She went white.
“I daresay,” he said, his grin genuine now, “my father had a scalp or two to his credit. Did you know that, Patricia?”
“You’re lying,” she whispered, shocked.
His response was a snarl. “You had better pray that I succeed in attaining this divorce. For if I do not, there will be no agreement between us, no separate residences. I will be a husband in every sense of the word, whenever I choose, regardless of your sensibilities. If you resist me I will rape you. I will spend the rest of our marriage making your life hell on earth.”
Tears came to her eyes. “Bastard!”
“I mean it,” he said, and he did.
“Take your divorce then, take it!” she cried. “I shall tell everyone my story, and they will sympathize with me and I shall find a new husband! One who is not some half-breed Indian!”
“I have no doubts you shall land on both feet, head held high,” he said easily, and then he bowed. “I shall keep you informed of the progress of the proceedings.”
The earl arrived at the house on Gloucester Street just as dawn was brightening the sky from black to mauve gray.
He paused on the sidewalk. It was a gray, misty morning, a thick fog blanketing the neighborhood. The house seemed closed up, deserted, utterly quiet. Of course, it was his imagination, for Jane and his daughter were there, soundly asleep within. He started forward, eager to tell her the good news and to beg her to hang on, just for a little while until they got through this trying period.
Soon he would be divorced, and he and Jane would remarry.
His heart tripped at the thought. Yet he grew sober as he strode through the wrought-iron gate and up to the bright-blue door. Something pricked at him, making him uneasy. It was so damn quiet! He noticed that all the bright-yellow shutters were closed. Surely this was what was throwing him off. He strained to hear a sound, perhaps Nicole, who woke up notoriously early in the morning. But there was nothing, nothing at all, not even the day’s first birdsongs. Yet he knew he was a fool, for it was only the crack of dawn, and only the milkmen were up now.
He rang the doorbell, shifting impatiently. Surely Molly was already awake, preparing breakfast for her mistress. There was no answer, and the earl rang again, once, twice, three times. He tried to peer through a window without shutters, but the curtains were drawn.
He had a terrible pang.
He banged now, hard. “Molly! Open up! It’s the Earl of Dragmore!”
There was no response, as if the house were utterly deserted.
But that was impossible, he thought, hurrying round to the back. The little yard where he had sat with Nicole on the pink swing was already overgrown. He tried the kitchen door, but it was locked. Yet the shades were up and he could look in. The kitchen was barren, perfectly tidy—it looked as if it had not been used in a very long time.
Something sick welled within him.
They were not here. He knew it in that lightning moment.
Determined, eyes wild, the earl looked around and picked up a stone. He smashed the glass pane of the back door, knocked out the jagged pieces recklessly, then slipped his hand through and turned the lock from inside. The door swung open.
He rushed into the empty, immaculate kitchen, into the dining room, where dust coated the table, and bounded up the stairs, two at a time. He flung open the door to Jane’s room, calling her name. The room was empty, the bed perfectly made and unslept in.
Eyes wide and disbelieving, he flung open the closet—to find it starkly bare as well. She wasn’t there.
She wasn’t there, hadn’t been there, wasn’t coming there.
The comprehension was shocking, and as if in a trance, he went to the window, pushed back the curtains, and stared out into the fog.
Where was she? Where had she gone? And, dear God, why?
He howled into the dawn then, the sound anguished and wolflike. She had left him. Once again she had left him.
“Jane,” he cried, eyes squeezed shut. “Jane, Jane, you cannot leave me! You cannot leave me again!”
But there was no answer.
Around him, the house was utterly still and silent.
“Why!” he shouted, fists clenched. “Why!”
