Chapter 33

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

L ionel swirled a glass of brandy, though he had no taste for the liquor. In truth, he did not know why he had come to the gentlemen’s club at all when he was in no mood for the company of others. Just the chatter of other clientele made him bristle, for it was quiet that he craved, but there was no quiet to be found when his mind was so very loud.

“There you are!” a voice called, snapping Lionel’s dazed eyes up.

He blinked again as three figures made their way through the smoky haze of the gentlemen’s club toward him. As he was not wearing his spectacles, Lionel was never quite certain if he could trust his eyes, but it did seem to be his friends: Duncan Lock, Edmund Connolly, and Vincent Wilds.

“I did not realize anyone was trying to find me,” Lionel remarked flatly, sitting back in his chair.

Edmund smiled. “You have your grandmother to thank for that.”

Vincent nodded, taking the seat closest to Lionel. “She sent messengers, informing us that you had gone to London and might be in need of your friends.”

“So, what is all of this about?” Duncan plopped down in the chair opposite, summoning the waiter to order brandy for all of them.

“Your grandmother did not give many details,” Vincent agreed. “But when someone sends a messenger, you know it is serious enough to take action at once.”

Lionel frowned down at his own glass of brandy for a moment, uncertain of whether to be grateful for the company of his friends or annoyed by their presence. Beneath that, he felt a current of guilt for worrying his grandmother enough that she would send out messengers to the three gentlemen. He had not realized she knew there was anything amiss, though he supposed he should have known that he would not be able to pull the wool over her eyes.

“I visited with the archbishop.” Lionel drew the papers from his waistcoat. “All I have to do is sign them, and I will no longer be married.”

Duncan made a low whistle. “What happened?”

“She asked for a divorce.” Lionel shrugged. “I did not feel like I could refuse, though… it is not what I want. She will be at the mercy of society, and they are bloodthirsty vultures.”

Vincent pulled a disapproving face. “If it is not what you want, then why on earth would you go through with it? Talk to her. I am sure that you can make her see sense. Indeed, your situation cannot be so bad, can it?”

Lionel stared at the wretched divorce papers, annoyed that the archbishop had agreed to it so swiftly. He had come to London and made the request a few days ago, still hoping that it would be rejected. He had known a few gentlemen who had sought divorces, only to have them refused. But, of course, the archbishop had been only too happy to consent to the wishes of one of the wealthiest men in England.

“She told me she loved me, and I told her I did not,” he said thickly. “I tried to persuade her not to request a divorce, that a separation would be enough, but she insisted.”

Duncan pulled a face. “Goodness… that is somewhat brutal.” He hesitated. “But, if I may, it did not seem like you held no affection for her when you were together at my winter ball.”

“That is the trouble,” Lionel said quietly, expelling a strained breath. “I do love her, but I cannot love her. It would be selfish and fruitless, causing her far more pain later than she is experiencing now.”

Vincent gasped softly, his expression regretful. “You have not told her about the ‘curse’…”

“No, I have not.” Lionel took a small sip of the brandy to ease the dryness in his throat. “I could not. She is not the sort of woman who would hear that and change her mind about loving me. I sensed that from the moment I began to have feelings for her. So, I needed to be the villain, for her sake. I needed to make her hate me, and that is what I believe I have done.”

Leaning back in his chair, Duncan clicked his tongue. “You are an idiot, Lionel. I hate to be so rude, but you are.”

“Not an idiot,” Vincent interjected, “but certainly a little foolish. You do not know that this ‘curse’ will affect you. When you told us about it, you even pointed out that there were occasional exceptions. You cannot predict that you will not be one of them, too.”

“I cannot predict it either way, but if you were offered a bowl of strawberries and someone told you that one was filled with arsenic, you would behave as if all of them were filled with arsenic, would you not?” Lionel argued.

Duncan tipped forward on his chair again, as the waiter arrived with the brandies. “Whether your life is short or long, you deserve to live it with everything you have. Indeed, the fair thing to do would be to give your wife the choice about what to do, knowing all of the information. If, after you told her, she wanted a divorce, then that is one thing. But you have not allowed her to decide for herself.”

“You will not convince me that I have done the wrong thing,” Lionel said, taking a bigger sip of his drink. “Yes, I did not give her the opportunity to decide for herself, but that is because I do not believe she would be able to make a sensible decision. When you love someone, you convince yourself that your love will be enough to defeat fate. She would stay with me, certain that no harm would befall me, until it does, and she is left bereft.”

Duncan rolled his eyes. “And I say that you make the most of the life that you do have together. Have ten children, spoil them, revel in life because it is fleeting—do not deny yourself because you are afraid of events or feelings that have not happened yet.”

You do not understand. Until you have been in my position, with an axe constantly hanging over you, you could not possibly.

Lionel noticed that Edmund had been uncharacteristically quiet, listening to everything with a pensive expression upon his face.

“What is your opinion, Edmund?” Lionel asked outright.

Edmund chewed his lower lip, one eye creasing as if he did not know if he should reply or not. “I heard something this morning,” he said, a moment later. “It made no sense to me at the time, but it does now.”

“What did you hear?” Lionel frowned.

“A servant came to the house to speak with Isolde,” Edmund replied hesitantly. “I overheard that servant telling Isolde that her mistress would be leaving for the Americas on the evening tide, and that if she wished to say farewell, she should do so today. When I went into my wife’s bedchamber, she was crying. I asked her what was wrong, but she said she would tell me later. I did not think—though I feel foolish now—that it might pertain to Amelia. I assumed she was still at Westyork.”

Lionel gaped at his friend, understanding why he had been so silent. Edmund had been piecing things together—things that struck panic into the very heart of Lionel.

“She is leaving for the Americas this evening?” he wheezed.

Edmund nodded. “If it is her, which I am almost sure it is, then yes.”

“Do you know where she is? Do you know where the servant came from? Were they familiar to you?” The questions rattled out of Lionel as his panic rose higher and higher.

Edmund shook his head. “I did not see her, but one would assume that Amelia is either at your townhouse or at her father’s.”

Lionel had spent the past few days at a friend’s apartments, not wanting to disturb Amelia until he had the divorce papers in hand. He, too, had assumed that she was at the Barnet townhouse; he had never suspected that she might actually return to her father.

“If you will excuse me,” he said abruptly, leaping to his feet. “I must find her. I must…”

He did not finish the sentence, already darting off, for if his wife was leaving for distant shores on the evening tide, then he was running out of time. There was not a second to waste.

But is this not what you wanted? Was this not the objective? his mind whispered as he ran out of the gentlemen’s club and jumped into his carriage, calling to the driver that he needed to visit his townhouse and that of Francis Thorne.

As he sat back, panting hard, shoving the divorce papers back into his waistcoat, he murmured to himself, “There is a difference between distance and distance .”

He would not ask her to stay married, he would not ask her to return to Westyork with him, but he could not bear the notion of her leaving England without saying farewell. He would not forgive himself if he did not say goodbye, for it might be his last opportunity to do so.

At the very least, she would need the divorce papers before she departed, so she could begin her new life with no ties remaining in the old one.

The carriage jarred to a halt outside the Mayfair townhouse, though Lionel did not wait for it to come to a full standstill before he was out of the door and running up the porch steps. His leg jolted and ached, but he did not care.

He burst through the front door, startling Mr. Phipps who appeared to be in the midst of stealing away two large valises. He stopped guiltily, staring at Lionel with wide eyes.

“Apologies, My Lord,” the butler said in a tight voice. “I hoped to delay her until you arrived. I assumed you would come.”

Lionel’s heart sank at the sight of the luggage. “Leave them where they are. This is my wife’s decision. No one is to meddle.”

The butler set the valises down. “Of course, My Lord.”

At that moment, the sound of voices drifted down the stairwell that curved to the upper floors. Angry voices, one of which immediately made Lionel’s hackles rise.

“Who is here?” Lionel demanded to know.

The butler paled again. “Her Ladyship’s brother, My Lord. He arrived unannounced and when I tried to send him away, he pushed past me. Her Ladyship eventually permitted him to speak with her, but… I am somewhat concerned for her.”

“Then why have you not interrupted? Goodness, if your mistress is in danger, then you act!” Lionel growled, sprinting forward.

He took the steps two at a time, hurtling down the hallway, opening every door as he ran along. They had not spent any time at the townhouse together, so no chamber had been assigned to her, and as the voices had gone eerily silent, he had no indication of where she might be.

At the very last door, he halted and leaned forward to listen through the solid wood. Those angry voices had quietened to hissing whispers, as if they knew that Lionel might have heard.

“You have destroyed our father,” Martin spat. “It would have been for the best if you had died in our mother’s stead. You have caused nothing but trouble, and now you think you can just leave without bearing any responsibility for your actions? You are mistaken, Amelia. I shall drag you back to our townhouse if I must.”

Lionel pushed through the door, bristling with fury. He had warned Martin once about speaking like that to his wife; he would not do so again.

Martin’s eyes flew wide as he looked upon Lionel, scuttling backward, away from Amelia, like the rat that he was. “ Finally, he arrives to talk some sense into his wife! Have you heard that she is setting sail for the Americas this evening?”

“I have,” Lionel replied calmly, his gaze drifting toward Amelia.

She was in the midst of packing books into a smaller valise, each volume stolen from the townhouse library. He considered mentioning that, but until he signed the divorce papers and gave them to her, the books were still technically hers too. And he would not miss those books, though he would miss her.

Goodness, I shall miss you… He had thought that he would be able to control himself if he saw her again, but the truth could not have been more opposite. She looked so beautiful, so perfect, that he had to put his arms behind his back to resist rushing forward to embrace her, to pull her close, to kiss her.

Just then, he noticed something on her wrist. A dark bruise that formed an unseemly bracelet across her pale, smooth skin. Glancing back up to her face, he realized that what he had thought was her usual flush of pink was not that at all—only one side was red, as if she had been struck.

He walked up to her, gently taking hold of her hand, inspecting the bruise more closely. “Who did this to you?” he growled, as his other hand lifted to her cheek, touching it tenderly. “Who has hurt you?”

He suspected the culprit was in the room with them, but he would hear her say it before he beat the wretch black and blue.