“The months before she disappeared. Did she say anything unusual? Did she receive letters? Meet with anyone you did not recognize?”
Mary’s jaw tightened. “Charlotte confided in me about the usual things. The wedding preparations. Her nerves about meeting your family. She never mentioned running.”
“And you noticed nothing?”
“I noticed my sister was frightened of the life she was stepping into. I noticed that she smiled less as the wedding approached. I noticed?—”
Mary stopped.
The Duke was watching her with an expression she recognized. She had seen it on her father’s solicitors when they suspected a servant of stealing silver.
He was looking for a crack. A contradiction.
“You think I helped her,” She realized.
His silence was louder than any accusation.
“You think I helped my sister disappear.” Mary stepped toward him. Her voice shook, and she did not care. “I stood in a church this week and married a stranger for the sake of my family. I hold your nephew in my arms every day because his mother is not here to do it. And you stand there and imply that I am the reason she left.”
“I am examining every possibility.”
“No.” Mary’s chin lifted. “You are looking for someone to blame because you cannot find your brother, and it is easier to suspect me than to admit that you have no idea where your brother is or why he left.”
The Duke’s jaw ticked. His arms unfolded. He opened his mouth, but Mary was finished waiting for his words.
“Goodnight, Your Grace.”
She walked out of the study, down the corridor, and up the staircase. She did not stop at her own rooms. She went to the nursery, where Mrs. Bridwell dozed in the rocking chair, and Tommy slept in his crib with his fist pressed against his cheek.
Mary stood over the crib and looked at the baby.
Charlotte’s baby. The only piece of her sister she had left.
The Duke did not want children. He did not want a wife. He wanted a solution to a problem, and Mary was the solution, and once the problem was solved, she would be set aside like a ledger that had been balanced.
She reached into the crib and rested her hand on Tommy’s chest. His heartbeat thumped against her palm, quick and steady.
“I am here,” she whispered. “I am not going anywhere.”
CHAPTER 5
“Will that be all, Your Grace?”
Evander did not look up from the letter he was drafting.
The Bow Street runner’s first report had arrived that afternoon, and it contained nothing. No sightings of Richard in the northern counties. No record of a young couple matching their descriptions at any coaching inn between London and York. Four months of silence, and the silence was winning.
“Leave the tray,” he said.
Mrs. Cahill set the dinner tray on the side table. The smell of roasted beef and potatoes reached him, and his stomach tightened with a hunger he had been ignoring since noon. He signed the letter, set it aside, and reached for the next one.
Mrs. Cahill did not leave.
Evander raised his eyes. The housekeeper stood with her hands clasped, her expression arranged into the careful neutrality that meant she had something to say and was deciding how to say it.
“What is it?”
“The Duchess, Your Grace.”
