Page 85 of The Scarred Duke's Bride
Freya nodded, quite happy with that plan. Then William came running back and reported that Eric had said that they should go ahead, he would find his own way home.
“Oh, well, then tell him to come to St. John’s Wood; that’s where we’ll all be,” Mama Campbell instructed William, whose face lit up at the news. He skipped back into the solicitor’s office, and he was back within minutes.
“I couldn’t go back into the solicitor’s office, but I left a message with his secretary,” he said.
“Good enough. We’ll leave another message at the house in case he doesn’t get that one,” Mama Campbell decided.
Freya was quite content to let Mama Campbell do all the planning. She was wrung out, tired, and happy to relinquish control to someone else. They drove in silence to the house, and then Freya and Isabella went to pack a few clothes. She was curious to visit Eric’s childhood home. Although they had gone for dinner for the wedding, she had been way too angry to notice anything about the place. She put her hand on her belly. “We are off to visit your grandmother’s house,” she said with a soft smile. “I’m glad you have a grandmother —one who is kind and will love you unconditionally.”
A wave of wistfulness overtook her as she wondered how her own mother might have been as a grandmother.Well…it’s not as if I’ll ever know now.
Picking up her bag, she left the room, determined to use her time at St. John’s Wood to really rest and recover from everything. There would be time to think about what’s next later.
I do hope that Eric still wants to continue living at Stark Manor.She thought wistfully of her rose garden, the only legacy remaining from her mother. She would do anything to preserve it and leave it to her own children.
William, Mama Campbell, and Isabella were waiting downstairs. She joined them with a smile, and they all took off for the Campbell house. William was chattering excitedly to Isabella about all the things that they could do once they were there.
“I know you’re feeling sad right now, but there are apple trees in bloom, and if we pick some, then Mrs. Burberry will make us apple pies. You like apple pies, don’t you?” he asked earnestly.
She sniffed and nodded. “Mrs. Beecham used to make us those.”
“Well, I can promise you that nobody makes better apple pies than Mrs. Burberry. You’ll enjoy them; you’ll see.”
Isabella sniffed again, seeming to accept William’s word on the matter. She put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Freya swallowed the lump in her throat, heartbroken at Isabella’s misery, and knowing there was not much she could do about it. She was so grateful for William. If anyone could cheer Isabella up, it was him. She gave him a grateful look as he continued to point out interesting things along the streets they passed with no expectation that Isabella would respond. Freya closed her own eyes, lulled into peaceful slumber by his steady soothing voice.
ChapterThirty-Two
Eric came out of the meeting with the solicitor, his head spinning with facts and figures. He had signed so many documents, he felt a cramp in his hand. But now, everything was squared away. He was the new Duke of Riverhead with everything that entailed. It felt strange—he had thought he would be happy, but all he could feel was that distant sort of quiet terror at the amount of responsibility he would take on.
Nevertheless, it was better than the confusion that he felt in regard to Freya. He was out of excuses, but it broke his heart that he could not give her the one thing she had wanted—Stark Manor. The only thing that consoled him was that the language of the will did not specify that he had to be the father of the baby who inherited the mansion. He felt that was an important distinction. Freya still had the opportunity to gain ownership of the property.
But that meant he would have to let her go.
He flagged down a hansom cab. “St. John’s Wood please.”
If he was going to do this thing, it was best to do it quickly. He could already feel his heart breaking, but he was determined to do the honorable thing.
They arrived at the Campbell house, and after he had paid his coachman, he walked slowly inside. He could hear the loud conversation happening in the direction of the kitchen. If he was not mistaken, his brother was in the process of trying to persuade the cook that apple pie would do quite well for dinner.
Eric smiled shaking his head. He was quite sure Mrs. Burberry could handle William quite well on her own, so he claimed the stairs to his room, wondering if Freya was there or if she chose another chamber.
He found her sleeping in her petticoat, her black bombazine gown discarded on the chair, her veil hanging precariously from the arm. He leaned against the wall, smiling as he looked at her. Even in her exhaustion, she still seemed to be glowing. He crossed over to his drawer, looking for the silver flask of whiskey that he had left there from his last time ashore.
He gave a quiet yell of triumph when he found it, opening it and downing a huge gulp of the liquid. He closed the cap and put it down on the table before turning to look at Freya. Somehow, he was not surprised to see that she was awake and looking at him. He smiled tentatively. “Good afternoon. I see you have made yourself at home.”
She sat up; her chestnut hair brushed against her arm. “Why wouldn’t I?” Her voice was raspy with sleep.
He shrugged. “I would not have thought you would want to make yourself at home in this place. After all, it is notyourhome.”
She frowned. “You are my husband. Your home is mine.”
He walked slowly and sat on the bed, looking down at his hands to avoid seeing her eyes. “You do not need to say that,” he said quietly. “We once agreed that we would separate once your father died. I have not forgotten.”
Her frown deepened. “But… things have changed since then.Wehave changed.”
He snorted derisively. “Have we? Are you saying you want to be married to me now?”
“Yes.”
