Chapter 22

Sebastian and Virtue were nestled comfortably in the library when they were sent a calling card by Ralph Merchant, the butler's son and Sebastian's long-time acquaintance. It was the day after the ball, and seeing as they were both a little… worse for wear after what had turned into a rather lavish night, they agreed that a quiet day was in order. A shared couch. A roaring hearth. Each lost in a book. And the pleasure of one another's company. Maybe not the most exciting of days, but one that Sebastian was very much enjoying.

And then Ralph walked through the door, and the tranquil interlude was abruptly shattered.

"Sebastian, my boy!" Ralph's voice boomed as he stormed through the library doors, with his father, Albion, in close tow, fretting over his son's rash behavior, as appeared tradition by now. Ever since the war, Ralph had dispensed with the formalities of Your Grace, an indication of how close the two men were, often opting for Greystone instead. So, on the rare occasions he used Sebastian's Christian name, it usually meant something was very wrong. "We need to talk."

Sebastian raised a finger, signaling for silence as he finished his passage. And not because what he was reading was particularly engaging, but rather as a pointed reminder to Ralph of the respect still owed, despite their familiarity.

Ralph came to a halt by where Sebastian and Virtue sat. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot, the urgency of his sudden arrival noted. But that just had Sebastian dragging it out a little longer than necessary... eyes shifting between the page and Virtue, who suppressed a smile, well aware of what he was doing.

"Ralph." Sebastian exhaled and closed his book finally. "Thank you, Albion." He nodded at his butler and sent him back to his duties. "What brings you here so unexpectedly? Could you not have sent word a day in advance? I might have been engaged."

It took Ralph a moment to respond. As Sebastian looked up to speak with him, Ralph noticed that he was not wearing his customary white domino mask. A sight that his friend had surely seen but not one he was so accustomed to, and one that had him jolting in surprise. His face piqued in curiosity… and Sebastian leveled him a warning glare to drop the matter before even picking it up.

Ralph shook his head, gathering himself before he spoke again. "I am afraid there is little time for formalities." His gaze shifted to Virtue who was still engrossed in her book. "If we might... talk privately," he suggested. "I am afraid this is not a social call."

"Whatever it is you came to tell me, it can be said in front of my wife too." He smiled subtly at her, and she peeked up from the top of her book and returned it.

Ralph's jaw visibly tensed. "Oh, I really must insist."

"As must I." He fixed Ralph with an expression that warranted no argument. "Now, please, what is so important that has you sweeping up in here like a summer storm."

Ralph pressed his tongue into his lip, foot tapping, debating with himself what he was going to say. Or what he could say in front of Virtue. But then he came to a decision and exhaled sharply. "Fine. I was hoping to do this with more... tact but there simply is no time. It is Simon." He paused, giving Sebastian a look that instantly chilled him.

"Lord Wellington?" Virtue asked, concern creasing her brow as she put down her book. "Is he all right?"

"Wh—what of him?" Sebastian's voice caught, a knot forming in his throat.

"I just heard word from London..." The impatience was gone, replaced by deep melancholy—his chin trembling, eyes glistening. "He's… he's dead."

"Pray, let me come with you," Virtue pleaded as she hastened down the staircase after Sebastian. "Please! There is no reason that I cannot go."

"I have told you the reason," Sebastian called back over his shoulder, refusing to meet his wife's gaze for he knew that if he did, if he saw the despondency within, he might just cave in. "And that should be good enough."

"A reason given, but not one that makes any sense!"

"This is not a holiday, Virtue," Sebastian groaned as he hit the lower landing and started across the foyer. "The matter is grave. Perhaps graver than even I realize."

"All the more reason to let me come!"

"Your Grace!" Albion called out as he stepped through the front door. "The steed is saddled and awaits your departure."

"And my belongings?"

"A carriage with your possessions has already departed and should arrive before you reach London," the butler uttered in his practiced tone.

"Thank you, Albion."

"Sebastian!" Virtue's voice sharpened, a rare break in her usual decorum. "Will you look at me!"

Halfway across the foyer, Sebastian came to a sudden halt. His back stiffened as though he had been affronted in the thoroughfare, and slowly, he turned back to meet Virtue's gaze.

"Forgive me..." she grimaced when she saw the look on his face. "I did not mean to shout at you."

The day had been taxing. The somber news of his closest friend's mysterious demise, the hurried preparations for a journey to London to uncover the circumstances and hopefully retrieve the body, the flurry of packing, and the need to depart under the veil of night—it was all too overwhelming. All while trying to convince his bewildered wife that she could not join him on such a grave trip, due to the matter at hand.

It was no wonder that Virtue was frustrated with him. And where Sebastian could have very well chosen to be just as frustrated with her, when he turned and saw her visage—the worry and hurt that bespoke how she truly felt, that frustration melted like ice in summer.

"You do not need to apologize," he sighed, his earlier resolve softening as he looked upon her. "I understand that this is all... very sudden. You have every right to be frustrated."

"I'm not frustrated." She bridged the gap between them, taking his hands in hers and holding them with a gentle firmness. "I just… have a bad feeling. My heart dreads the thought of your departure. You have yet to even say how long you might be away."

"That is because I remain uncertain myself. Even Ralph knows little more than I do—I hope that our trip to London will reveal the finer details. But until I uncover what befell Simon, and how..." He sighed, lifting her hands to his lips and bestowing a tender kiss upon them. "I cannot offer you a timeline. I refuse to offer false promises."

"Then delay your departure until dawn," she tried, a hopeful note threading her voice. "Sunrise. Surely, you can wait that long?"

"You know that is not possible, Virtue. I have pledged to meet Ralph en route—he likely awaits me even now."

She pressed her lips together in a pout. "I shall miss you."

"I shall miss you more." His smile was as warm as he could make it, and strangely, he wished that he was not wearing his mask so she might see it in full. But he had put it back on for the trip, as there was no chance he would go to London without wearing it.

"You better," she returned with a sheepish grin.

"I will write you the moment I arrive," he assured her, kissing her knuckles again. "And every day thereafter."

"Good. And perhaps, if time permits, I shall indulge in reading them," she teased lightly.

Sebastian chuckled deeply and met her eyes. She needed to see how much he cared for her, and how painful this trip would be. And as he held that stare, a feeling rose inside of Sebastian that had been building for some time but was now so close to breaching that he could barely contain it.

It was no secret that he cared for Virtue. No secret either that his feelings for her were growing every single day. But what he realized in that instant, what became suddenly undeniable, was that he was beginning to love her. At least that was what he suspected the sensation fluttering in his stomach to mean. He had never experienced such a thing before, but that must have been it.

"I..." He half went to say it, the words catching on his tongue, for the thought of saying it out loud terrified him. "I..."

"Yes?" she perked up, leaning in as if expecting it.

"I... shall buy you a souvenir," he pivoted in a most cowardly manner. "In London. A gift fit for a queen, I think."

Disappointment flickered across her features, but she quickly veiled it. "You will?"

"It is nothing less than you deserve. As to what I shall purchase... you will have to wait and see."

She rolled her eyes only to drop her face into another pout. "I will miss you."

"And I, you." He leaned in and kissed her as fully as he could, a complicated task with the blasted mask on. Yet she met him eagerly, holding the moment, for they were both aware it would be their last for some while.

And when they reluctantly parted, again, Sebastian thought to tell her the truth, that he loved her, the words burning at the tip of his tongue. But again, the coward inside of him pushed that thought back. Later, it whispered. Upon your return. After you have had time apart to confirm if this love is fleeting or not.

Not that he harbored any real doubt, of course.

As Sebastian left the estate and kicked his heels into his mount, his thoughts weren't on London and his friend as they should have been, but very much back in his home, on his wife, already missing her even if only minutes had passed.

Yes, he loved her, he now knew. And what was more, deep down, he suspected that she loved him too.