Wherever that was. The precise place did not matter, though. Bridget being somewhere safe with her brother was good. It meant that she was still angry, but she would also be safe.
“I would assume she is with him,” the butler said.
Lewis nodded. “Good. I am glad. If…if she returns here, ask Bridget to send word to me.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Lewis gave a strained smile, his face burning with mortification. What respectable man lost his wife and had to admit to not knowing where she was? He trudged back to the waiting coach.
“Where do you wish to go, Your Grace?” the footman asked.
Where, indeed?
A sense of urgency rose within him, and he briefly entertained the idea of tearing apart London to find her. However, he had no idea if she was eveninLondon, much less where she might be instead. Elias was the Duke of Reeds and owned numerous properties throughout Britain. He might have gone anywhere with Bridget.
“I will go home,” he said.
Lewis wasn’t eager to go back to his townhouse and sit in the dark, anticipating news from Bridget, yet it was already too late to see Morington. He didn’t even think about visiting his grandmother, knowing she’d be beside herself if she wasn’t certain of Bridget’s whereabouts.
Lewis climbed into the coach and pressed his forehead against the window. Once the footman closed the door, Lewis let himself slump against the seats.
“Where have you gone, Bridget?” he muttered.
London was dark, except for the few places lit by the lamps. As the coach moved on, Lewis found himself watching those pools of light in the vain hope that Bridget might appear. If she was with Elias, Bridget would not be wandering the streets at night. They would be traveling by coach, just as he was.
Too soon, the coach came to an abrupt halt. Lewis hoped he did not look as pathetic as he felt, but his reflection in the window was not especially encouraging.
The door opened, and the footman bowed. “Your Grace, we have arrived.”
Lewis stepped from the carriage, grimacing as he beheld his townhouse. Even his home seemed less bright without Bridget’s presence. He trudged to the doorway, his nerves fraying. Lewis was as a man possessed, filled to the brim with a new and strange energy the made all his senses come alive.
St. Clair opened the door and bowed. “Welcome home, Your Grace.” The butler’s eyes darted over Lewis’s shoulder, as if he was searching for something, or someone.
“I trust that Her Grace has not returned in my absence,” Lewis said.
“She has not, Your Grace.”
Lewis sighed. “I see.”
He stormed across the foyer. St. Clair cleared his throat and brought Lewis to an abrupt halt. “Is there something you wish to say to me?” Lewis asked.
“It is not my place to ask, Your Grace,” he said.
“Then, maybe you should not say what you are thinking.”
A beat of silence followed. Lewis did not turn to look at the butler, but he hardly needed to. He could sense well enough that St. Clair’s eyes were fixed upon him. If Lewis turned around, he imagined he would receive a disappointed stare.
“Go ahead,” Lewis said. “What are you thinking?”
“Some of the staff have expressed concern over the duchess,” St. Clair said. “Is she well, Your Grace?”
Lewis sighed deeply. His shoulders slumped, and he curled his hand over the banister to keep himself steady. He wondered vaguely if this was how his grandmother felt, like everything was overwhelming and the floor had been ripped away beneath her. “I cannot begin to fathom what has happened to her. I do not know where Bridget has gone or if—when—she will return.”
“I see.”
Lewis could not even bring himself to be upset over his reputation as a poor husband, who was unable even to control his wife. He deserved every ounce of criticism that he might receive, spoken or otherwise.
“Would you like the staff to search for her?” St. Clair asked. “I am certain that everyone would be quite willing.”
