Page 60 of Silence of Deceit
Tears now spilled forth, dampening her cheeks. “Now, stop that. You must rest. Tearing yourself down is not going to help you heal.”
He shook his head with a limp motion and slurred some his words as he said, “I want you to be happy. I want you to have the things I can’t ever give you. Maybe I was hasty in suggesting we think of a child…”
It was either exhaustion governing his tongue, or perhaps some of the remnants of the mercury treatment. Now wasn’t the time to have any sort of deep or serious conversation about their marriage. Or about the topic of adoption.
“We will sort things out in time, Philip,” she said, standing from the side of his bed. “But right now, you must get well. That is all that matters.”
She released his hand, which went to the mattress like a rock. He closed his eyes, and she took light steps back toward the sitting room and her attached boudoir.
“Your case,” he said, causing her to trip to a stop. She turned back toward him. “The investigation. What happened?”
There was too much to tell him, and he was half asleep as it was. She forced a grin, even as a lurch of worry over Hugh’s arm turned her stomach. “Solved. I will tell you everything in the morning.”
He nodded. “Good. You’re safe then?”
“I am.”
A moment later, his breathing became more rhythmic. Audrey left his room and crossed to her own, wishing Philiphadbeen holed up in an opium den these last few days.
She’d have preferred it to the truth.
* * *
At the firstblush of dawn, Audrey was still awake, her eyes burning and mind tumbling. Her footman had returned from Thornton House the previous evening with word that Hugh’s arm had been seen to, and that he was on the mend. She had grappled with whether to go to St. James’s Square herself or perhaps even to Bedford Street, but she had resisted. Barely.
Not knowing what had happened to Delia after she and Carrigan had collected Greer and hurried away from Mr. Starborough’s residence had plagued her throughout the night. Her mind jumped between thoughts of Hugh, to combing through all the signs she had missed regarding Delia, to Philip’s illness.
She checked in on the duke a handful of times, only to find him sleeping. Grayson sat vigil. Not needed, she returned to her room, only to pace the carpet. Finally, at dawn, she dressed and extended her restless pacing to the rest of the house. With the duke ill in his bed, it would be unseemly for her to quit the house and seek out Hugh—even Greer would disapprove. So, she remained, though she felt bound by the walls around her.
By late morning, Audrey sat at her desk, certain that Violet House had in fact been trapped in amber, which was slowly hardening and closing them off to the rest of the world for all time. Sunlight illuminated the dust motes drifting through the study’s silent air. The clock ticked steadily closer to noon. If there was no word by then, she would send a footman to Bedford Street. No, to Bow Street. That’s where he would be. Blast all the constables who would tease Hugh! She needed to know what had happened with Delia.
But perhaps he wasn’t there. He might be at his home, recovering from his wound. She lowered her hand to the desk and drummed her fingers against the wood. Needing to move, Audrey pushed herself up from the chair just as a knock landed on the study door. She froze and fixed a neutral expression upon her face. “Come in.”
Barton appeared within the threshold. “Officer Marsden from Bow Street is here, Your Grace. Are you at home?”
Audrey straightened, instantly released from a feeling of confined torment. “I am,” she said, her fervor utterly appalling.
Audrey turned her back to the door, not wanting Hugh to see her eager face as soon as he entered. She tried to regain some composure, but with the lack of sleep and stretched-thin patience, it eluded her. Her butler announced Hugh, and she reluctantly turned.
She bit her lip at the sight of him, his right arm tucked up into a sling. “Your arm—”
“It’s fine. Or at least it will be.” He winced as he flexed the fingers on his right hand. “Thornton says the blade sliced through some tendons and nerves, and nicked bone, but with rest, it should heal.”
A knot loosened in her stomach. “Thank goodness. When you fainted, I was afraid it was more serious.”
“I did not faint,” he said, his voice clipped.
She bit her lips together against a grin. “Of course not.”
He let out a long exhalation and tossed his hat onto a couch cushion. “Starborough is dead. He would have hanged for killing Esther, of course, but I think a hanging would have been a bit quicker.”
Audrey had seen Mr. Starborough’s slumped figure in the upstairs room, the vast amount of blood upon him. However, at the time, closing in on Delia without being heard or seen had been of more urgency.
The gunshot she’d heard from the carriage outside had kicked her into action, and though Carrigan had tried at first to bar her from entering the house, he had eventually given up. She’d grabbed one of the walking sticks from the urn near the unconscious maid in the entrance foyer and had immediately rushed upstairs. She’d barely drawn breath until after she’d swung the walking stick, cracking it against the back of Delia’s head.
“And what of Delia?” she inquired.
“She woke in her cell at Newgate.”
