Her first instinct was to flee to Thornewood, but as much as she longed to see her father, a visit home so soon after her marriage would lead to all sorts of questions she couldn’t answer.
No, Thornewood would have to wait.
But there was one other place she could go.
Montford Park, Jasper’s country estate in Kent.
She’d only ever seen it once, and then from a distance. She’d never even set foot inside, but when she’d closed her eyes last night, there it had been, dancing behind her eyelids as if it were calling to her.
There’d been no mistaking the house, set like a perfect creamy pearl into the green valley surrounding it. It didn’t make sense, really, that she should feel so drawn to it, except that it was as close to the cloud-enveloped castle she’d dreamed of as any place she’d ever seen.
She replaced her half-empty teacup in the saucer. “I fancy a visit to the country, Sarah. I think it would do me a world of good to get out of London and breathe some fresh air.”
Thetonwould gossip over her precipitate departure, of course, but then they were already gossiping, weren’t they? There was nothing they could say that could hurt her anymore, because the worst had already happened.
“Help me to dress, won’t you, Sarah? Then have one of the footmen fetch a trunk from the attics, will you? You can begin packing while I speak to His Grace.” She couldn’t simply vanish from Berkeley Square without Jasper’s approval.
Surely, he wouldn’t force her to remain in London? He, of all people, must understand she couldn’t stay here. It had been him who’d warned her how vicious thetoncould be, how quickly London could become a prison when they had you at their mercy.
She should have listened to him. How naïve she’d been, but then how could she ever have imagined a woman as malicious as Lady Archer?
She’d never seen anything like the spite in those blue eyes, or heard anything as hateful as the laugh that had followed her as she’d fled down the hallway. How could Jasper bear to be in the company of such a woman?
But then Lady Archer was very beautiful. She wouldn’t have believed a thin veneer of beauty over such a cold, wicked heart could ever be enough for him, but then perhaps she’d never really known Jasper at all.
A heaviness descended over her, pressing down upon her, the weight of it settling over her heart, but she pushed the coverlet aside and submitted quietly as Sarah dressed her and brushed out her hair.
There was nothing for it then but to square her shoulders and face her husband.
It was quite early still, not yet seven o’clock, but there was no answer to her knock on the connecting door. So, she made her way from her bedchamber down the corridor to the staircase, then down the stairs into the silent entryway. The house was still and somber, almost as if they’d gone into mourning, but Keating was stationed in his usual place in front of the door.
“Good morning, Keating. Do you happen to know where His Grace is?”
Every proper butler knew all the household’s secrets, and God knew there was no butler more proper than Keating. No doubt he’d heard the tale of last night’s disastrous ball from the other servants, but he was no gossip.
“Good morning, Your Grace.” Keating offered her a bow, his face as impassive as ever. “His Grace is in his study.”
“Thank you, Keating.” Prue did her best to ignore the writhing nerves in her stomach as she made her way down the corridor to the closed door of Jasper’s study. There was no reason for her to feel anxious or ashamed. She’d done nothing wrong. Still, she was obliged to draw in a deep, steadying breath at his summons before she dared open the door.
He was sitting behind his desk, doing . . . well, nothing that she could see. There was a stack of letters at his elbow, but he wasn’t reading them, nor was he writing, and he didn’t appear to have glanced atThe Times, which lay in perfectly creased folds on the corner of his desk.
But when she entered, he shot to his feet. “Prue!”
“Good morning, Jasper.”
He hurried out from behind the desk. “I didn’t want to wake you after . . . after last night, but I’ve been going half mad, waiting to talk to you. You must listen to me, Prue. Last night—”
“I didn’t come to discuss last night, Jasper.” There was very little left to say, really. Lady Archer had said it all. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Itdoesbloody matter, Prue. It’s the only thing that matters.” He dragged a hand through his hair, setting the dark, silky locks on end. His clothing was disheveled and his eyes bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept any better than she had.
And oh, how it hurt to see him this way, and how unfair it was that after all that had happened, she still couldn’t harden her heart against him! It should have been the easiest thing in the world simply to turn her back on him, but it didn’t work that way, did it?
The heart would continue to love, despite it all.
Because that was what this was, wasn’t it? Somehow, in the midst of all their arguments, between the earrings and the wagers and the blackmail and the birdshot, she’d somehow fallen in love with her husband.
What a fool she’d been, to ever have imagined it would be otherwise. For weeks now, all of it, every moment between them—even at the start, when she’d loathed him as the man who’d ruined her father—even then, it had all been leading to this.
