“I will be staying at one of my estates for a while,” he added so casually that it was maddening.
“For how long?” Rachel gripped the edge of the table.
“It has not been decided.”
“And when, exactly, were you planning on telling me?” Rachel let out a slow breath.
Simon met her gaze, his expression unreadable.
“Just now.”
How very convenient.She forced herself to sit back, feigning indifference, even as something inside her splintered.
“And what am I to do while you are away?” she questioned.
“You may do as you please.”
Do as you please.That was all he had to say to her? After everything? A hollow ache settled in her chest.
“I thought to have breakfast with you before I left so thatI could inform you myself.” Simon shifted in his seat. “My carriage is ready.”
Rachel inhaled sharply. Was that supposed to be an act of kindness that he had bestowed upon her? She should have known better. She had allowed herself to hope, and Simon had reminded her exactly why she never should.
She straightened, smoothing the fabric of her dress. If he could be indifferent, then so could she.Two could play at this game.
“I see,” she said lightly, though the words felt like glass in her throat. “Then I wish you safe travels, Your Grace.”
Something flickered in his expression. For the first time, Rachel saw it. The hesitation.Did he not want to leave?
Her fingers twitched at her sides. No, she should not read into his actions beyond his words. It was how she had gotten into this mess to begin with.
But even so, if he had just reached for her, if he had given her even the smallest reason—perhaps she would have stopped him.
But Simon did no such thing. He simply exhaled, smoothed his expression, and turned toward the door.
“Take care, Rachel.”
Rachel remained still, listening as the sound of carriage wheels echoed through the manor.
She did not cry, nor did she chase after him. She simply stood there.How am I meant to feel?
She had not lost him today because, in earnest, she had never had him in the first place.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Simon had not slept in days.
Not a full night, at least. His hours were consumed by meetings in dimly lit taverns, sifting through old reports, chasing whispers that led to nowhere.
But nothing drowned out the annoying voice in the back of his head that kept screaming at him.You are not doing enough.
He sat in his new study, scanning over crime reports from years ago, the ink faded now. An attack. A fire. Two deaths. No suspects.
All the reports from the same week that his parents had been killed. The same damn phrasing. The same frustrating lack of answers.
He had read these reports before, but this time, he was combing through them with new eyes, looking for the pattern he hadmissed. Murders did not happen in isolation. His parents had not been struck down by some cruel twist of fate. Someone had orchestrated it, and he just needed to find a way to connect the missing pieces.
Simon exhaled through his nose, steadying himself. It had become a routine for him all these years. Following the thinnest of trails, and just when he thought he was on the brink of something—nothing.
