“Listen. I have already handled the issue of Melody’s parentage. I went to Devon to resolve it,” Richard said calmly, outwardly anyway.
“Still, that is not enough. You can’t just leave your wife and daughter to fend for themselves, separating yourself from them, and then fight your own battles as if you are not married but a bachelor who is still pursuing an end or continuation to your feud.”
“Their safety is above all,” Richard insisted.
“Safety? It reminds me how you’ve become much like your father,” Jonathan said. “You were sent away for your safety and never gained any affection from him. You were just a chess piece that had to be handled and moved.”
“I am not like him!” Richard spat, his head spinning. “I am much better than him.”
“Are you?” Jonathan asked, shaking his head once more. “Sometimes, we can only see our mistakes in retrospect.”
The marquess slammed some money on the table and left him there, his mind still reeling.
Was it true? Had he become like his father? Suddenly, he didn’t feel like staying in the tavern anymore.
Perhaps he needed to sleep. Now.
Hawksford House was deathly quiet when he arrived. Hawthorne was there to receive him, looking tired but still eager to tend to his duty.
The heavy doors groaned in protest as they opened in the middle of the night. Even so, it appeared like only Richard and Hawthorne were aware of the duke’s arrival from the North.
Richard felt grimy and tired after riding on horseback for days. His beard was thicker, and his hair stiff and longer. The visit to the scandal sheet writer and the tavern did not help matters.
His body was still taut from the tension of traveling far and confronting the source of the scandal poised to destroy their lives. Or perhaps it already destroyed everything he loved.
“Your Grace, do you need a warm bath drawn for you?” the butler asked, his eyes looking concerned, even as he tried to keep his stoic state. He must have noticed that Richard’s mind had wandered off.
“I am sorry for keeping you up, Hawthorne,” Richard apologized. It was his way with the servants closest to his heart,especially those who had been with them since he was a child. “Yes, while I am too tired for that.”
He knew that he stank to high heavens. He would have to deal with that in the morning.
“There is no need to apologize, Your Grace. It is my duty.”
He proceeded upstairs, his feet drawn to the nursery. He kept his steps light and silent. Inside, he could see the embers glowing with a dying fire. Melody was in her cradle, sleeping soundly. He controlled the urge to go nearer and touch her chubby cheek.
In the armchair next to where Melody lay was no other than Victoria. His breath caught. He had been trying to avoid her. He didn’t expect her to be there. Shouldn’t Mrs. Hughes be watching the baby at night?
But no, it was really Victoria in an armchair with her head positioned at an odd angle. Her brow was furrowed even in sleep, and her mouth had a stern set to it.
Richard peered at them for some time, the day’s events heavy on his mind. He could not help but stare at the woman he had pushed away and the child who started his road to either redemption or ruin.
“I am trying to keep you safe,” he whispered, his chest feeling hollow. “I know you won’t understand it now, but I’m doing this for you.”
He wanted to go closer, but he couldn’t. It would be hard to explain to Victoria why he was there at all. So, he left for his bedroom instead, even though he missed being in hers.
The following morning, Victoria descended the stairs for breakfast as usual. Her body felt stiff from sleeping in the nursery in an uncomfortable position. Even her mind felt foggy. Still, she walked to the breakfast room with her body straight and her head held high. Every day felt like a battle now.
The table was set with precision as usual, but the duke was still not there. How long had he been gone? Days. She would have thought he’d be home by now, pointedly ignoring her presence.
Hawthorne, however, was here, instead of Mrs. Davies or one of the maids. Her eyebrows rose in surprise at the sight of the silver salver where a piece of paper lay. It looked to be a fresh scandal sheet. She gasped.
“His Grace returned late last night, Your Grace. He retreated to his room immediately. This morning, he left early once more,” the butler informed her, keeping his voice neutral. Somehow, though, Victoria felt like Hawthorne’s eyes were twinkling. “He left instructions to give this to you over breakfast. He said that it would provide you with some clarity about what he had been doing in the North.”
Victoria reached for the sheet, her eyes widening at the headline.
No, it was no longer about Hawksford, but it seemed to suggest that Penwike was doomed.
Within days, Richard seemed to have turned the tide, dismantling his rival’s arsenal of violence and lies. It looked like he had won this battle, and yet he was not there to celebrate with her. He was merely reporting like a soldier at the front lines, perhaps to show her that he did the right thing. He wanted to show her that his idea of “protection through distance” was working.
