Page 109 of His Forsaken Duchess
Thirty-Eight
“Well, that’s done,” Belleville said, his voice carrying a note of relief as he stepped into the entrance hall of Haremore House. “Though I must say, your Duchess deserves all the credit. That arrow of hers? Remarkable.”
Cedric allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his lips as he shrugged off his coat. “She was extraordinary,” he admitted quietly.
The thought of Audrey standing so boldly in the field, commanding the Bow Street Runners and ensuring justice was served, warmed something deep within him.
“I owe her more than I can say.”
“You do, indeed,” Belleville agreed, handing his coat to a waiting Astor. “And I hope you plan to tell her as much.”
Cedric’s expression softened as he glanced toward the staircase. “I will,” he said firmly.
“Well, that’s a relief,” Belleville said with a smirk. “I was beginning to think that I’d have to force you to grovel at her feet. And let’s be honest, Haremore, you’re not designed for groveling.”
Cedric shot him a pointed look, though a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “It won’t come to that.”
“Won’t it?” Belleville teased. “We’ll see.”
Cedric didn’t reply. His mind was already on Audrey—on the words he would say, on the apology he would offer, on the promises he would make to ensure she would never doubt him again. He turned to the butler, who had just stepped into the hall.
“Astor,” he said briskly. “Where is the Duchess?”
Astor hesitated, his expression momentarily flickering with unease before he schooled it into calm neutrality. “Her Grace has not returned, Your Grace.”
The words struck Cedric like a physical blow. He stared at the butler, his chest tightening with disbelief. “She hasn’t returned?” he repeated slowly.
“No, Your Grace,” Astor said carefully. “Her belongings were packed and sent to her parents’ home earlier today. She informed the staff that she intends to stay there for the foreseeable future.”
Cedric felt the air leave his lungs, Astor’s words settling heavily over him. He turned away, his gaze sweeping over the quiet, empty hall. The house felt colder, lifeless, as though her absence had drained it of its very soul.
Belleville stepped closer, his expression unusually serious. “She’s gone, then?”
“She left,” Cedric said, his voice low. He put a hand on the banister, his grip tightening as he struggled to process the full implications of her departure. “She didn’t wait for me.”
He looked up the staircase. Memories of Audrey flooded his mind—the way she had looked at him with quiet hope, the way her voice had trembled when she’d asked him to reconsider the duel, the way she had walked away when he’d given her no reason to stay.
“Do you love her?” Belleville asked
Cedric’s chest tightened, his breath catching as the answer swelled within him, unsaid but undeniable.
Yes. He loved her with a depth and intensity that terrified him. And now he had lost her.
Belleville’s voice broke through his thoughts, quieter now. “If you do, then you know what you have to do.”
Cedric inhaled deeply, and his mind was made up before Belleville had even finished speaking.
He would do something. He had to.
“Another one,” Lilianna said brightly as their mother entered the drawing room, holding a box and a letter.
Audrey glanced up, unsurprised. She had grown used to the steady stream of notes and gifts since leaving Haremore House five days ago. Cedric Hall, the Duke of Haremore, was determined if nothing else.
“This time,” Grace said, setting the box on the table, “he’s sent pastries. From that bakery you like so much, Audrey.”
Lilianna lifted the lid before Audrey could respond, peering inside with a delighted grin. “Tarts! He must have done his research. I hope he never stops trying if it means more of these.”
Clarise leaned over, examining the delicacies. “He does seem to have excellent taste,” she admitted, plucking one of the tarts with a conspiratorial look.
