Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she lingered by the windowsill, clinging to the slender thread of hope that he had heard her yell his name and would come running back to explain himself. But an hour passed by in what felt like minutes, and still, there was nothing.
Eventually, she returned to her bed, her mind swirling with doubt and fear. She recalled their agreement to separate after their marriage and wondered if Ethan was still adamant about going through with it, despite all the wonderful experiences they had created together over the past week. Was he purposely distancing himself from her before they were to part ways?
"Does he regret it already?" she murmured into the silence of her chamber.
Meredith lay back down as her heart grew heavy with sorrow. Her hands clutched the coverlet tightly around her frame, but its warmth could not chase away the chill of the imminent future she knew she was soon to be facing. A future of loneliness. The cold, empty space beside her only served as a stark reminder of that too.
But there was no point in spending the rest of her night wallowing in despair. It would only lead to overwrought nerves and spoil her final precious days at Penrose. Rising from her bed, she convinced herself that a visit to the library might do her some good. Perhaps even alleviate her silly concerns.
One hand firmly grasped a brass candlestick to her right, its delicate flame flickering in the soft breeze, while the other hand quivered slightly as she pushed open the heavy oak door of her bedchamber. She walked down the dimly lit hallway, her footsteps echoing deeply against the wood-paneled walls.
Upon turning a corner, however, an icy shiver raced down Meredith’s spine. A faint glow emitted from beneath the door to Ethan’s study and her curiosity piqued. She had seen him leave – there was no possible way he was still around. So why was it unlocked? Reaching closer to the door, she nudged it open and was met with a gust of fresh air from the unlatched window.
Ethan's study was a picture of chaotic haste, with parchment papers scattered about the mahogany escritoire, and quills carelessly tossed aside next to half-empty inkwells. She chose not to ponder it further, instead stepping deeper into the room, seeking to immerse herself in the lingering essence of him, a ghostly presence. She inhaled deeply as the pads of her fingers brushed against the soft upholstery of a velvet chaise longue.
Despite the cluttered mess, it wasn’t difficult to see there was an order for everything—opened correspondences lay on the left side of the escritoire, writing tools to the right side, and ledgers at the center, stacked with a paperweight to keep them in place.
What caught her eyes, however, was an open envelope resting on the edge of the writing desk, its wax seal broken. It contradicted the order of the others and stood out in comparison. She walked around the escritoire and sat on Ethan’s leather armchair, deeply curious about its contents. Perhaps it was the reason he had left so abruptly.
Within moments, she carefully removed the paper from its envelope, unfolding it as her eyes glazed over the neat handwriting. It was quite brief and it was addressed to Ethan. As Meredith began reading it, however, a subtle tension gripped her muscles and her breathing grew more pronounced.
The renovations of the Wiltonshire estate have been completed sooner than anticipated upon your insistence. There only remain a few minor issues, though they are of no real concern and will be taken care of today. I am confident that the estate's impeccable condition shall meet the esteemed purposes for which you have intended. The staff is filled with anticipation for the Duchess' arrival on the morrow.
Meredith stared at the letter in disbelief.
“Could he have…?” she asked herself, but stopped before completing her sentence.
No… He would have told me if he knew. He wouldn’t just leave like that when he knows that this will be my final day…
Her breath hitched in her throat, uncertain if she could even trust her own judgment. The wax seal was broken and so the envelope certainly had been opened. It lay on his desk and he had just been here. Despite her desperation to believe otherwise, all signs suggested he knew.
He had departed without so much as a farewell, vanishing into the night to avoid a difficult goodbye. Meredith collapsed back into Ethan's armchair, clutching the letter firmly against her bosom as tears began to stream down her cheeks. She had known this day would come, but she wasn't prepared for it to arrive so abruptly.
She hoped things had changed between them, but perhaps she had been wrong all along.
* * *
The grandfather clock approached eight in the morning and Ethan's gaze languidly turned to it. Six hours had passed, and he had made very little progress in his negotiations to purchase Hartley’s gambling den. He rubbed his eyes wearily, feeling the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him. The dimly lit room was filled with the scent of stale tobacco and the distant clink of glasses and laughter from the gambling tables outside.
Memories of the countless nights spent here with his late brother, Jeremiah, flooded his mind. In those days, the gambling den served as a sanctuary for the siblings, a place where they could escape the harsh realities of life and the cruelty of their father.
It was in this very place where Ethan had learned the art of gambling and forged connections with those who frequented it. As time passed, Hartley’s changed. The faces that once filled the room were now replaced with newer, unfamiliar ones. And with Jeremiah gone, the gambling den became a symbol of the past Ethan was desperate to hold on to, a connection to his childhood and whatonce was.
The thought of Hartley’s falling into disrepair or being taken over by someone like Lord Francis was unbearable to him. It was part of the reason he had married Meredith – to secure the funds necessary to keep the den from slipping away.
As the clock chimed eight, the door to the private room swung open to reveal Gerard Hatcher, the current proprietor of the gaming hell, accompanied by his man of business, Silas Ringsworth.
"Your Grace," Gerard began, "we have some news. It seems Lord Francis has failed to make an appearance. As such, we are prepared to accept your offer to purchase the gambling den outright."
Ethan's heart raced at the words and the prospect of finally owning the establishment that meant so much to him. “Are you certain? I would not wish for any misunderstandings to arise later on.”
“Quite certain. We've tarried long enough for Lord Francis, but he has failed to appear, and we believe it's time to move forward. Silas here has drawn up the necessary papers. We just need a few final details to finalize the sale,” Gerard reassured and Ethan nodded.
Silas, a thin man with a hawkish nose and keen eyes, produced a ledger and began to make notes. "Your Grace, the total sum required for the purchase of Hartley’s gambling den amounts to £45,000. You shall be required to make an initial payment of £15,000 within the next week, with the remaining amount due in twelve weeks' time. In the event that the balance is not paid within the agreed timeframe, the proprietorship of the gaming hell shall revert to Mr. Hatcher."
Ethan's jaw tightened as he contemplated the terms. It was a steep price, but he was willing to pay it to keep the den from falling into the wrong hands. He nodded in agreement. "Very well, I accept your terms gentlemen. I shall have the initial payment ready within the week."
“Excellent. We can discuss the particulars of the agreement and settle on the final terms then.”
