CHAPTER 26
“Icame to see the Duke of Coldmere, but it appears he has been replaced by some wild man.” Frederick shook his head and gestured toward Alaric. “Is there anyone beneath all that hair?”
Alaric ran his hand along the thick beard covering his face and neck. He had not shaved since Catherine left. Honestly, every time he tried, he remembered the day she arrived at the castle, and he could not bear it.
Not that it takes a lot to make me think of her.
Everywhere he went, her perfume seemed to linger. He found himself walking toward the nursery, expecting to happen upon Oliver, Catherine, and Daisy.
The silence that had fallen over the castle reminded him of a mausoleum. The kind of heavy silence that lingered, making one’s teeth grind. He focused on Frederick.
“Was there a reason for your visit, or did you simply wish to mock me?”
“There is the Deverell I know and love.” Frederick clapped a hand on his shoulder, the grin slipping from his face somewhat. “It is about Marina.”
Alaric straightened, his heart speeding up as he leaned toward Frederick. “Have you found her?”
Frederick shook his head. “Not yet. But we are getting close, I know we are.”
“You said that the last time, Hale. And yet here we are with nothing to show for it.” Alaric slumped into an armchair and poured himself a glass of whiskey. “Forgive me, but I refuse to let false hope get the better of me. Not when the woman has managed to elude us for so long.”
“I know. But it really is different this time. We nearly had her—we found the cottage she was living at, it is in a tiny village on the outskirts of the Cotswolds. And someone had been there recently.” Frederick sat in the chair opposite Alaric, his face alight with excitement.
“How recently?” Alaric took a swig of his whiskey.
“A few days, maybe less. I have had my man stay in the village; with any luck, he will scoop her up the moment she walks through the door.”
“Assuming she does,” Alaric pointed out. “There is every chance that she will not return there. She may well have been gathering her things before moving on to another location.”
“It is a pity that when your memories returned, your optimism did not.”
“I find pragmatism rather more useful than optimism. Practicality, not hope, will sort out this mess. Once we find the woman, this will all be over, and everything can go back to normal.”
“You do not sound particularly pleased about that.”
“Why should I be? The return to the status quo is simply a return to what should be.” Alaric went to drink his whiskey and realized that the glass was empty. “Why celebrate such a thing?”
“Is your wife’s return not something worth celebrating?” Frederick’s words sent a thrill through Alaric, but he squashed down the hopeful voice before it could speak.
“There will be no return.” Alaric downed his whiskey and poured himself another.
“You know, it is rude not to offer your guest a drink.”
“I know you well enough to know that you are perfectly content to help yourself.” Alaric shrugged. “Besides, I am hoping thatyou will take the hint and leave. I am not in the mood for company.”
“Clearly.” Frederick reached across Alaric and grabbed the whiskey from him, pouring himself a glass. “Unfortunately for you, the subtleties of hinting frequently escape my notice.”
“You mean you ignore them,” Alaric retorted.
“Yes.” Frederick downed his own glass. “Now tell me, Deverell, why are you so convinced your wife will not come back? Once Marina is found, she will be safe. In truth, I still do not understand why she left in the first place.”
“Because it is dangerous for her to be here.” Alaric rolled out his shoulders, his mind going back to the last conversation he had had with Catherine.
‘There is no reason to change it.’That was what he had said. He thought he had seen her recoil, but he could not remember if he truly had. He had replayed the moment so many times in his head, each time, that weak, selfish part of him screamed at him to ask her to stay.
‘Clearly.’The coldness in her voice— or perhaps it was the catch, he could not be sure— either way, it reminded him of a twig snapping beneath a boot. He had broken something, he knew it.
Better for it to break than her.
