visits yesterday with both Bently and my father, I remained out of sight in my bedchamber, having refused any attempt she made to divert my attention.

Within just a few hours yesterday, two very conflicting revelations emerged, and I didn't know how to contend with the information. The unknown weighed heavily upon me in the five days since Hunter's departure. So much so, I felt as though I was headed for Bedlam. A hundred voices in my head could not be silenced as I awaited his return.

But what would I say when he does?

Throughout the night, I made myself ill over the prospect of sharing Hunter with another woman, and possibly a child. If he loved her, wouldn't having knowledge of this and forcing him to stay true to me be worse than simply allowing him to be free?

"Yes, Daphne?" I peered over to her from the window bench, curled up with a shawl and a book as if I was reading it, though all the words blended into one. I had not turned the page once since I cracked it open.

"I have brought your paint supplies up." She waved Freddie inside. "You have always taken great comfort in painting."

Freddie set up one of my easels, the other two remained in the parlor with paintings attached. One, in particular, held the now finished clock heart. Only now, I wasn't sure if I could share it with Hunter or not. Confusion muddled my mind. Did I believe Daphne, Sandy, and Captain Bently or did I believe my father and, ultimately, my heart?

Freddie set my tin box containing my brushes and paints on the desk. When he nodded his goodbye, a small wrinkle appeared above his nose.

Outside the door, he and Daphne conversed in strained whispers.

Did everyone know why melancholy had settled upon the home?

When Daphne returned, a sudden rush of emotion overtook me. Letting the book fall to the ground, I covered my face with my hands and broke down again. She hustled to my side, sitting beside me and wrapping her arms tightly around my torso. "Oh, my lady, I'm so very sorry."

I had never been a woman known to weep incessantly, but now it seemed I could do little else.

"Try painting, my lady," Daphne encouraged. "Here let me help you with your frock." She grabbed my hands and brought me to my feet. After she removed my shawl, she retrieved the paint apron, placing it over my dress and buttoning it behind. "Paint what you are feeling." She placed a paintbrush in my hand.

But what am I feeling?

I stepped over to the easel where Freddie placed the fresh canvas.

This would be the first time in ages that I painted without one of Julia's poems in front of me, but hardly necessary since the words of a heartrending poem formed rebelliously within my mind. I opened the jar of black paint and with every stroke a new painful sentence emerged.

In the darkness, feeling numb

Shadows strangle, life undone

Sharp, angled branches appeared with deadly, prickly barbs.

True heart believed

Yet secrets cleaved…

Once a substantial tree emerged, I wiped the black paint off the brush and dipped it in a smoky gray. A woman's wilting, fragile form surfaced within the tendrils of the branches… clawing, scraping, and tearing at her.

A promise barely begun…

Though I couldn't claim a proficiency in poetry, I read enough of Julia's work to understand the passion of words. After an hour immersed in the work, I stood back and studied the painting's raw beginnings. The distinctive, threatening image cast a darkness throughout the room. The woman's forlorn face revealed a hidden torment behind her green eyes.

Glancing at my hand with each brushstroke, I stared at the ring on my finger. I remembered truly seeing it for the first time after we returned to our townhome and parted ways. I studied the stunning jewel in the privacy of my bedchamber, shocked that someone would gift me something so devastatingly beautiful.

I set my paintbrush down and removed the ring, pinching it between my finger and thumb. I had never seen a wedding ring worn by any woman of the ton like this one. While it bore the customary silver band, the striking emerald adorned on top caused one's heart to flutter awry. Could I be misled? Would Hunter have endowed me with a jewel so precious if he didn't care for me? What about Questions or Commands? The treasure game? Lesnes Abbey? The fairy cakes? My paintings? The Aphrodite sculpture?

Then a fire lit within me.

What about the secrets? The lies? The avoidance? The abandonment?

An aching, heated sting wound its way through my core and out my limbs. I picked up the open jar of black paint and threw it solidly against the canvas, watching the glass shatter. The paint exploded against the white backdrop then spread outward like twisted, thorny stems. Tearing my apron off my body, I heard the plink of several buttons hit the wooden floor. I twisted my apron with both hands and tossed it to the ground. Through yet another assault of tears, I scrambled for the bellpull.

It seemed now that the only logical course of action was to resume what the duke planned from the beginning. This way, when the child is born, or his mother is in need of Hunter, I will not have to witness it.

When Daphne arrived, I wiped the moisture from my eyes and took a steadying breath. "Send word to Freddie to prepare Esmeralda, I need to make a visit to the duchess."

"I should go with you, my lady."

"No, I need you to stay here and pack my trunks."

"Your trunks? Where are you going?"

" We are leaving Town."