“And it’s imperative we don’t use the most frequented route, and we must travel at night where possible. He will send out search parties. I can’t go back and I must not let him find me.”
A cold nose pressed into her hand. She rubbed the silky head knowing it to be Othello as Ebony was already at the door waiting for her. The one light in this darkness was she would be with her beloved animals.
Sam assisted her into the vehicle; he’d prepared a snug nest in one corner and she curled up. Mary scrambled in beside her. The two dogs flopped down in the well and they were ready. The first faint glimmer of dawn coloured the sky. There was no need to light the lanterns that hung on poles on either side of the carriage. The gentle rocking of the vehicle helped to soothe her misery— with luck she would sleep through most of the journey.
Alex forced his eyes open. Where the hell was he? He had no recollection of the previous night—this was not uncommon after consuming so much brandy. Moving his head made his stomach lurch; he took a deep breath through his nose. This was Isobel’s bed and he was naked. He reached out a hand and his fingers brushed against her long braid. Odd —when they made love he always released it.
His fingers closed around it. He would undo it now - he hardened at the thought. The ribbon refused to give way beneath his fumbling. He tugged and the plait slithered across his chest. What the hell? Then he understood.
His stomach clenched and he rolled to one side to cast up his accounts. When he’d finished he wiped his mouth on the sheet. Ripping back the covers he gazed at the bolster in the place where Isobel should be. His eyes misted, he fell back on the pillows as the enormity of what he’d done the night before crowded into his head.
Holding her hair against his chest he rolled into the space she had occupied, breathing in her scent, his face wet with tears of shame and loss. Something clinked against his shoulder. He slid his fingers down the severed braid and found her betrothal and wedding bands tied to the ribbon.
Isobel could not have made things clearer. She had gone—his lovely young wife had left and he didn’t blame her. He buried his face in her pillow and his shoulders heaved. For the second time in his life he’d lost the woman he loved and this time it was entirely his fault. His brutality had driven her away.
The stench in the bedchamber made his stomach roil. Unsteadily he swung his legs to the floor and attempted to stand. The pain thumping between his eyes was worse than he could ever remember. He deserved to suffer, deserved to be horsewhipped for what he’d done. How had he come to this?
He tottered through the communicating door and back into his own rooms. The long braid bounced behind jingling as it hit the boards, the sound a reminder of what he’d destroyed. His misery deepened. She was cutting him out of her life in the same way she’d cut her lovely hair.
How was he going to live without her? The death of his wife and two daughters had all but killed him, made him frightened to love again. He’d been given a second chance to find happiness and had ruined it by his base behaviour. Last night had been the culmination of his callousness. She had offered him nothing but love and support over the past year and he had spurned it, treating her as if she were of no importance to him. He had remained aloof because he had fallen in love with his wife and was fearful of being hurt again.
There was no need to send out a search party. She would be with the Watkins couple, in the cottage on the edge of his estate. Isobel believed this to be a secret from him but nothing happened at Newcomb undetected. Initially he’d intended to confront her, but after considering carefully he’d decided to leave her servants where they were. She needed a bolt hole.
As he splashed his face with cold water he began to feel less anguished. Maybe matters were not as bad as he feared. After all, Isobel was his wife and she had promised herself to him. If given time to reconsider she would realise her responsibility and come back. He would allow her day or two to recover and then ride over. He would not demand she return immediately but suggest she visit one of his estates in the north. There she could live in seclusion untrammelled by responsibility for a few weeks.
His spirits lifted a little. He had behaved unforgivably but he would change, become the man she deserved. She might hate him now but she would love him again in time. Isobel would return for the seasonal festivities— and what a time of celebration that would be. However much she loathed and despised him now she was his wife and, and unlike himself, would not shirk her duties.
He rang the small, brass bell that stood beside his bed, then ramming his arms into his bedrobe he waited for Duncan to answer his summons. The click of the dressing room door heralded his arrival. “Duncan, I require a bath, and a jug of coffee.”
“At once, your grace. Mr Foster has asked me to inform you all your guests have departed.”
Alexander raised his hand in acknowledgement and wandered to the window to stare morosely across the park. Usually the magnificent stand of oak trees in their autumn glory and the ornamental lake and the rolling vista he’d paid a small fortune to have constructed by Brown, filled him with satisfaction. But this morning it meant nothing. What was the use of having so much when he had no one with which to share it? Until Isobel was back where she belonged he would gain no pleasure from this view.
“What do you mean the place is uninhabited?” Alex glared at his man of business, William Hill, who he’d sent to check on the cottage.
“The place is deserted, your grace, the shutters up and the stable empty. I reckon it’s been like that for a day or two.”
“Thank you, you may go.” The man bowed and retreated.
Alexander wanted to hurl the nearest object through the window. This was an unmitigated disaster. Why hadn’t he had the place checked immediately? He gripped the edge of his desk forcing his anger back— never again would he let his temper rule him. Isobel’s disappearance was no more than he deserved. He had driven her way. He sank into the nearest chair dropping his head in his hands in despair.
He would not relinquish the search until he was certain she was well and had sufficient funds to live comfortably. He prayed the scandal never reached the outside world. With luck no one, apart from the staff at Newcomb, would know she had gone. She rarely joined him in London and there were no close acquaintances to make enquiries.
Perhaps her disappearance could be kept secret? He was certain the unfortunate chamber-maids who had been obliged to clear up the mess he’d made, would not risk their position by gossiping. He would let it be known Isobel had gone to Norfolk to be with her ailing mother— no one would dare question his word. His fingers clenched. What was he thinking of? Let the scandal mongers say what they like—he’d willingly sacrifice his good name if it would bring his wife back to his side.
But where would she go? He would not mount a full-scale pursuit but send out a few discreet enquiries. They should not be too difficult to find despite having had two days start. A gig containing two large black dogs along with a beautiful young woman and her maid, was bound to be noticed when they trotted through a village or town.
The thought of Isobel being tossed about in that ancient vehicle filled him with remorse. He’d never drink to excess again and would immediately root out the bad influences in his life. From this moment forward he would be a better man. Perhaps when he found her she might be prepared to forgive him. He intended to spend the rest of his life making amends. He would not take her for granted again if she ever consented to return.