Because he knew she was lost to him now. In fact, he’d known moments before when they’d sat in the judge’s chambers.
The marquess and I share concerns about Lady Croydon’s mental stability,Stansbury had said when Archie pressed about his earlier line of questioning.I intend to present evidence that she is experiencing lunacy and would be best served with admission to an asylum. Upon hearing her testimony—
Archie had interrupted, his blood pumping hot as Dr. Brunner’s and Nathan’s advice rang in his ears.The cruelty is not to her alone, but to her children, peers of the realm, including a future marquess. She will not take the stand, as her testimony is inconsequential.
He’d made Marigold irrelevant in her own divorce, silenced by his actions. But how else could he protect her, protect her children?
“Lord Torcross.” Archie’s voice broke as he met the gaze of the young man in question. His hazel eyes, so like his mother’s, held Archie’s with grim determination. “Please explain what you have seen of your father’s treatment of your mother.”
The courtroom held a preternatural silence, punctuated by the occasional sniff or snort from the marquess, as Reggie spoke, describing in a monotone how his father had demeaned his mother at any opportunity, how he’d threatened her hives and disparaged her intelligence. How she’d done everything she could to hide her children from his cruelty, to shelter them, to take the verbal blows for herself.
And while she never spoke an ill word of their father, Reggie and Matthew knew precisely what kind of man had sired him.
“Did your mother ever seem unwell to you?” Archie prompted, unable to glance at Marigold. “Excessive crying, keeping to her room, or the like?”
“No,” Reggie said; he was brave enough to look at the woman who’d raised him, far braver than Archie was. “My mother made us happy and still does, every day.”
Archie glanced at her then, saw the single tear rolling down her cheek, one she discreetly wiped away. His throat knotted. How he’d miss her, the smile he had to coax from her, her quick wit and bravery. The way she made his heart feel whole.
Later, he wouldn’t be able to recall what he’d said aside from thanking Reggie for his testimony, how he’d summarized his case in a closing statement. Words that he’d practiced so many times altered to center on the cost of the cruelty on the children. Cutting Mari out of the argument entirely.
When he sat, his knees trembling, she shifted away from him, her hands clenched in her lap in those impeccable kidskin gloves.
He’d never hold her hand again, never holdheragain.
Not after what he’d done. What he’d had to do to protect her.
His ears continued to ring, dulling whatever Stansbury said in his closing remarks, whatever insults and accusations he railed against the woman Archie loved, because he couldn’t feel any more, his grief too profound. He ached to hold her hand, to wrap himself around her, be her fortification while she was under attack, but she wanted none of it. Would accept nothing of him, he was certain.
When the judge called for a recess to consider the arguments, the air rushed from his lungs like he’d taken a punch to the abdomen, and he turned to her, reached for her—
But she’d already stood, walking around the table away from him to start towards her children.
“Mar—Lady Croydon,” he called, but his voice was a rasp, a desperate, futile plea.
She ignored him, taking Matthew’s hand and placing one hand on Reggie’s shoulder as their nanny led them out, away from him, away from the mess he’d created.
Chapter 33
Eachstepoutofthe courtroom required a herculean effort, every cell concentrating on the mechanics of lifting her foot and putting it down again and again, bringing her further from Archie. Her lungs screamed from restraining her cries, the pain of betrayal raining like broken glass, its shards slicing and scoring her flesh.
How could everything around her proceed as normal? Her understanding of right and wrong, action and consequence, had been tossed about and scattered to the four winds, and was completely unnoticed by the bustling crowds of London.
By the time she reached the street outside the courthouse, her defensive walls had snapped back into place, driving their fortifications into her bones until she no longer knew where she began or ended. She focused on the weight of Matthew’s hand clasped in hers, the sight of Reggie walking just ahead of her by the nanny’s side, her anchors in the storm.
“Lady Croydon! Stop,please!”
She did stop, because he sounded devastated,destroyed, but she couldn’t face him, not yet. She went on watching the carts and pedestrians rush along the strand, focused on the pulsing rays of the sun pressing into her skin.
Reggie stopped with her and appraised Archie before looking to her for guidance. To protect her. When had she become irrelevant in every aspect of her life, as a wife, a mother, a lover? But she summoned the presence of mind to offer her son a flat smile and nod, acknowledging the silent show of support from the boy—the young man—she’d always imagined would require her fiery protection.
When all he wanted was to protect her.
She could be strong in that moment, could burrow deep to find the last shreds of her bravery to give to Archie, to do what had to be done.
So she turned.
When she met his gaze, his chest heaved as though he’d finally remembered how to breathe and ithurt, perhaps as much as her heartbeat hurt her now. “May I speak with you in private?” Her lips parted but no sound came out, so she bobbed her chin, allowed him to lead her into the arched doorway of a vacant shop. “Please don’t be angry.”
