Thirty-five

Hunter

Four full days passed before the roads were safe to travel, making it five days since I departed London… and Gwendolyn.

And during those five days, I had no doubt that Mrs. Gentry maintained tiptop control when it came to Lady Baxter and her abigail. Thankfully, Mrs. Gentry also possessed some midwifery skills in birthing and upon her inspection of the lady, she assessed the time of birth to be late spring.

Before our departure, I made sure Mrs. Gentry had access to all she needed to provide a comfortable living for Lady Baxter and, to my relief, the only correspondence necessary would be to learn of the arrival of the infant and the health of the mother, or if something tragic befell either one. Once the child reached an age old enough to travel, we would discuss the next step with all involved, including my mother and, by no mistake, Gwendolyn.

I spent the past few days chastising myself repeatedly over my idiocy. Gwendolyn had not only proved to be intelligent and of sound advice, but she also had every right to know what was occurring within her realm. I only feared her reaction to the news might force a wedge between us. That it might cause her to think of Josiah and be repeatedly wounded over his betrayal.

The moment Mr. Gentry told us that riders came through and confirmed the roads were ready to be traversed, Zach and I prepared for our departure and, at this point, nothing would stop me from being back in London by nightfall.

The journey, for the most part, remained uncomplicated. Though the snow hadn't entirely melted, my horse managed it effortlessly. Enough stamped tracks in the ground assisted in providing sound passage. It seemed many travelers were anxious to be on the move today.

When the glowing firelights of London appeared, my spirits lifted. I pushed Claymore faster and each clip he made against the ground matched the thump of my anxious heart. Rounding the final corner to Hart Street and my home, I finally allowed myself a momentous smile.

"I wish you luck, mate," Zachary said as he tipped his hat and turned his horse in the opposite direction. His word choice was sadly spot on. I would need all the luck in the world to navigate the mess I created. Lifting my pocket watch, I noted the time was half past ten o'clock, and I prayed Gwendolyn might still be awake.

Leaping off my horse and leaving it to Mr. Harvey in the mews, I sprinted for the back doors to find them bolted. After a few minutes of insistent knocking, Henry arrived.

"My lord," he reeled back in astonishment. "We were not aware of your arrival tonight. My apologies for not providing a proper welcome."

I smiled, again feeling a riveting energy ignite my limbs as I strode past him and shed my coat, gloves, and hat. I feverishly glanced around and without another word, rushed to the parlor, though found it all quiet within. I hoped to find Gwendolyn painting by the soft glow of the hearth, but instead, I only found empty disappointment.

On the ride home, I pictured our reunion a thousand different ways, but with only one conclusion… her soundly in my arms.

Though I found two of her paintings displayed in the room, the room showed no sign of my wife. Upon further inspection in the limited light, I marveled once again at her tremendous talent. When she told me she painted poetry, it didn't take much to guess the darker shades represented dismal themes and the lighter shades, happier ones. The first painting offered a mixture of both as if the emotions themselves wavered in their confidence. Streaks of yellow turned to gray then bright orange and black. Had she gone through the same emotions that I had in our separation?

Then I caught sight of the second painting. A clock shaped like a heart.

Bright red and orange flames lapped at the contraption engraved with such detail it forced me still for several minutes, stunned that she had painted my affection for her without even knowing it.

Disappointed with her absence, I strode swiftly to my study. While inside, after lighting my candelabra, I found a stack of letters addressed to me piled on the sideboard since I still lacked a desk. Exhaustion rippled through my muscles and weighed me down. Sitting down on the lone chair, I wondered how inappropriate it might be to awaken Gwendolyn at this hour. I missed her. I suffered as if a portion of my heart was waylaid. I longed to see her smile, yearned to hold her in my arms, and be assured that she did not hate me.

Glancing through the missives I found one in my mother's handwriting. She likely wanted an update on Lady Baxter upon my return. I would fill her in tomorrow, my wife was my first and foremost concern. I set it aside with the others then lazily tipped my chair back and rang the bellpull from my seated position.

Henry appeared.

"How long has it been since Lady Gwendolyn turned in?"

Henry was not an old man, forties to be sure, but the way his forehead wrinkled, and mouth pinched, he appeared aged. "Quite early, sir. They travel at dawn."

"Travel?" I raised to my feet so swiftly my cane-back chair wobbled and slammed to the floor.

"I—I thought you were informed of her departure, my lord."

"Departure?" I shouted and Henry shuffled backward several steps.

"Where? Why?"

"She is leaving for Cordon Park."

"Why Cordon?"

"I—I am unaware, my lord. She announced it after she returned from visiting your parents."

"Devil, take it," I grumbled and quickly ripped open my mother's missive.

Dearest Hunter

I am writing to let you know that your sweet wife came to me in tears this morning.

My heart pounded in my ears.

She knows there is something amiss. I wrongly assumed you had confided in her, but I was not at liberty to speak of the situation with your father near.

She asked your father's permission to reside at Cordon Park. She said, "This was always alluded to from the beginning." Do you know why she might presume that? I asked Chilton, but he waved it off as nothing to concern myself over.

I know that what you did for Lady Baxter was on the mark, but now you must convince the most important lady in your life that she is your priority. I know that we have asked you to do so much regarding the dukedom, but I am not wrong when I say you and Gwendolyn are truly meant for each other. I am terrified that this delightful new daughter of ours feels so unwanted. Please do all you can to rectify our wrongs.

Best,

Mother

I glanced up to see Henry still awaiting my next directive. I rubbed my jaw and breathed through my nose. I have done everything wrong, and I needed, more than anything, to remedy this.

"You may retire for the night, Henry."

He nodded but didn't depart.

"Is there something more?" I questioned.

His face crinkled with concern. "I feel I should tell you that your wife received a caller yesterday and, had I known his intent, I would never have allowed him entrance."

I stared. "Is Gwendolyn injured?" I moved closer to him. My heart beat a touch faster.

"No, sir, I, uh, he didn't touch her, but made accusations about… well,"

"About what?"

"Your faithfulness."

"Who? What man?" I bellowed. Though I never intended to shout at Henry, a fire sparked within. "Who would dare come into my house and speak to her in this manner?"

"A Captain William Bently, sir."

My voice caught in my throat. Bently? My mind whirled. Why would he… then I recalled the last time I saw the captain. At the Penington musicale. Could he have followed me? Seen me with Lady Baxter? Aaahh . I tapped my fist lightly against my forehead. Of course he would want to create doubts about me, he desires to be there when she leaves me. "Do you think…" My voice cracked. "Do you think Lady Gwendolyn believed him, Henry?"

"I can't speak for her, sir, but she did soundly tell him to never approach her again."

My mouth parted. "She did?"

Pacing the study, I caught sight of the Aphrodite sculpture. I'd seen it thousands of times in my parents' library, but only recently it reached out and clutched my heart and I knew precisely why. When I beheld it, I beheld my wife.

I needed to speak with her before she left. I must beg her forgiveness and beg her to stay.

Impulsively, I took one of the candles off the stand and rushed up the stairs to her bedchamber. The darkness that seeped beneath the door and through the cracks confirmed that she slumbered. Would it be so highly impertinent if I knocked? We must speak and I wasn't sure it could wait until morning.

Blowing the candle out, I set it on the nearest accent table then tread a path in the carpet as I attempted to measure my next move. If I entered her bedchamber without her permission, she might misunderstand my intent. I did not wish to complicate the situation by having my wife fear me. Tearing the ribbon from my ponytail, I ran my hands through my hair and, in the darkness, walked from one end of the corridor to the other. The ride from Gottling had caused enough exhaustion that if I returned to my room and slept, I would certainly chance missing her departure.

I paused before her door once more and made a determined decision. Unbuttoning my suitcoat, I laid it down in front of her door. This way, even if I fell asleep, she would come upon me in the morning.

I sat upon the fine fabric and stretched my legs outward, then leaned my head against her door frame. Though fatigue bled through my muscles from the half day's journey, my mind remained alert and reproving.

I couldn't help but relive all the errors I made since the moment I stepped foot into the Bissett drawing room in early November. Now that I knew Gwendolyn's true nature beyond the fictional icy exterior, I knew without a shadow of doubt, every subsequent breath I took was for her.