Page 26 of Fatal By Design
“I do have footmen who can guard the door.”
“Your footmen don’t have pistols,” Hugh replied, patting his coat at the hip. “Besides, I likely won’t sleep from here on out.”
Mrs. Anders appeared in the drawing room entrance in her sleeping cap and robe, asking if they’d like tea prepared, but Audrey declined and sent her back to bed. Alone again, she crossed to the table holding a tray of decanters and poured them both a finger of whisky.
“I likely won’t sleep now either,” she said, handing Hugh his glass.
He removed his coat and laid it over the arm of the sofa before sitting down. Audrey settled herself at the opposite end. Mrs. Anders had apparently already awoken a maid, Maggie, who now appeared and set about building a fire in the hearth. They sipped their whiskies in silence as the young woman, probably still half-asleep, worked. Audrey caught Hugh’s glances a few times across the stretch of silk cushion between them, his attention once drifting toward her bare feet. She had rushed downstairs in such a hurry, she’d forgone her slippers. Audrey raised her legs and tucked them underneath her, to which his lips curled into a sly grin before taking another sip.
“Thank you, Maggie,” Audrey said as the maid finished. She bobbed a curtsey and then left, likely eager to return to her bed.
“You know all your servants by name.” It was an observation, not a question.
“I’ve always tried to. The staff has been reduced this summer, of course. That makes the task simpler.” She smiled and swirled the whisky in her glass, the previous sip having left a pleasant heat in her chest.
“Basil is after me to hire a full staff and leave Bedford Street for Kensington Square.”
“Neatham House is yours now. And entailed, I presume?” Hugh nodded though he didn’t look especially pleased. He’d had plenty of time to take up residence, yet he hadn’t. “You don’t wish to live there?”
He leaned back into the corner of the sofa, visibly relaxing. “The place doesn’t hold the fondest memories. I never felt as though I belonged there. No, I would rather lease it and stay on Bedford Street for now.”
She could understand. “I’ve never felt as if I belonged here, either. Or even at Violet House.”
The lift of his chin showed his interest in the statement, and she wished she’d held her tongue. She’d never told anyone that. Not even Philip.
“Why?”
The contents of her whisky glass were low, her limbs loosening. The flames in the hearth cast the room in changeable firelight as she considered her answer.
“I think it is because our marriage was a sham.” She kept her voice soft on the off-chance Verly had placed a footman in the foyer, to be easily summoned. “And I felt like a sham of a duchess.”
The corner of Hugh’s mouth twitched, but his expression remained flat. He knew the truth of their marriage. That it had never been consummated, and why. That should not have kept Audrey from feeling like the lady of the house—she’d told herself that countless times. And yet, it had. It still did.
“I feel as if I tricked my way into this position, and I can’t help but now feel like a burden to the staff.”
Instead of telling her that she was wrong to feel as she did, he said, “You plan to move out, then?”
“There is a dower house here, and in London, Michael and Genie will certainly want to move into Violet House before winter…” She left off and shrugged a shoulder. “I suppose I don’t have many options left to me.”
She felt suspended in time. Waiting.
A knob formed in her throat, and quickly, Audrey drank the rest of her whisky.
“He is with someone?” Hugh asked after a few moments of quiet. She knew who he referred to.
Her throat was too cinched to speak Mr. Frederick Walker’s name, but she confirmed with a nod.
“What happens when he decides it is over? When he deigns it time to come back?” Hugh was only voicing what Audrey herself had pondered when Philip first told her his plan. But since then, her fear had subsided. For logical reasons, too.
“He won’t,” she replied softly. “Hecan’t. He would face charges of fraud for falsifying his death, he’d destroy the Fournier name. It would be beyond cruel of him to turn up again after letting his brothers and sister believe he is dead. He isn’t cruel—”
“How can you defend him?” Hugh cut in. “He was cruel to put this on your shoulders, to leave you to play the part of widow and to uphold his lie. If you dare speak the truth,youchoose to injure Michael and Cassie and Tobias,youchoose to destroy the family name. You are the one who will be ruined, not Philip. Yet, he didn’t care, did he?”
Even as his scathing words battered her, they were familiar. He was saying nothing that she had not already thought to herself in the many moments of deep frustration since Philip’s departure.
And yet, she still loved him, his flaws and all. They were both responsible for their decision to marry. At the time, it had been a genius idea. Audrey would not have to marry Lord Bainbury, twice her age and arranged by her detestable uncle. And Philip would have a wife who knew his truth and would never ask for what he could not give. The possibility of taking lovers had been agreed upon. But their arrangement had been imperfect; they had not taken into account what they would do if they each one day fell in love, rather than just lust.
“You don’t know him as I do. He does care,” Audrey said. “He made me a vow. He will never return and put my new life in jeopardy, and I trust him. I know you do not, butI do. I also know he believed he was doing the only thing he could to give us each a chance at happiness.”
