Page 60 of His Abandoned Duchess

Chapter Twenty-Six

Richard had made it to the edge of town when he’d asked the driver to change course.

“Your Grace?” The tiger called down, and Richard sighed.

“Yes, I am quite aware this is a change of plans. Please, see to it.”

His tone was sharp, but Richard was convicted. He simply could not go to Blackford.

Instead of progressing to his country home, Richard directed the coach to take him to his London manor. He could not explain why he’d changed his mind and instead wanted to spend the day in the London house. He rarely remained there unless there was a call for it.

Still, if he was quite honest with himself, which was becoming increasingly painful, he knew precisely why he had been unable to go beyond the city limits.

“You are a fool, Richard,” he mumbled to himself, letting out a long exhale as he stepped down from the coach to go inside the stone building.

As he entered, the staff greeted him politely, containing their surprise, and he told them in no unclear terms that he would be in the study and not to be disturbed. Richard wished to sit alone at the desk in the London manor’s room, alone with only his dreadful thoughts.

He proceeded directly to the study from the front entrance and, once he arrived, shut himself up behind the thick wooded doors. The room was quiet, and he crossed the space, pulling off the protective sheets over the sofa and desk. Richard let them fall to the floor, blowing through the air to disperse some of the lingering dust.

The place was otherwise clean, though sparsely furnished, and he gazed around the nearly empty space. The shelves held a few of the books of which he had multiple copies and a smattering of old knick-knacks that his father had never wanted in Heartwick or Blackford. Predominantly items that had belonged to his mother before her passing, they decorated the home with homages to her love of plants.

Display china with vines painted on it, an ornate table clock that looked to be held aloft on three legs made from leaves, and several wood-carved statues of deer and birds. His chest pinched, and Richard fought against the memory of Amelia's similar appreciation for greenery.

At least she shall have the gardens and hedge to adore in my absence. It will give her a comfort I could not provide. And the new conservatory…

It was strange to see the items after all this time, and Richard could not help himself from wondering why his father had been so adamant about them being taken away. Why would he not wish to remember his wife? Still, the conundrum most profound was how that man was capable of having a wife he so loved at all.

Love was not an emotion he associated with his father. Still, the man held something within him for his wife. For if he did not, he would not have been so crushed at her passing.

Richard took down a tome from the shelf, choosing to pass the time before supper with reading so as to distract his thoughts from what continued to plague him. He was not sure how much time passed doing so, the only clue how many chapters he had finished, when there came a knock at his door.

“Yes?” he called out. “What is it?”

A servant who remained in the London manor to uphold the space entered. She was a more petite woman, her hair speckled with gray, and she bowed her head before stepping over the threshold.

“Your Grace, there is a Jane Beerling here to see you. She says that it is most urgent.”

Richard stiffened in his seat, pulling himself up taller as his brow ducked down over his eyes.

“Amelia’s maid is here?” Confusion and curiosity swelled up like a bubble beneath the water until it rose to the surface and popped, exploding concern all over him. “Show her in.”

It was not long before the housemaid returned with Jane in tow. Richard stood up, coming around the desk toward the older woman. She shivered despite the warmth around her, and her eyes were in a wide set that blinked only sparsely.

“Jane, you look terribly shaken. What have you come to see me for?”

The kind woman, who Richard knew Amelia looked on with no shortage of affection, stepped closer. Between her hands was a handkerchief that was crumpled in numerous wrinkles as she wrung it tightly.

“It is Amelia, Your Grace. I…” Richard continued to study the woman, stepping closer and seeing the dampness that clung to her face and the delicate fabric of her handkerchief; she had been crying. “I do not know what has become of her. She requested time alone in the gardens, but when she had not returned after a time, I sent the groundskeeper and gardeners to search for her. They…they returned with nothing, Your Grace.”

His stomach dropped clean through the earth, and Richard felt the massive rush of his pulse through his face and head. Amelia was…missing?

“Be clear, Jane. You are saying that the Duchess cannot be found?”

She nodded, the tears starting up again, and she nearly crumpled to the floor were it not for Richard hurrying forward and catching her by the elbows.

“No, Your Grace. I have not seen her. No one has. But there is worse news. When the gardeners returned to the estate from combing the ground, they mentioned that they caught a glimpse of someone moving through a broken section of the hedge.”

“They saw someone? What did this person look like?” Richard was frantic, his grip on Jane’s arms a hair tighter than it should have been. He fought to restrain himself, but with every passing moment, he was flooded with greater and greater amounts of panic.

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