Page 107 of Duke of Iron
Embarrassment flooded her, and she stood so quickly the chair skidded back. “It is a good thing, then, that I am not your problem anymore.” She turned on her heel.
“May,” he called, but she was already at the door.
She paused with her hand on the latch. “Do not follow me. If you wish to be left in peace, you have it.”
He started to rise, then thought better of it. “I only wanted?—”
“You do not know what you want,” she said, not turning. “But I do.”
She closed the door behind her. Logan was relieved that she was not with child, and all of her earlier fears had been confirmed. Not only was she a fool, but an unwanted one.
“Bexley!” Logan bellowed.
Logan had told himself it was only a bad patch, the sort every marriage endured. He told himself she was not punishing him and would return to her own self after a proper interval. He told himself many things, all of them plausible, none of them true.
What he could not explain was the sound of her absence. It echoed through the house, unsettling the servants and causing the clock in the front hall to run five minutes slower, as if time itself had lost its footing. Logan tried to work, but hispenmanship drifted on the page; he tried to read, but the words rebuffed him.
On the third day, he snapped and summoned Bexley. When the butler arrived, Logan gave him a look that had wilted many a lesser man. “Where is my Duchess?”
Bexley swallowed. “Her Grace is not at home, sir.”
“Where is she?” Logan ground his teeth.
“I believe she is visiting Hyde Park with the infant, Your Grace. Miss Hall and Miss Abbot accompanied her.”
He resisted the urge to throttle something. “Did she say when she would return?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“Thank you, Bexley. That will be all.” He dismissed the butler, then slumped into the nearest chair and tried to convince himself he was not angry, but merely disappointed.
Why do you care?he asked himself.You have always valued your privacy and time. You married for duty, not for this—this endless ache when she is not around.
He realized, with some disgust, that he had begun to look forward to her intrusions—the way she hovered in the doorwaywith her spectacles slipping down her nose, her mouth opening and closing as if she was debating the merits of speaking at all.
He missed the way she corrected his Latin under her breath, or the way she smuggled cake from the kitchen and left crumbs on the ledgers. He missed her with the desperation of a starving man.
Logan waited. At half-past three, the footman announced, “Her Grace has returned.” He did not go to meet her but remained as he was for a full ten minutes, then made his way to the nursery.
He found May in the rocker, cradling Rydal, her head bowed so that her hair obscured her face. She did not look up when he entered. Logan stood in the doorway.
“Was the park pleasant?” he asked.
She started, then composed herself. “Very pleasant. The ducks are in high spirits. Rydal nearly leapt from the carriage trying to join them.”
“Ducks are overvalued,” he said, but it did not come out as lightly as he intended.
May stared at the baby. “They are very loud, but they know exactly what they want.”
That sounded like a jibe intended for him. He crossed the room and leaned against the window frame. “Do you?”
She glanced at him. “I think I do.”
“May, I want to apologize for the other day. I was… not myself.”
She set her jaw, but did not reply.
“I did not mean to insult you. Nor did I mean to dismiss your concerns. I am not—” He stopped.
