Chapter 25

CHAPTER25

“Where is he?” Emily traipsed through the house once more. It was strange, for she hadn’t seen anything of Jacob that morning. He may have often intended to avoid her, but she could usually discover something from the staff.

“He is not here, Your Grace,” Harlow said as he hurried behind her, following her through all the rooms.

“Yes, and that is an explanation, is it not?” she said wryly, glancing back at him. “Harlow, your master is missing. Might I suggest you go to Payton and Mrs. Wright? Perhaps one of them knows where he is.”

“I shall ask them, Your Grace.” He bowed and hurried off down the corridor.

Emily chose a different direction and headed to Jacob’s study. It didn’t seem to matter that she had already checked this room once, she was determined to check it again. Pushing the study door wide, she strode into the room and circled it, with her hands on her hips.

Not only was there no sign of Jacob but there was no hint that he had been in this room at all that day. There was no errant jacket slung over the back of a chair, no scraps of paper, or a disused quill left on the desk. It was empty and neat as if the maid was the last one to visit the room.

“What is happening?” Emily murmured and left the study, returning to the first place she had looked for Jacob that morning.

The breakfast room only had one person in it, and that was Catarina. She sat in her usual chair, eating jam and soft bread as her eyes darted around the room.

“Have you found him?”

“No.” Emily moved back to the table, her eyes darting to Jacob’s empty seat. “I have never known him to miss breakfast.”

“He doesn’t. Not usually.” Catarina agreed. It seemed rather difficult for her to take another bite of her bread, but she forced herself to do it. “Have something to eat, dear. You need your strength.”

Reluctantly, Emily sats down. Just as Catarina had done, she spread some jam and butter on soft bread and forced herself to eat it, though the taste was sickly sweet this morning and she kept washing it down with a fresh cup of tea. Every few seconds, her eyes darted between the empty chair beside her and the doorway, in expectation that Harlow would soon return.

“Your Grace? Your Grace!” Harlow’s voice called eventually from the corridor.

Emily dropped her bread onto the plate, hardly caring that it landed jam-side down and stood. Harlow appeared in the doorway, but he was not alone. Mrs. Wright stood at his side, waving a hand in front of her face as she tried to catch her breath.

“We know where the Duke has gone.”

“There is no need to worry,” Mrs. Wright said with a smile as her breathing calmed.

Emily tried to calm her erratic heartbeat, taking comfort in the housekeeper’s smile.

“I have been to see the groomsman,” she explained, pointing to the windows. “It seems the Duke has gone for an early-morning ride. I expect he will be back for breakfast soon enough.”

“Oh, I see.” Emily nodded, the relief making her shoulders relax. Something she was not willing to admit aloud was that for a few awful minutes, she thought he might have left for the country estate after all in the middle of the night, and not told her, just to avoid an awkward goodbye. “Thank you.”

Harlow and Mrs. Wright both left, with the footman offering an arm to the housekeeper as she tried to recover from her run.

Slowly, Emily sat down again, picking up the bread and urging herself to eat it again.

“Does he often go on early rides?” she asked after she struggled with the first swallow of bread.

“He is fond of riding, but this early? No.” Catarina shook her head. “He usually likes to have something in his stomach first. It is strange indeed.” Catarina lifted her mug to her lips and took a sip. “Well, as he may not be joining us for a while, there is something I’d like to show you, if I may.”

“Show me?”

“Yes. Eat up. Then I shall show you something.” Catarina smiled. “Something wonderful to me.”

Intrigued, Emily matched her smile and hurried to finish her breakfast. Once their plates were clean and they had both drained their teacups, Catarina beckoned Emily to follow her from the room.

They hastened up the main set of stairs, and Catarina led her to a smaller set of stairs at the back of the house. This one was much smaller and narrower, so discreetly tucked away that Emily could not remember being shown it by Harlow on her first day at the house. If he had done, then she must have forgotten it, for she was so distracted by Jacob’s resistance to her.

“Up here,” Catarina beckoned as she hurried up the stairs. “This is my favorite room in the house.”

“I am not sure I have been up here before.”

“Sometimes memories are painful, sometimes they are wonderful,” Catarina muttered, more to herself than to Emily. “I fear that my son thinks about the former too much, but I am determined to hold onto the latter. It is what Mistress Mayhew has taught me these last few years, and she is right. Indeed, she is.”

At the top of the stairs, Catarina thrust open a small door and bent through, avoiding hitting her head on the frame. Confused by the Dowager Duchess’s words, Emily intended to ask her what she meant but grew distracted by the sudden bright room.

Despite the early hour and the gray light beyond the windows, this long gallery was so full of windows that stretched from the floor to the ceiling, it was bright regardless.

“Goodness,” Emily murmured, standing in the middle of the gallery and turning back and forth on the spot.

Between the windows were various canvases and paintings, but unlike in other parts of the house where pictures were mostly landscapes, up here there were many portraits.

“Come,” Catarina said with warmth, capturing Emily’s hand and drawing her down the room. “This is my mother. Was she not beautiful?”

Emily smiled as she gazed at the young woman in the portrait. She had Catarina’s small eyes, but even more prominent cheekbones, and her hair was a degree or two brighter. She held a fan in front of her chest and leaned forward as if appealing to talk to the person who walked by.

“She is quite breathtaking,” Emily declared, stepping toward the painting.

“These walls bear the faces of our family and dearest friends. The family portraits are of course what matters most, and that is why I wished to bring you up here. In particular, to see this painting.” Catarina pulled on Emily’s hand once more, urging her to turn around.

On the opposite wall, there was a tall portrait of two people. Sitting down in the chair was Catarina, but a younger version, with her hair tumbling at the back of her head and across her shoulder. Upon her other shoulder was a gentleman’s hand.

Emily’s eyes followed that hand, moving up the arm and to the figure that stood behind Catarina.

“Heavens,” she whispered in surprise. “He is so like Jacob.”

“Oh, he was.” Catarina laughed. “Jacob is quite the spitting image of his father at times.”

Emily stepped forward, her eyes darting over the handsome visage of Jacob’s father. There were differences, of course; the green of Jacob’s eyes was from his mother, but the face and the strong jawline all belonged to his father. Even his athletic build with broad shoulders was just the same.

“Handsome indeed,” Emily whispered. Catarina giggled at her side and patted her hand.

“Yes, he was. They are so very alike.” She sighed at the words. “He died soon after this portrait was made. He was just thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five?” Emily spluttered, turning to face Catarina in alarm. “That is so young.” She jerked her chin back toward the figure in the painting, amazed at how healthy and young he looked.

“It was very sudden.” Catarina’s voice turned sad. “None of us were prepared for it, and my boy, well, he was only a child. He will not even tell me what he remembers of the day we lost his father, but I fear he remembers much.”

Emily released Catarina and stepped closer toward the painting, feeling as if she was staring up at a painting of Jacob rather than his father.

“He will not talk of it?” Emily whispered.

“Not to me.”

Not to me either.

Emily could remember little that Jacob had ever said of his father at all, but by this account, Jacob had inherited the dukedom when he was just a child.

“Thirty-five, it is so young,” she marveled. “Jacob is just…” Slowly, she turned back to face Catarina.

“Yes. He is thirty.”

“Oh.” Emily felt she had been kicked in the gut. It was a wild possibility, maybe she was far from even guessing correctly what bothered Jacob so much, but there was something here that made sense.

Does Jacob fear his own death? Does he worry he will follow his father to an early grave?

If her wild guess was true, then it would make sense why he had pleaded with Rachel and Bridget to ensure she was well taken care of, no matter what happened around the corner.

“Does Jacob… does he fear it…?” Struggling with the words, Emily gestured to the painting.

“It is not my place to say.” Catarina moved forward to her side and took one of Emily’s hands, patting it between two of her own. “Yet let me say this to you now, my dear. I have had troubles in my life, and I fear I have imparted to him my own fears.”

She grimaced, apparently in great pain. “It is not something a mother likes to admit. We mothers like to think we protect our children from every bad thing in the world, especially our own demons, but I need to be strong and admit when that is not the case. I fear my worries are now his own. You should know that. Whatever else is passing between the two of you, may it allow you to understand him better?”

“Thank you, Catarina. Thank you for sharing this with me. I do feel as if I know him a little more.” She looked up at the painting, chewing her lip in thought.

Even if I cannot quite understand this fear.

“I wish to speak to him.”

“Well, when he returns from his ride, perhaps you shall see him then.”

“Yes. Perhaps.”

* * *

Emily walked into Jacob’s study. The door was open and there was still no sign of him anywhere. No jacket, no papers, nothing.

“Strange,” she murmured and retreated from the room. She went to the breakfast room, but the table had been cleared away already.

Crossing through the hallway, she halted by the clock that hung from the wall, revealing the time was close to eleven o’clock.

He has to be home by now.

“Harlow?” Emily called, turning around in a circle in the main hall. “Typical, you’re always at my side until I need…” She trailed off as he appeared from the nearest doorway. “You are amazingly efficient, Harlow.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” He bowed with a pleased smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you know where the Duke is? He must have returned from his ride by now.”

“No, Your Grace. He has not returned.”

“No?” Emily stilled on the spot, her insides tightening so badly that she felt a little sick. “Well, that is strange. Have you ever known him to go riding at such an early hour before and then not return?”

“No.” Harlow grimaced. “I have checked with the groomsman, but he has confirmed the Duke has not yet returned.”

“Very well, then I shall go to him.” Emily gestured for her pelisse to be gathered from the coat stand as she hurried to the door.

If Jacob intends to go riding all day on his estate just to avoid me, then I shall chase him down. We cannot continue in this mad way. It is intolerable, and I will not live my life in this manner!

Once dressed in her pelisse, she hurried out of the house, with Harlow at her heel as she went to the stable. A second horse was quickly prepared as the groomsman talked of Jacob leaving that morning on the restless stallion.

“They have not been back for hours,” he mumbled, more to Harlow than to Emily. “I wonder what it is that keeps him so far from home.”

Emily glanced back at the groomsman, seeing Harlow’s face blush bright red as he looked at her. The possibility that the staff were gossiping about how little Jacob liked her made her feel even worse. Without another word, she flicked the reins and left the stable as quickly as she could. Her mare responded to her instructions with ease and shot across the grass, heading toward the tree line where the groomsman said he had last seen Jacob.

Emily slowed her pace once she reached these. Turning her head back and forth, she repeatedly craned her neck in an effort to see a glimpse of him, anything that could help her. She searched the area around the pond, but finding no sign of him there, she headed toward the hill and the high ground, hoping at least that from up there, she would be able to catch a glimpse of him.

At the summit of the hill, she halted. The cold wind bristled up the hill, making her body shiver. The mare also snorted and neighed, lifting his head to the sky, clearly disliking the cold weather.

“Not much longer, now, I’m sure,” she murmured to the horse, patting the mare’s neck in comfort. “I just have to find him…”

The sound of a horse’s hooves urged her to turn around. She expected to see Jacob riding out from the trees toward her, but his horse appeared alone. The stallion was injured, hobbling and repeatedly lifting one hoof as it scampered on the other three. He hurried to stand by Emily’s side, whinnying so loudly that Emily’s mare spooked. She had to grip the reins tightly to stop her mare from running off.

With quick eyes darting at the empty saddle, Emily grew worried.

“Where are you, Jacob?”