‘You heard all of that?’
‘Apologies, I did not mean to eavesdrop.I was checking the—’
She raised a hand to silence him.‘Good.I won’t have to repeat myself.Sit with me in the carriage.I wish to talk.’
Tillman held her hand as she climbed into the vehicle.Once she had gathered and smoothed her skirts and seemed comfortable and ready, he shouted a command to the driver, then hauled himself into the carriage, shutting the door behind him.He knocked the roof with his fist, the driver whistled, the reins snapped, and they eased forwards into the night.
In all the years he’d known the duchess—and he’d known her a good many years—he’d never seen her flustered.Never seen her express emotion in any overt way.He’d learnt to read her pleasure or displeasure as conveyed in a glance, a wave, or a sigh, and while she might now be drawing a simple circle on the inside of her gloved palm with her other thumb, and only the smallest frown creased her brow, he could tell that she was racked with worry.
But then, her son was missing.It was natural that she’d be worried.
She stared out the window as they cut along the drive.The clouds had settled into the night now, and only the scantest glow lit passing branches and tree stumps.The air felt cloying.A storm was brewing, but the carriage windows must be holding on to the cold, as her breath misted the glass.
‘Did you ever go to London with my husband?’she asked,still staring outside the window, her gaze soft and unfocused.
‘A couple of times, when we were younger.After we finished school and before he went to Oxford.Once I was settled in my position as estate manager though, no.That was no longer my place in his life.’
Once it had become apparent that the invitation to manage the sprawling ducal estate had also meant a permanent end to a schoolyard friendship, Tillman had mourned for a harvest, then left his resentment where it belonged—in the detritus of his childhood.He’d lost friendships before.As a boy he’d taken to numbers and letters as easily as to swinging a scythe or to hitching a horse, and so he had been selected from the dregs of the parish school for a place at the new academyto help round out the cohort.When he visited his parents, the other boys in his village shouted taunts, no longer invited him to play games, and occasionally pulled their caps with mocking spite.However, it was hard to carry resentment for either dukes or village children, as his position had allowed him to send money home when his parents became too old to work.He sent shillings and pounds, not pennies, to his sisters when the years were tough.And had the thought appealed to him, he’d have been able to support a wife and family.There were many good things about landing where he had, even if it made him everyone’s forgotten friend.
The duchess threw him a quick glance of understanding.She stopped drawing the circles inside her palm, and let her hands rest on her lap.
‘If Arley has gone to London for an adventure, are there places you know of that he might visit?Taverns, theatres, and the like?When William spoke of his time in London, he only mentioned the Lords and some social events.He never went into much detail, and I must confess, I never asked.I was more suited to entertaining at the estate.And after Arley was born, I… I lost my desire to visit Town.’
Was she telling the lies for his benefit, or for her own?
Perhaps both.Because Tillman knew that once William had obtained his heir, he’d not encouraged her company whenever he went to the city.He’d only left long lists of tasks and directions about the boy’s routine.And for the first few days after her husband’s departure, she would always follow his orders diligently.She wrote letters to her sisters, did not disrupt her son’s governess, and saw to all the mundane work she’d been entrusted with.But by the second or third day, she was knocking on the nursery door.She interrupted lessons to take her son on walks through the grounds, and on rainy days, they sat by the hearth or raced raindrops down the windows.They spent endless hours in sunbeams, drawing lines in the thick rug, creating pictures that only the two of them could see.The only routine that ruled the manor was the one that made her happy.And not once did she seem to think about where her husband was, or who he was with.In her ignorance, she had been blissful.
‘We never went to places like that.’Tillman picked a careful path between his words.‘But drinking and bawdy houses… It wasn’t his style.He was too controlled.’
Too controlling.
‘Am I being naïve in believing my son is like his father?That he’s also reserved and has not gone to London in pursuit of… of pleasures?’
He shook his head.‘Not naïve at all.I think you’re right to question those who say otherwise.I’m sure he’ll find his way in that direction soon enough, but even then, it doesn’t strike me as his nature to play the part of a rake.He’s not one for crowds.Or perhaps I should say, he’s not one for attention, as much as it chases him.’
The carriage slowed as it came to the end of the drive.Tillman pounded the roof, and they stopped.‘Which way, Your Grace?Home?’He nodded to their right.‘Or Town?’
Her breath misted as she stared out the window, and little silver plumes drifted against the glass.She drew a simple flower in the fog, then swiped it away.
‘More boots on the ground can’t hurt, can they?To Town.It’s been months since I’ve seen him.And if… if he doesn’t want to return to that school, then he doesn’t have to.I’d like to ask him what he would prefer, myself.’A hesitant smile crept to her lips, and while it wasn’t wide, it carried purpose.‘Maybe he would like to come home.’
‘There’s an inn ahead.We can stop there for the night.I’ll send a message to the estate to have Cecil organise some staff to take the train and open the townhouse.If anyone can work a miracle, it’s him.We should arrive by late afternoon tomorrow.’
‘If the horses don’t need to rest or if we can swap them, can we drive on?I don’t mind a little discomfort.’
‘Yes, you do,’ he said.Settled in the closeness of the cab, the words slipped out before he could swallow them.It was too familiar a comment, and she levelled him from across the carriage, her eyes perceptive and cutting.Then she huffed a laugh.
‘Fair observation, Mr Masters.How is this, then?I will tolerate discomfort if it gets us to London faster.I am too worried to sleep.’
‘As you wish, Your Grace.We shall drive through the night.’
When they paused at the next coach stop to feed and water the horses, Tillman swung out of the cab.He closed the door softly.Once he’d found an energetic stable hand to ride a message to the estate on the promise of fair coin now and more on delivery, he climbed back onto the seat beside the driver, and they set off again.The crunch and jingle of the conveyance and the steady clop of the horses’ hooves synthesised into a metronome.After a mile or so, he leant to the side to squint into the cab.Her eyelids drooped, and her chin dipped against her chest.If they kept a steady pace, she might even sleep.The night cast a shadow across her face, and a star kissed her lips, turning her eyes sombre, dark and beautiful.
No tug at his chest.
No ache in his heart.
No desire to reach out and comfort her.To hold her.
