Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

" I trust everything is prepared, Thomas?"

"Yes, Your Grace. The carriage is ready, all that it awaits is your presence." The butler looked like he wanted to say more, and Gideon caught his eye in the mirror, coaxing him on. "If I may speak out of turn, Your Grace. Sir Clarkeson's solicitor, Mr. Fuller, sent word that he was ready to receive us an hour ago. It may not be wise to be tardy on such an important business deal."

"Well, it is just as important…" Gideon slicked back his hair for the umpteenth time, "…for me to appear my best, before a boatload of fops that emphasize appearance over eligibility."

Gideon fiddled with his snow-white cravat in the mirror sitting atop the mantle by the hearth of his study, then stopped himself, annoyed with the constant restlessness he was displaying. It was already late afternoon and the only thing he had been able to think about was Amelia, rather than the very significant meeting he had been preparing for, for the past few days.

Thomas, as if tuned into his thoughts, spoke up from behind him, "Her Grace seems to still be resting. Should I inform her of your impending departure?"

"There is no need," Gideon dismissed with a wave. "I shall likely return early morning tomorrow if everything goes to plan. She will not even miss my presence."

"If you worry for her, then—"

"I am not worried!" Gideon interjected, pacing away from the hearth. "Amelia is quite perfectly capable on her own. If she wishes to remain secluded in her chambers all day, that is her prerogative."

Thomas said nothing. Even with the silence, Gideon got the feeling that Thomas did not believe a word he was saying. Frustrated with himself, Gideon marched over to his desk for the first time that day. He rounded the desk and was about to search for his matching silver pin when something caught his eye.

There was a small envelope that had pride of place at the center of his escritoire. Gideon reached for it with a frown. It had no seal or indication of who had sent it. Before he could raise the question to Thomas, a knock at the door diverted his attention.

Distracted, and a little hopeful, Gideon slipped the letter into the pocket of his navy blue tailcoat and watched as Thomas went to open the door. Rather than the small, shapely figure of his wife stepping through, a lanky footman stood at the threshold. He murmured something to Thomas who nodded and then closed the door.

"The horses are growing restless, Your Grace," he advised.

Gideon sighed, annoyed with himself for hoping that Amelia had come to see him. The ongoing tension between them weighed on him, yet he was uncertain how to mend it, or even if he should. She'd shown that she wasn't on his side, just as Lewis had. It was only right that he distanced himself from them.

The thought only deepened his gloom. He had slowly isolated himself from all of those who cared for him. Even Thomas, once a fatherly figure that Gideon could lean on, had now become an unemotional confidante who purely served the purpose of his mission.

"Then let's not daddle," Gideon forced a smile for the old man. With two heavy strides, he made his way toward the hatstand by the study's door, plucked on his hat, and exited the room. In no time at all, he wound his way through the foyer, the castle's grand hall, and onto the driveway.

A vaguely familiar footman whose name he could not quite place stood by the carriage, and swung open its door when he noticed his master's arrival. Gideon gave him an appreciative nod and received a steely one in return.

He stepped into the carriage with a heavy heart, the door closing behind him with a definitive thud that seemed to echo the closing of a chapter in his life. He settled into the seat, the familiar leather contours offering no comfort today. The coachman snapped the reins and the carriage lurched forward.

Gideon's thoughts continued to churn as the carriage rumbled through the streets of London, its steady pace mirroring the relentless march of his own reflections. The city was alive with the hustle and bustle of daily life, but Gideon felt detached, as if he were an observer in his own life, watching from a distance. The chatter of the crowd, the clatter of hooves on cobblestone, even the occasional laughter that floated through the air – all of it seemed muffled, as though he were hearing it from underwater.

As the carriage made its way through the meandering streets, Gideon's mind wandered back to the early days of his quest. The fire of vengeance that had once burned so brightly within him had now simmered down to a dull, relentless ache. He had embarked on this path with a clear vision and a determined heart, but with each step, the cost of his mission had become increasingly apparent. And now, it was too late to turn back.

After an hour-long journey that seemed to pass by in minutes, the carriage began to slow in its approach to Bond Street. Over the rising commotion of this part of town, he heard a muffled, "We have arrived, Your Grace," followed by two thuds against wood.

The carriage drew to a halt and Gideon took a moment to gather himself, to remind himself of what he had been working towards for all these years. Soon, this nightmare would all be over.

Perhaps then he would be able to live happily with Amelia, if she would have him.

That thought forced him out of the carriage and onto the bustling street. Catching the coachman's eye in the front seat, he yelled over the tumult, "Don't bother waiting. I'll take a taxi back." The driver gave him a swift nod. Gideon had barely stepped onto the pavement when a hurried passerby collided with him.

"Pardon me, sir," a well-dressed man with balding hair and a strange mustache muttered from beneath his cigar. He took a couple of steps forward, but then instantly doubled back, before bending to retrieve something from the wet cobblestone. "It seems you dropped this."

"Ah." Gideon hardly had the chance to thank him before the stranger marched away once more, leaving him with the forgotten, unmarked letter in his hand.

Gideon shrugged to himself before turning and trudging along the narrow path to the solicitor's office. One step after another. Until his nagging curiosity got the better of him. Tucking a hand into his left pocket, he pulled out the letter he had picked up on his escritoire earlier that day and unfolded it.

He came to a sudden halt when he recognized the elegant flourish that was Amelia's handwriting.

Dear Gideon ,

I understand that you may not wish to hear from me but I cannot leave without giving my farewells in some manner. By the time you read this letter, I will hopefully be long gone. Thank you for all you have done for me, for the love and kindness you have shared with me while in your care. I will cherish it always.

With that said, I accept your decree to have the marriage annulled as was your wish and my intention. And I believe it is what's best for us both. When I can, I shall write back to you from my next temporary accommodations so we can have this matter settled.

Yours, Amelia.

"What in God's name—"

Gideon crushed the letter in his hand, his heart sinking. The world swayed, Amelia's words like fine dashes against his heart.

Just then, a voice sliced through the oncoming crowd. "Ah, Your Grace! Splendid to finally make your acquaintance!" Gideon looked up to find a short man waving his hat merrily at him. "It is Fuller, Marcus Fuller, at your service. What say you we get off this street and—"

Without hesitation, Gideon doubled back toward his carriage that had, by some luck, only just now begun taking off. Heaving open the door of the moving barouche, he all but threw himself inside. "Castle Stanhope! Now!"

Maybe she was still there. Maybe she hadn't left as of yet. If he could catch her before she left then he could stop her from leaving, surely? His leg bounced with anxious energy.

"Is everything well, Your—"

"Just get on it, man!"

The carriage bolted forward at his words. But it could not move fast enough for his liking. The hour-long journey to Bond Street took half the time on his way back.

At last, it pulled up to the castle's driveway. Gideon jumped out of the still-moving carriage, nearly stumbling on his landing but not stopping as he charged towards the castle. He barrelled inside, racing up the steps and ignoring Thomas' cry of alarm. He knew his butler was right on his heels but he didn't care.

"Amelia!" Gideon shouted, bursting into her bedchamber. When he didn't see her right away, his panic deepened.

"Your Grace, she's gone," Thomas began, finally arriving at the door just slightly out of breath.

Gideon whirled sharply to face him. "What do you mean she's gone ?"

"I became aware of it shortly after your departure from the castle, Your Grace. It seems Her Grace left at daybreak, with the help of her lady's maid," he explained.

"Did she say where she was going?" Gideon pressed.

Thomas shook his head. "I do not believe she confided all the finer details to the maid. I have no information on that front."

Gideon's heart sank. That was the last thing he wanted to hear. He raked his fingers through his hair as he began to pace restlessly. He didn't know what to do. He felt his entire world unravel before him, and all he could do was stand by and do nothing.

His focus on vengeance had blinded him, and now he had lost the one thing he held dear in his life. I am such a fool!

Despair crashed over him like a raging wave. Gideon buried his face in his hands, letting out a shuddering breath.

"There is… something else you might like to know, Your Grace," Thomas spoke again, a note of hesitation in his voice. "I… I deliberately did not press you that night because I was not certain you would wish to know the truth."

Gideon tore his face from his palms and shot the butler a pitiful look. "What are you talking about, man?"

"Well… you see…"

"Spit it out, Thomas!"

"During my inquiries about Her Grace, it came to my attention that she is the youngest daughter of the late Earl of Marlowe."

The color drained from his face. What was left of the air in his lungs completely disappeared. Gideon staggered back and collapsed onto the bed, the words knocking the wind right out of him.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, a sickening lurch that left him disoriented and gasping for breath. The Masked Rogue , a title he had once worn with a sense of twisted pride, now felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

Thomas continued, his voice a distant echo in Gideon's reeling mind, "Shortly after, the Masked Rogue … or rather, you, plunged the Earl into severe debt, he drank himself into an early grave. Her Grace and her sister have been forced to live apart since then. Her sister married the Earl of Talley shortly afterward and they moved away from their family home but remained in Brighton. Meanwhile, the youngest daughter moved in with the Viscount of Hendale and was forced to erase her past in hopes of finding a suitable match."

Gideon's hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into his palms. It was all starting to make sense now.

Thomas went on, "There appeared to be some kind of marriage clause on the inheritance from the late Earl of Marlowe for both daughters. Thirty days, I believe it was. However, it would not carry beyond the age of one-and-twenty, and would rather pass onto the nearest living male relative. That may have been the cause for your… abrupt marriage. What I can't seem to puzzle, is why Her Grace did not allow her sister to take the inheritance on her behalf instead of employing such an elaborate ruse."

An empty understanding dawned on him just then. His marriage was doomed from the start. All this time, he had been the architect of his own downfall. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed, the weight of his past actions pressing down on him. His other hand clenched into a fist, the knuckles white with tension. "I was the cause of her suffering all along," Gideon muttered, mostly to himself.

The realization of the pain he had unwittingly inflicted upon Amelia, the woman he had grown to care for, was a bitter pill to swallow. In his blind quest for revenge, he had ensnared the innocent, a fact that he had tried to ignore but now gnawed at his conscience with unrelenting ferocity. "Leave… leave me be. I need to think."

"I understand." Thomas inched towards the door. But he hesitated, then spoke again. "Before I go, allow me to speak out of turn one last time. I was reluctant to share this information, fearing it might dim the light I've seen in you recently. You seemed like the young, hopeful boy you once were, full of charm and sanguinity. Seeing you smile again was a pleasure, Your Grace. It is only regrettable that things have unfolded as they have."

He exited the room with those words of finality hanging in the air. Gideon was left in a whirl of uncertainty, not knowing what to do. He couldn't let it end like this. He had to find her, had to show her how much of a fool he'd been to have forced her away in the first place.

If only he knew where to begin.

Just as he was about to turn away and leave the room, Gideon noticed an out-of-place sheet of paper lying on the vanity table. Its appearance strikingly resembled the one tucked in his coat pocket.

"So, what's with all the commotion?"

The familiar voice had Gideon whirling again. Lewis stood casually at the entrance of the doorway, his presence as unexpected as a snowstorm in July. His eyes held a mix of curiosity and concern, his brow raised in a question that lingered in the air.

"Lewis? What are you doing here?" Gideon asked.

"I could ask you the same, Stanhope, given the state of you," Lewis replied, stepping into the bedchamber, his gaze sweeping over Gideon's disheveled appearance. "But to answer your question, I got your letter. The one where you apologized and practically begged for my counsel. Couldn't believe my eyes, to be honest."

Gideon's mind raced. A letter? He hadn't sent any letter to Lewis, let alone one begging for counsel. His eyes flicked back to the paper on the vanity, a sudden suspicion dawning on him. Could Amelia have...?

"You look as if you've seen a ghost, old boy. I assure you, it's just me," Lewis jested, trying to lighten the mood. But his eyes remained shrewd, missing nothing. "…The letter was from you, wasn't it?"

Gideon forced a tight smile, his mind still reeling. "It's good to see you, old chap. I just... wasn't expecting you, that's all." He swept towards the vanity, his fingers closing around the mysterious sheet of paper.

Lewis made to stand beside him. "Thought you would have the Duchess on a leash by now. Seems like it's the other way around. Or perhaps you have just developed a penchant for pink in my time away?" Pointing at the paper, he added, "And who is this Dorothy?"

Gideon gave a mock laugh that Lewis appreciated nonetheless.

Wait, Dorothy?

His eyes flicked back to the paper once more. Then, he made to unfold it.

My dearest younger sister,

I write in haste, praying this message reaches you in time.