After her grandmama left, Juliana felt the room’s silence more potently. She realized just how alone she felt—and how trapped. Everything felt suffocating, including the velvet of the sofas and the heavy curtains that were meant to protect the residents from the deep cold.
She decided to go through the correspondence forwarded from Hawthorne House when she found a letter from Catherine.
She broke the seal with something that felt very much like relief.
Dear Juliana,
I have called on you twice since the wedding and found you already gone to Stonevale. I am writing instead, trusting that this letter will reach you.
I have news. Lord Thompson and I are married. We eloped to Gretna Green a fortnight ago, and I will not pretend the journey was anything other than the most thrilling and terrifying thing I have ever done. Aunt Caroline is, as you might imagine, incandescent and has not spoken to me in eleven days, which I am choosing to regard as a personal record. I suspect she will come around, because even she cannot hold out indefinitely against a determined man bearing peonies.
I also want to say that I think your Duke must care for you deeply. A man does not marry a woman in quite that fashion unless something more than convenience is at work. Write to me when you are ready. I will be spending my honeymoon in Scotland.
Your devoted friend, Catherine.
Juliana set the letter down and sat with it for a moment. Catherine, who never failed to find the most generous interpretation of any situation. She thought about writing back. She would, she decided. When she had something to say that was not entirely composed of confusion and longing.
She folded the letter carefully and tucked it into her writing desk.
She thought of her husband’s words.
The West Tower is forbidden. Nobody is screaming from there.
Do not speak to your brother. He is a terrible human being who sold you.
Obey me. I am your husband.
Some of the words might not be exact, but they were Cassian’s rules, and she would have to find ways to break them. She also knew her brother’s weaknesses. He was always chasing after the next unwise imagination or business venture like a moth to a flame. He believed one miracle could fix everything. No wonder he was a gambler who lost their fortune. Hopefully, he would not lose his life over his folly.
Juliana stood by the window, peering at the stables. A plan was forming in her head, even though she knew it was not the wisest. Not at all.
“He will either kill me for this or shackle me to the tower,” she murmured, as she thought about the screaming in the West Tower.
Juliana waited for the perfect moment, just as the sun was about to dip below the horizon. Its rays were still peeking out, enough to let her maneuver with ease, but she also needed the cover of night to make her little escape.
In her bedchamber, she changed quickly, trading her silk morning gown for an older woolen dress, dark enough to avoid notice and sturdy enough for wherever the night might take her. London after dark was no place for pale silks. She added a simple velvet mask, took one breath to steady herself, and placed her hand on the handle.
“Dorothea?” she whispered urgently, hearing footsteps outside her door.
“Your Grace?” her new maid at Stonevale whispered back.
“I am going out. I will not be long,” the Duchess promised.
“Your Grace, you cannot! His Grace will have my head if he finds out,” the maid protested.
“I will take responsibility if that happens,” Juliana said with a firm voice. “But do not worry. He will not even know that I was gone.”
“But, Your Grace! Why would you be going to London alone at this hour? It is not safe.”
“The coachman will come with me,” Juliana replied.
Then she slipped out of the room, trying her best not to make a sound. She did not take the usual passages to reach the stables. She was breathing hard, even though she was not tired, inhaling the aroma of damp earth.
Juliana bribed the coachman to take her for a ride in one of the carriages. While she knew the importance of stealth and secrecy, she was realistic enough to know she could not simply walk around London to find Kit.
She climbed into the dark interior of the coach before she could change her mind. As the carriage moved away, she could not help but turn back to look at the formidable silhouette of the Stonevale estate. Her eyes were drawn to the window where she expected Cassian to be. There was barely any light in the study. Where was he?
Perhaps he had fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position, but she hoped he had an ottoman to rest his leg on.
