Page 95 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

“It’s all right, Mabel,” Thalia assured her, turning to face them.

She looked paler than he remembered. Were those dark circles under her eyes? Had she been crying?

The foyer was not very well-lit early in the morning, and Christian couldn’t get a good look at her face, not with the wide-brimmed bonnet she wore.

Mabel glanced between them, then silently rose to her feet and padded away.

“You cannot be serious,” Christian said, once the maid was (hopefully) out of earshot. “You are leaving? The day after our wedding? What will people say?”

“I imagine they’ll lose interest very quickly. And if they don’t… well, it hardly matters. You and I are already accustomed to it.”

He clenched his jaw, trying and failing to catch her eye. “So this is it, then? You’re leaving? For good?”

She lowered her head a little, the bonnet shielding her face. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. I… I miss my home. I miss my cat. Augusta told me I could come back. I wrote to her this morning. I am not sure that my brother approves, but for once, she insisted. I miss my cat, you see,” she repeated, as if he might not have understood the first time.

“Your cat?” Christian echoed. He felt oddly dizzy.

She nodded. “You met my cat. Orange is his name. I left him at home, but now, I… I find that I want to see him. Very much. So, I’m going home. I’ll return soon,” she added, somewhat lamely.

Christian pressed his lips together. “Do you want to drive me wild? Is this your aim here?”

“I have no aim.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

She glanced up at him, and for a moment, her eyes blazed with such an intense fury that he had to take a step back.

“I want to not feel rejected by you,” she hissed. “I want to live my life. I want tranquility, peace of mind. I want to respect your decisions, Christian. Truly, I do. But at this moment, they hurt too much. Now, are you going to let me go?”

He shrugged. “I was never going to hold you back.”

She eyed him for a long moment, her jaw tight. “I see.”

Outside, wheels crunched on gravel, signaling the arrival of the carriage. Mabel stepped into view, glancing warily between them.

Thalia turned her back on Christian. “Come, Mabel,” she said softly. “Let’s go.”

Three Days Later

A timid tap sounded at the bedroom door, and Christian swore aloud.

“If you’ve come to offer me more tea, Hooves, I swear I shall fling you out of the window.”

“It is not Hooves,” answered a familiar voice. “It is your mother. And if you don’t open the door, I’ll tear it off its hinges and carry it away, then you won’t have a bedroom door at all. How would you feel about that?”

Christian, who had been lounging in a low chair by the fire, sat up uncertainly, eyeing the closed door. “Mother? What is it?”

“I shall tell you when you open the door.”

He had not seen much of his mother lately. She had mostly been preoccupied with Laura since her return. Then there had been the wedding to plan, which she’d enjoyed immensely, proclaiming Thalia to be a very nice young woman and a suitable choice for a wife.

He had no idea what his mother thought about Thalia’s sudden departure. He had not asked her.

“It’s not locked,” he called, sinking back into his seat. Glancing down at his half-empty glass of whiskey, he pursed his lips and set it aside.

The door creaked open, and Celestia stepped inside. Her gaze trailed briefly across the untidy room, from the dirty clothes piled on the floor to the stacked dishes and cups he had left on a tea tray. There was a sticky whiskey mark on the side of his chair, and he resisted the urge to scrub it with his fingers.

“You have not been yourself lately,” she observed, inching past the mess. “And you have not been letting Hooves and the maids do their work in here. It smells rather unpleasant, Christian, I must say.”