He dashed into the hall and through the rooms on the lower level of Edington House, calling for her. Given that the rooms on this level were many in number, this activity was no small feat. But he received no response. She was nowhere.
“Monty,” Catherine said, when he returned to the hall, “I think she has left. Her pelisse is gone.”
“Bollocks,” he swore. Before he left, he took one last look at the drawing room door. Even now, he wanted to storm in there and beat Leith until his face, known for its storybook handsomeness, was no longer recognizable. That he could hate someone so much in this moment—someone who he knew that, no matter what he had done, he still loved—disturbed him.
But it was more important to find Olivia. He dashed out the door, onto the street, and realized that she must have gone back to Bloomsbury. Having no idea what path she had taken, he resolved it was better to return there himself and wait for her at the townhouse.
And, so, that is what he did. When he entered the house, it was empty, but given that he had taken his carriage, it was not surprising to him. But then an hour passed and then another. He realized that she wasn’t coming. Terror pumped in his veins. It had been dark for hours. What if something had happened to her on the streets? Anywhere in London at night could be dangerous. Or, worse, what if she had fled from him again, leaving him? Where had she gone?
He saw now that he had erred. While no one could blame him for his anger at Leith, he had known that Olivia was worried about the reaction of his world to their nuptials, that she feared they could never be happy together because of the differences in their stations. That was why, in large part, he had orchestrated the dinner tonight. His friends would have done, he knew, anything that he asked of them, and he had wanted to show her that. To make clear that while, yes, there were people in his world that would object to their relationship, it didn’t matter. For her, he would tilt the world—he would reshape it for her comfort. His friends were part of that—he had meant to show his control over the very thing she feared. And, instead, it must have seemed to her a confirmation of her worst suspicions. That she would wreak havoc on the only life he had ever known. To see him fight with Leith like that—he understood why it would have alarmed her.
He was, of course, irate with his best friend. That Leith had watched him suffer all those years and said nothing…It was abominable. He was angry with himself, too, for not suspecting immediately, for being so benighted for so long. Of course, it made sense that Leith had done it, much more so than Astrid or Mr. Brownlow. Leith liked order. And there was nothing less orderly than his love for Olivia.
When it became clear that she wasn’t coming home, he became nearly frantic. Where could she have gone?
The Mappertons, answered a part of his mind that had kept, in his disquiet, some of his faculties.
Of course.
Throwing on his coat, he ran out the door. He rushed the two streets that separated the townhomes. When he saw the Mapperton door, he was flooded with relief. Yes, she had to be here.
He pounded on the door. Blessedly, he only had to wait a moment for it to open. Chassey, the Mapperton butler, stood before him. The man looked a bit nervous.
“Your lordship,” he bowed. “How may I help you?”
“I need Miss Watson. Is Miss Watson here?”
Chassey cut his eyes away from him. “At the moment, Miss Watson is not at home.”
Not at home.She was here, but she didn’t want to speak with him.
But why?
Damnation,he had really bollocksed up this situation. He sighed.
“May I come inside?”
“At this time, unfortunately, there is no one to receive you, my lord.”
Very well then. At least he knew she was safe. The man he had been a mere two months prior would have pushed past the butler. But he knew that the last thing that Olivia likely wanted to see at this moment was him raging at yet another person.
“May I speak to Mrs. Mapperton?”
Chassey seemed uncertain about this request.
“I can see if she would see you, my lord, but I hate to leave you waiting on the doorstep.”
“I can bear it,” he said, with a grimace.
The man shut the door. He waited, his heart pounding. After what felt like an eternity, the door opened and Eloisa Mapperton stood there.
“She won’t talk to me,” he said, flatly, with no preamble.
“Not right now,” Eloisa replied.
He thought of how similar this moment was to the first night he had seen Olivia at the opera. Once more, he was outside the house, begging for admission, begging to see her.
Only this time, instead of looking enraged, Eloisa looked rather sorry for him.
