Page 66 of Taken to the Grave
Cassie had stood up, called him stupid, and then crossed the room to throw her arms around him. There, they’d remained in an embrace, and Audrey had seen herself out of the drawing room, letting them have their moment. Michael’s wish to protect Cassie, and to advise Audrey and protect her, wasn’t so unlike Hugh’s desire to do the same. It was driven by love, not a desirefor control. The difficult part was stepping back and admitting that love wasn’t about restriction. It was about loosening your grip and trusting that the other person would continue to hold on.
She’d climbed the stairs to her bedchamber, her legs heavy with exhaustion. After leaving Burdick Close, Audrey and Cassie had returned Gwendolyn Bertram to her home on Fitzroy Square. Sir Gabriel had given his word to her that he would do everything in his power to limit the mention of her name in regard to the case of the Sanctuary and Mr. Hammond Abbey. Should she be tied to any part of the scandal, it would be a death knell for her reputation. Audrey had only stayed long enough at the Bertram’s to inform Mr. and Mrs. Bertram of Sir Gabriel’s intent. She would let Gwendolyn explain the rest to them as she saw fit. On Audrey’s way out, however, Flora had followed her and thrown her arms around her waist. She’d hung on for just a moment before peeling her arms back, curtseying, and then running back to rejoin her sister.
If only Bethany Silas had received the same safe homecoming.Safe. Michael’s paramount concern did not seem so unreasonable when viewed in that perspective.
Greer had helped Audrey out of her clothes, gasping in alarm when seeing the bruises on her arm, inflicted when she’d been dragged around the Sanctuary. However, her bruises were nothing in comparison to what Lord Thornton had suffered.
As Audrey led Hugh through the halls of the large, rambling Burdick Close residence back toward where Thornton had been left tied in the chair, they’d come upon him. He had already been found and released by a few patrolmen. He’d looked ghastly with his bloodied nose and lips, eyes swollen and bruised, and he’d been cradling his left hand close to his chest.
“I should have taken the tunnel to the left and given you the right,” he’d said in greeting.
Hugh had shored him up with his shoulder, and they’d made their way to the front entrance. By then it was swarming with police, as well as with Carrigan and Cassie. Her sister-in-law’s eyes had blown wide at the sight of the physician, whose two fingers had indeed been broken by Abbey. But Thornton insisted it was because he’d insulted Abbey’s overuse of gold in his décor and that it had nothing at all to do with protecting Hugh.
“You bloody idiot,” Cassie had said. “You need a doctor.”
“Do you know of a good one?”
“No,” she’d replied, but Audrey had heard the wobble in her voice and seen the concern in her eyes as she’d tried to dab at Thornton’s split lip. He’d waved her off, insisting he was fine and that he only needed to return to his home so he could set his own fingers and clean up.
“He is infuriating,” Cassie had complained once they’d dropped Sir and Thornton at the coach field, from where Sir would drive him back to St. James’s Square in Hugh’s phaeton.
Audrey had long suspected her sister-in-law’s feelings toward Thornton went deeper than pure annoyance. It worried her. She liked Thornton immensely, and his devotion to Hugh spoke volumes to his good character. But he was at least ten years Cassie’s senior, and Hugh had made it clear that Thornton had not overcome the loss of his wife. He wasn’t capable of anything serious. Like Michael did, Audrey wanted to protect Cassie from men—even good ones—who might break her heart.
But she also knew she had little control over the matter. She could no more tell Cassie what to do than Michael could.
With a long sigh, she now settled further into the hot, jasmine-scented bathwater. It was so decadent that Audrey decided she would stay there until she became a prune. There was nothing to see to now. Nothing pressing to do. They’d been unable to bring Bethany home, but they’d saved Gwendolyn, and solved a handful of connected murders. She felt no pity for Mr.Comstock. He’d been a murderer himself, and he’d most likely been forced into an opium overdose—one of Abbey’s clean-up jobs, to protect himself and his secret society. A society that had given him a sense of power and authority. Her mind could have gone on all night, picking apart the potential reasons behind the society, why anyone would wish to be a member of such a thing. But it was all so twisted and dark, and she didn’t want to allow it to consume her.
“Your Grace?” Greer entered the boudoir, thankfully severing her thoughts. Audrey opened her eyes and sat up a little in the water. “This came for you earlier.” Her maid set a letter on the dressing table.
“Thank you, Greer.” When the maid continued to stand still, hesitating, she asked, “Is there something else?”
Her maid came forward. “There is something I would like to speak to you about, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, I don’t,” she said, though not without a twinge of worry. It sounded serious. “I’ll dry off and dress, and then you can tell me what it is.”
With regret, she abandoned the bath and stepped into a robe, and soon enough, Audrey was seated at her dressing table, with Greer toweling her hair.
“Why do I feel as if you’re about to give me some horrible news?” Audrey asked.
Greer stilled the towel. “Eamon has asked me to marry him.”
Audrey twisted in the chair, agape. “Eamon? Oh! Carrigan.” She grasped Greer’s hands, still holding the length of toweling, and beamed. “That’s not horrible news at all! I’m thrilled for you.”
One of Greer’s rare smiles cut through her worried expression. Though only for a moment. “I know everything will be changing soon, Your Grace. You’ll be leaving the duke’s household.”
Audrey nodded. “Yes, I will be.”
She thought of the home on Berkeley Square and Hugh’s proposal, and her heart skipped. They would be marrying soon. There was no need to post the banns either since he’d acquired the special license. With a jolt of excitement, she realized they could wed as soon astomorrow. Greer was right: she’d be leaving this room, Violet House, her life as dowager duchess. Everythingwouldbe changing. She rubbed her sore arm absentmindedly, her palm a little damp.
“Are you leaving service?” Audrey asked. “I imagine you’ll want to start a family with Carrigan—I mean, Eamon.” She felt wretched that she had not known Carrigan’s given name. That Greer’s last name was Babson was a distant memory too.
“Oh no, I’m much too old for that,” Greer said. “We both are.”
“Surely not.” She was in her early thirties, at the most.
But her maid shook her head tightly. “We’ve discussed it and agree. We’d like to stay on with you, Your Grace, if you and the viscount will allow it.”
Audrey stood. “I couldn’t imagine my life without you, Greer. Or without Carrigan. I know the viscount will feel the same. Of course, you will stay with me. You both will.”
