Tears streamed at an alarming rate down her face. “I’ve lost my baby,” she cried in an anguished whisper.
Persephone knew she’d be sobbing in a moment’s time if she didn’t wrest control of her emotions. She could never do that unless she had a moment alone, away from the sight of the now empty archway and carriage drive.
She turned back toward Adam, to offer her excuses, to beg his pardon before fleeing. But he was gone. In her distress she hadn’t heard him go. And he hadn’t said a word before departing.
Her throat constricted against the sob forcing its way out. Desperate not to disgrace herself in front of any of the staff who seemed to constantly be coming and going outside the castle but knowing she’d never get to her room in time—she had difficulty finding it still—Persephone ran as swiftly as her feet would carry her through the break in the hedgerow and into the first of the formal gardens.
She ran quickly, taking turns at random and working her way deeper, behind bushes and hedges, until her lungs and feet would not carry her further. In a small outcropping, surrounded by bushes she imagined would be filled with blooms come spring, she found a small stone seat. Persephone sat, lowered her face into her hands, and did something she hadn’t done since her mother’s death. She wept with such force that she was certain her heart would break with the effort.
* * *
For a moment after she awoke, Persephone had no idea where she was. She forced her eyes open despite the burning. Hedges and plants surrounded the stone seat she was curled upon. And she was chilly.
Flashes of memory bombarded her hazy mind as she pieced together the morning. Her family had left. She had fled to the garden for refuge.
I must have fallen asleep,Persephone thought to herself. Her joints protested as she uncurled. She was tempted to close her eyes again; they stung and throbbed, as did her head. She had forgotten how miserable one could feel after an elongated bout of tears.
Persephone took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself against the slight chill seeping through even her pelisse. She must have been more tired than she realized to have fallen asleep on a stone seat. Of course, she hadn’t slept much of late, especially the night before.
She’d waited up for Adam, it being their wedding night. Hours had passed, and he’d never come. Not even to bid her good night. She’d thought he would, at least, do that.
She’d sat up until the clock in her sitting room had chimed one in the morning. Light had flickered under the door that led to Adam’s bedchamber. Still she’d waited. The light was eventually extinguished, and silence descended on the house. She sat at her window, watching the door. As the clock had struck two, she’d climbed into bed feeling completely rejected and utterly alone.
“You are no quitter, Persephone Iphigenia La— Boyce,” she told herself. “This simply needs time.” Squaring her shoulders, Persephone rose, trying to ignore the pounding in her head. “And no more tears,” she instructed herself.
Persephone had ever been the optimist in her family. Every situation had a glimmer of hope, she’d discovered early in her life. They’d lost Mother but had gained Artemis. The boys had left for the sea but had become strong and sure—more so than they would have had they remained at home. She was married to a perfect stranger who seemed to want nothing to do with her, but . . . but . . . But, she told herself sternly, she had a home to call her own and the hope that he would turn out to be a friend, at least, and perhaps, eventually a good husband.
Rising with what dignity her stiff joints would allow, Persephone shook out her skirts, grimacing at the havoc she’d wreaked on her appearance. She shook her head at herself. “And I wonder why my husband has no interest in my company.” More attention to her appearance, an attempt to be attractive, couldn’t hurt matters.
Persephone moved along the garden trail, her mind clamped onto that train of thought. What else might she do to improve her situation? She couldn’t come to know Adam if they never spoke to one another. Adam certainly hadn’t made any attempts. Persephone had never been terribly bold, but she did know how to hold up her end of a conversation.
After several minutes of walking, and a few wrong turns, Persephone finally reached the garden entrance. She’d been asleep longer than she’d realized. The sky had already dimmed with approaching dusk, and the air had grown colder.
Conscious of her rumpled appearance, Persephone walked up the stone steps to the front door of Falstone Castle. The door opened at her approach.
“Your Grace,” Barton the butler said, his face not revealing even the slightest surprise at her appearance.
“Thank you, Barton,” Persephone answered with a faint smile, too exhausted for enthusiasm.
She crossed the spacious entry hall, still awed by the scale of everything. “I will never fit here,” she thought morosely.
What had happened to the determined duchess she’d momentarily been in the gardens? Weariness, it seemed, had robbed her of her resolve. Her head throbbed with every step she took, her eyes burned anew, and her legs were ready to drop out from under her.
Persephone began to climb the wide stairs, determined to lie down at least for a few minutes. At the first-floor landing, she came face-to-face with Adam’s mother.
“Good eve—” the dowager duchess’s greeting ended abruptly. “Are you feeling well, child?”
“I am a little tired.”
“Of course, you are,” she answered empathetically. “You had a long and tiring day yesterday.”
Persephone nodded.
“Do not fret yourself over dinner, dear,” the dowager instructed. “I shall have a tray sent to your room. You rest.”
“Thank you.” With a wan smile, she stepped past her mother-in-law.
She only had to backtrack once before finding her room. She didn’t even bother ringing for a maid to help her undress but dropped onto her bed fully clothed.
