Page 80 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“Of course you do, Peter.”
“I had the entirety of yesterday to discuss my father’s affairs with his solicitor. Everything is in place for me to succeed him as Duke when the time comes.”
He paused and rubbed his palms on his breeches
“Madeline,” he continued, “as much as I did not want to burden your father with my father’s suffering and my own troubles, neither did I want to burden him with the dilemma I am about to unfold. I love you. I believe I fell in love with you that night I came to visit you in secret at the house in the woods.”
She felt as if she might swoon. “Oh dear ...”
“I know you’re betrothed to Lord Oliver. And so I feel I must take my leave today and never return.”
“What?”
“I cannot come back here if I am to see you with another. I am not a jealous man. I am merely a man whose heart would shatter at the sight of his love in the arms of any other but him, for his own heart is where she belongs.”
“Lord Peter,” she said softly, “you are a dear, dear man—”
“Spare me any kind words,” he said. “I do not deserve them. I should not have sat you down here today to relate this. I do not even understand why I did so.”
“Perhaps it is because the heart will make known one way or another what it needs to make known.”
He nodded. “Perhaps. Still, I truly hope you will be happy with Lord Oliver. This is my wish for you.”
“Sometimes,” she said, “I’m not sure what it is I want.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
She rose and walked over to the fireplace. “Do you know, there was a time I was out with Mama and Papa on holiday. It was a lovely day, and we spent it in Yorkshire. You should have seen it, Peter. The sun splashed across the dales like it had been spilled from a glass. The air fresh and sweet. I do not know if I’ll ever know such bliss again. Can we ever re-attain the bliss of childhood days? It was getting late into the afternoon. The sun was dipping below the horizon. I don’t know what made me look at Mama, but I looked at her. She was beautiful. She had on a silk shawl that Papa had brought back from India. There was a chill in the air. I could see the gooseflesh on her lovely white shoulder. Papa put his arm around her. I watched his hand run over the gooseflesh. Without a word between them, he reached down and pulled the shawl up over it, then put his hand to hold it there. There was no acknowledgement of it. There was simply the fact of it. And I thought, how lovely it must be to have someone there to give you warmth when you need it, without pretence of marital sacrifice or servitude or any of the supposed platitudes they teach you to want in marriage. I want someone to feel my cold flesh and cover it.”
She caught herself in a reverie, and then jumped when she felt his hand on hers. He was standing beside her. He quickly removed his hand.
“I’m sorry, Lady Madeline. Forgive me.”
“There is nothing to be sorry for,” she said. “Except for the fact that I cannot give you what you want. I am engaged to be married.”
His face turned down. “There will be rough waters for me to sail in the coming weeks. Please understand that I cannot see you for a very long time, perhaps ever. Goodbye, Madeline.”
He turned and left.
Madeline sat back down on the settee. She hated herself. What lying devil inside her had convinced her that she should not desire that which Papa desired for her? Oh, she saw the glint in the old man’s eye. He wished he could call Peter ‘son’. She knew it. She slapped her leg in frustration and all at once broke down into tears.
Chapter 56
John Garret placed a heap of logs on the pile and wiped his brow on his sleeve. The midday sun was bright and warm, and he wanted nothing more than to lie upon the earth and feel the air blow across his face. But there was work to be done.
His ears pricked up at the distant rattle of a carriage. It was Lady Elizabeth. He knew that purposeful sound. Lady Elizabeth never did anything without purpose. This task at hand, this chopping wood for warmth they had no use for, belonged to her inclination. She had in mind a purpose for it. There would be no lying in the sun and the breeze for Lady Elizabeth. He often wondered how she would busy herself once she got everything she wanted. Say, for instance, she was to be bequeathed an estate and all its attendant wealth. What then? Would her mind be perennially occupied with thoughts for some day when there might be nothing? He’d got the impression that Lady Elizabeth would behave no differently, would never stop worrying about this or that, no matter what circumstances life bestowed upon her. Comfort would not be enjoyed because absence of comfort would soon be at hand. This was how Lady Elizabeth thought. This was how she lived her life. Was it worth anything at all?
The carriage was upon him. The woman was not alone. A girl rode beside her. He straightened up and felt a tinge of sorrow for the girl, for he knew what was in store for her.
She was a meek sort with yellow hair that ran in thin streaks across her head. Her face was taut and staring. Desperation had aged her features, though she could not have been more than twenty.
“Mr Garret,” said Lady Elizabeth, dismounting, “this is Selena. Come on down, child, we don’t bite or scratch.”
The girl climbed out of the carriage like a wild dog wary of a proffered mutton.
“We met in the publick house, didn’t we, child?”
“Yes, M’Lady.”
