Rus rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that suspiciously sounded likewomen are so fickle, but I ignored the comment. I did not have time for this. “Do you at least know where he has gone?”
“Not a clue. One of the footmen requested to speak with him. Not long after, I was informed of his departure.”
I leaned forward, and Rus pulled back with a grimace to put distance between our faces.
“One of the footmen?” I asked. “You are sure?”
“Yes,” he drew out the word, eyeing me with something akin to concern.
I pushed away from the table. “He must have gone after Hollinsby. Did anyone accompany him? It could be dangerous.”
“No,” said Rus. “He left on his own.”
“Then I must go after him.” I spun around but only managed three steps before Rus stood and grabbed my arm. He spun me to face him.
“Have you gone mad? You cannot go after him, especially if it is this Hollinsby he pursues. He told me everything, Netty. You are right about it likely being dangerous, and I will not have my sister embroiled in it.”
I yanked my arm away. “How long ago did Edward leave? Did he say when he would be back?”
Russell’s expression shifted. Rather than irritation, sympathy flooded his features. “Netty, heleft. Permanently. He packed his things. The room is entirely vacant.”
Vacant? No, that couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t.
“No.” I shook my head. “He would not have gone. Not without…”
Coldness seeped through me. I had said I didn’t wish to see Edward again; therefore, there was no reason to assume he would have said goodbye. And if what Rus said was true, then I would get precisely what I asked for.
“Netty?” Russell’s hands slid over my shoulders, and I looked up at him. My eyes filled with moisture. I was so tired of crying. Tired of fighting my heart.
“I’ve ruined everything,” I choked out. “Rus, I’ve made a terrible mistake. I must speak with him.”
Rus studied me for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “I cannot see how. At least, not for the foreseeable future. Paget left hours ago. I don’t even know what direction he’s gone, and there are a number of roads leading out of Chatham. He’s not likely to take up residence anywhere soon if he intends to pursue Hollinsby. From what I gathered, bringing the man to justice is important to him. But I promise to do what I can. Father may have some contacts who can help.”
My shoulders slumped—no, my entire soul felt as if it had sunk into a dark abyss. Edward was gone, and there was a possibility I would never see him again. Never have the opportunity to apologize. Did he know he had taken my heart with him? It felt close to shattering, the organ having healed only to crack once more.
“Thank you,” I whispered, backing out of Rus’s soft grasp. “I think…I need to be alone for a while.”
He nodded as if he understood, and I left the library, a fresh wave of tears spilling from my eyes. I would not return to the solitude of my bedchamber. There was only one place that might ease the pain.
Thecrumblingwallsofthe ruins rested in shadows under a blanket of dark clouds. The air held an uncommon, bone-piercing chill for this time of year, another indication of the looming storm. I forged my way up the path and entered the ancient castle. The stone walls were almost like a second home to me, though far less protective from the elements.
Entering one of the few enclosed portions of the old structure, I tugged my pelisse tighter around me. It did little to stave off the cold, and I shivered in response. Here, where part of the ceiling had collapsed and allowed in a bit of light, it was easy to imagine what the castle might have once looked like. A great hall with glowing hearths and a long dining table would have filled the space, as well as laughter and merriment. Now, it sat mostly empty, save for the stone bench nestled in a spot just out of view in the shadows.
The bench had been here the first time I explored the ruins as a child, likely built by a previous generation of Apsley children. I did not know whether the spot had meant something to one of them the same way it had come to mean so much to me, but simply touching the damp stone connected me to my ancestors in a way I couldn’t explain.
I sat down and ran my fingers over its cracked surface, feeling the chips and grooves, worn by time and weather. Once, I had asked Father if the ruins would ever be restored. He had contemplated the question for a long moment before shaking his head.It would not be a worthwhile pursuit. The gatehouse was still in good enough shape that the structure is sound. The old castle is well beyond fixing, but it is also not without purpose. I cannot look upon the stone remnants without thinking of our family’s history, and that is a blessing.
Father had always been proud of his family’s history. His eyes held a light of pride when he spoke of the long-standing title. Even in its broken, dilapidated condition, the old castle was a reflection of dignity and triumph. The scars it bore were not a source of embarrassment, but battle marks against the tests of time. Proof of resilience.
Would I ever look at my scarred heart in the same manner? Would I one day think back upon this brokenness with appreciation for my own resilience?
At the moment, all I felt was a bleakness that threatened to consume me. I had lost so much, and it was not until after I allowed it to slip through my fingers that I realized just how important all of it was to me.
The sky growled with a roar of thunder that seemed to make the ground quake. It vibrated beneath my boots, and the hard patter of rain echoed through the chamber, several rivulets cascading over the hole in the ceiling, forming a sparse waterfall that puddled on the floor.
I sighed, my hopes that the storm would wait to flood my safe harbor dashed. I could not stay here.
Rising, I dusted the dirt from my skirts. Water sloshed beneath my boots as I headed for the exit. A hauntingly lowcreakbrought my feet to a halt, and I glanced up at the open ceiling, raindrops splattering against my nose and cheeks.
