She had loved him, too. She knew that now. As she looked at this stranger, she remembered who he had been and how she had felt when she was with him. As she had changed him, he had done the same to her.
“I… I will miss it here,” she tried a final time. “I will miss you.”
He looked at her plainly. “I doubt that once you leave this estate, you will think about me at all.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is,” he said, sadness touching his tone for the first time. “Saying otherwise does not change that.”
“Your Grace –” She took another step toward him, but his head was already down.
“I have much work to do, Miss Redgate.” He started to scratch at the ledger on his desk. “If there is nothing else…”
There was so much else. So much that Octavia wanted to tell him. So much that she wanted him to tell her. This was not the man she knew, he who had drawn her with such passion, he who had told her about his past, his fears, his hopes for his son… hewho had kissed her as if she were the only person in the world who mattered.
I might remind him of it… But the man who sits before me is not that same man whom I remember.
“No,” she said, dropping her gaze as a knife plunged through her chest. “There is nothing else.” She looked at him a final time, he did not bother looking up, and that was when she knew that this… whatever it was… was over.
Octavia had a new life ahead of her, one she ought to look forward to because it was all she ever wanted. But this life, it would be one without the Duke, and for that reason, it no longer felt as wondrous, as perfect, as it had done.
Once again, Octavia was reminded that rarely in life does one get what they want. In her case, almost never.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Octavia could remember the first day that she arrived at the Ironvale residence as if it were yesterday. Rarely had she dared to enter this part of London, because she knew that she did not belong. Even just looking at it from afar had felt wrong…
But when she and Henry had approached the mansion, knowing that it would be their home for at least six months, she had dared to picture a life that had never felt like one she would have, but was now hers for the taking. Hope was what had filled her on that day, and the Duke’s home was a dream come true, one she prayed she might never wake up from.
It was strange how quickly things could change.
Octavia sat ready in the carriage as the last of her things were packed and strapped on. She had already said goodbye to the staff, as well as Aaron, and she was desperate to be away before she broke.
Through the window of the carriage, she watched Henry hug his friend goodbye. They laughed as they did so, both willfully ignorant of what this departure meant. Likely, they believed that they would be seeing one another every other day, and that this was just the start of something new and better. Only Octavia knew the truth.
If there was any chance that this was not a final goodbye, it was made clear when the Duke did not come outside to see them off. The carriage was parked in the driveway, the staff stood by the door and watched as the carriage finally pulled out, and the Duke was nowhere to be found.
“I told Aaron he can come and see us as soon as we’re unpacked,” Henry said happily as he looked out the window, waving goodbye. “Do you think he will be allowed?”
“Of course he will be,” she said as she stroked her brother’s face, smiling, wanting to appear happy because he needed this. “I will make sure of it.”
Octavia dared a final glance out the window, her last chance to say goodbye to her once home. It looked different from how it had done. Somehow smaller. Somehow not as welcoming. Once again, it almost felt wrong of her to look upon it, as if even the manor knew that it would never see her again.
As she watched it, she looked up, finding the window into the Duke’s office. It was too dark to make out clearly; perhaps it was just a shadow that she saw, but Octavia could have sworn thatshe found the Duke lurking in the window as he watched them go.
Is he just angry with me? Is he upset with himself? Or does he really not care…
Octavia turned away, refusing to focus on such things because they only made her sad. This was a good day, one that she should celebrate and be grateful for. But if that was the case, why did it hurt so much?
“And how is everything?” Dorethea sat at the head of the table, and she watched Octavia and Henry eat as if her life depended on it. “I did not know what you might like for supper – I should have asked before you arrived. Forgive me.”
“It is perfect,” Octavia assured her. “Truly, the best we have ever eaten. Henry?” Octavia looked across the table where Henry shoveled a second helping of roasted lamb into his mouth.
“Tis good,” he said thickly. “So good.”
Dorethea looked relieved. She had hardly touched her own plate, far more concerned with Octavia and Henry. As she had been since they arrived.
“I will have the head cook speak to you tomorrow,” she said. “Tell him what you like and what you do not like. He is awonderful cook, able to do things in that kitchen I cannot believe. Whatever you need…”
