Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Lydia had spent so many years in this house on her own. She was accustomed to being the only person responsible for the daily tasks and ensuring that everything ran smoothly. It was often a thankless job, but she was happy to do it. It was gratifying work. At least, that was how she had always felt before.

So, why was it now that she felt such a gaping void in the absence of the duke?

Was it truly so simple to grow accustomed to something new so quickly? It was easier to think that she had managed to fall into a new routine as opposed to thinking that she was growing more and more fond of the duke. Being there every morning, spending time with her and aiding in all the tasks required to run a house had brought her so much comfort that without him here to share the load… it was heavier now than it had ever been before.

A true partnership, something that she never would have allowed herself to admit that she wanted. The duke’s absence was so marked that every time she entered into an office or dining hall, she was half expecting to see him round the corner and make some pointed remark or another.

Even if he would just materialize for no other reason than to encroach upon her personal space, she certainly was not going to complain. He had such a remarkable way of blending responsibility and indulgence. Even the slightest touches that he managed to sneak were exhilarating. Poring over hours of ledgers was not nearly so taxing when Weston’s handsome face would linger so close to her own.

The passion she had kindled for him all these years has been stoked into a strong flame and she could not, and would not, extinguish it. To feel like a woman, properly desired, after all of these years?

It was unlike anything that she had ever hoped to feel with her husband. Weston ignited her all those years ago and she never forgot. Her heart fluttered at the thought that he never did, either. For nearly a decade, they had been thinking of one another without even realizing it.

Even now, standing there in her late husband’s office, she could not shake the ghost of Weston. So many miles away from her at present and yet she could not help but to feel as if he were still there with her. The memory of his hands, the way he spoke to her, sent a ripple of gooseflesh down her spine.

Slowly, Lydia trailed her arms over herself. Her touch was feather-light as she attempted to recreate that exciting feeling within herself. Her eyes slowly closed, feeling heavy within her own skin as she fell back onto the corner of the desk with a soft thump . Her breathing hitched as she replayed the way he spoke to her, the excitement that he had evoked.

If only they had not been interrupted by her lady’s maid that night all of those years ago, there was no telling what might have happened. She was constantly torn between wishing him to become carried away with himself and take those final steps with her, and her inbred sense of modesty and duty.

Though, if anyone was to shake her sense of modesty, it would only be him.

Perhaps she ought to make more of a move than she had been. Perhaps that would be the best course of action. No doubt he was only attempting to be as respectful as he was capable of being.

When he returned, she promised herself that first night she would make her move. Even if the prospect was somewhat intimidating. What was so wrong with finally wanting something for herself? Was it truly asking for that much to allow herself the pleasures that she had been dreaming about since she was eighteen?

He would not rebuke her. Would he? After all of the advances that had been made, it seemed impossible that he would refuse any advances that she might make. Weston had been making the hints and certainly did not mind kissing her.

Lydia’s skin heated. Tendrils of warmth sparked inside her, recalling exactly what it had felt like to have his lips on her skin. The intimate places that he had touched her… she wanted more. There was a craving for him that she did not think that she was ever going to be able to quench.

If for some reason the duke rebuked her—which she could not imagine that he would have cause to do—then at least she would have answers. They would be out of this insufferable limbo where she never got quite what she wished for. Her husband would wish for her happiness, that much she was certain of.

A knock on the cracked open office door nearly startled her out of her skin. Lydia’s hands snapped down from where they had been roaming over her body indecently and her heart jackhammered in her chest. She could hardly breathe normally for the way her head swam at neatly being discovered in a compromising position.

Her voice was fragile and awkward as she called out to the intruder. “Y-yes?”

“My lady!” The familiar voice of her steward rushed, sounding frantic enough that the daydreaming portion of Lydia’s brain shut right off.

She pushed up off of the desk and hurried to the door, hoping the flush of her skin was not noticeable.

“You must come quickly, there is an urgent visitor in the drawing room. Please, hurry.” The steward announced and Lydia allowed herself to quickly be escorted down from the office and down the stairs. Despite her very best efforts, her mind unhelpfully started to provide as many worst-case scenarios as she could possibly imagine in the short time it took to reach the drawing room.

That sinking feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach seemed to triple the moment that she saw the constable from the village standing in her drawing room. Her heart plummeted and her knees buckled. It was a mercy that her steward was there to catch her before she crumbled to the floor.

“My lady,” the constable nodded politely, and then started to fidget with his uniform. That meant that whatever he was going to say was going to make her feel even worse. Her lips pursed, Lydia was half tempted to beg him not to tell her whatever horrible news was about to pour of his mouth, but she felt frozen.

“There has been an accident.”

There were flashbacks to the news of her husband’s death all over again. The same hollow feeling of grief and hopelessness. She clung to her steward, who stood steadfast at her side. It meant more than she could verbally express.

“A-accident?” What sort of accident? Please, tell me quickly I cannot bear it.” Lydia stammered.

“We received a bandit attack earlier this morning, and when my men arrived at the road, we found an overturned carriage. One that we believe belongs to your patron, the Duke of Somerfield. The coat of arms on the doors matches that of our records, however--”

“And the duke? What of the occupant?” Lydia interrupted. She could lament about her rudeness another time.

“The carriage was abandoned, my lady.” The constable said somberly. “The duke is presumed missing.”

Lydia shook her head. It was not possible. She would not allow it. “Take me there.”

“The road is not safe at the moment, my lady. The bandits who must have attacked the carriage are clearly still at large. It would not be the proper place for a lady such as yourself to be.” The constable explained, but Lydia was having none of it.

“I did not ask for your opinion on my personal safety, sir, I told you to take me to the carriage.”

She needed to see it for herself. There was absolutely no way that she was going to be able to spend the next few days thinking that she could have possibly lost the duke all over again without seeing it for herself. She turned to her steward, steeling herself against the hollow ache that was spreading inside of her. “Reach out to the men in the village, take Lord Baxter with you to enlist the help of any who can spare the time and are of able body.”

“Yes, my lady.” The steward answered quickly, though he seemed rather reluctant to move away from her. Part of her was grateful, she certainly did not feel very stable on her feet at the moment, but there was far too much to do for her to stand here and focus on herself or her own comfort. She could not lose him again.

“I want a search party assembled at once. I shall find my sister, please have the governess stay with the girls. I do not wish them to leave the house until all of this is sorted out. But do not frighten them. I do not need them to worry.”

Lydia said as she felt herself start to slide into the familiar fix it mode that she was so used to operating within. She could fix this. Somehow. The duke could not be missing because there was no way that she could lose him again. She just needed to cling to that finally shred of hope, no matter what.

No matter how small the clue might be, she was going to find it.