Chapter Thirty-Two

It was merely a coincidence that Sebastian had taken to spending the hour between ten and eleven riding in the park. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that his wife spent that particular hour locked in her study.

He told himself this yesterday, as he requested his horse to be made ready.

He told himself this now, as he again ordered his horse saddled.

Likely tomorrow would bring more of the same.

A coincidence, that was all.

A fortnight into their marriage and they had fallen into a routine. Eliza rose at an ungodly hour that found even the servants still asleep in their beds. Sebastian awoke at the much more sensible hour of nine of the clock, by which point his wife had already had tea and toast and was safely ensconced in her favorite room with the door shut tight against his presence, and there she remained until the clock struck eleven, upon which she emerged feeling peckish.

He wondered if she would ever leave that room if not driven from it by the threat of starvation, or if something else could entice her…such as missing her husband.

It was best not to dwell on such thoughts.

His routine ought not to have changed at all, given that he was somewhat wifeless for the morning hours. But her absence felt as tangible as her presence, and he found himself avoiding the spaces where she wasn’t. Prior to their marriage, Sebastian had greatly enjoyed a long, leisurely, and hearty breakfast that left him satisfied until long past noon. Now he had a quick bite of toast before taking the broadsheets to his study, where he pointedly left the door open.

He had no secrets.

He blew out a long breath, sending a stream of white into the damp fog. It was cold. He was hungry. Eliza wouldn’t surface for another—he checked his timepiece—half hour, at least, which made both the cold and the hunger seem infinitely worse. Worse than both of those—worse even than the fact that Ozymandias was now farting with every step he took—was that Sebastian was very much alone here in the park, and he very much disliked being alone. The park was empty—hell, most of London was empty, and would remain so until spring brought everyone back for the Season.

Ahead of him, a man pulled his patched coat tighter to ward off the chill. “Ho, there, Davis!”

A man Sebastian presumed to be Davis halted and turned. “George! How are you? And the missus?” He gave him a solid clap on the shoulder.

“Good, good.” Davis grinned, exposing several gaps where teeth were missing. “Susan has enough washing to earn us a bit more coin, and she says thank you to your wife for the bird…” His cheerful voice faded as they turned a corner.

All right, so London wasn’t empty. There were thousands still here, who had no country homes to which to flee. London hummed and throbbed and teemed with life. He just wasn’t a part of it.

That made Sebastian feel lonelier still.

Which was a ridiculous thing to feel maudlin about. He did, at least, still have all his teeth. Besides, self-pity was loathsome in a duke. It suggested an unbecoming tendency toward introspection.

Ozymandias gave a snort of agreement and a fart of repugnance. Sebastian glared at the horse’s ears. He had paid over one hundred pounds for the beast, because of its impeccable bloodlines and bravery over obstacles. The breeder had waxed on about its willing temper, its sure feet, its strong back. He had not said one damn thing about the farting.

Perhaps Sebastian could convince Abingdon to abandon Lady Abingdon for an afternoon at White’s. His friend was one of the few left in Town, as they had not yet settled on a home to buy in the country. Lady Abingdon was set on Sussex, close to her sister and Nick. It wouldn’t be so very far from Perivale Hall, which would make Eliza happy.

Sebastian checked his timepiece again. If he kept Ozymandias to a very slow walk, he should arrive back at precisely five past eleven. Just in time to take tea with Eliza without seeming overly eager about it.

A gentle squeeze of the rein and nudge of his boot, and they were turned toward home. Ozymandias immediately pricked up his ears and hastened his gait, sensing that an afternoon of leisure in a warm, dry stall would soon be his. Ozymandias had no qualms about seeming over-eager to the mare in the next stall. Perhaps because he was missing his balls.

Sebastian rode straight into the mews and delivered Ozymandias to a waiting groom. The horse gave a great, relieved shake of his head, dispensing a parting fart as Sebastian dismounted,. The groom, being exceedingly well-trained, did not so much as wrinkle his nose.

Sebastian hastened to the house. It would not do to arrive too early, but neither did he want Eliza to take tea without him. Which she might. He was not at all certain that she desired his presence. He paused at her study. The door was flung open, as though its occupant had left in a hurry. It was usually kept shut—to remind him that he was not welcome, he supposed—and now his curiosity got the better of him. He hovered in the doorway and peered inside.

It was an elegant room, reminiscent of its mistress. The walls were pale blue with silver inlay in broad stripes. A desk faced the window, where the dark blue velvet drapes were pushed back to reveal the gray morning. Next to the desk chair was a stack of books. Another book lay open on the desk. The room was neat and tidy, and—he leaned in while keeping his boots firmly outside the door—yes, it smelled faintly of roses.

The thick sheaf of papers on the desk caught his attention. She spent her hours here writing letters, he assumed. But to whom? And about what? It must be more than the weather and everyone’s health, to keep her so occupied. She must be transcribing her heart, soul, and dreams, as well.

To someone who was not Sebastian.

It bothered him, yet he couldn’t quite identify the source of his annoyance. He did not suspect Eliza of being unfaithful. She had never seemed to favor any man in particular, and in point of fact she’d often treated her throng of beaux as a herd of goats—amusing, but best kept at a safe distance lest they eat her bonnet.

So, no. He was not worried she had taken a lover. Still, it rankled.

Why not him?

His attention was pulled away from the stack of papers by a feminine shriek of joy. He rocked back on his heels, craning his neck to find its source. There was no sign of Eliza, but he heard laughter and muffled words echoing down the hallway. He followed the sounds to the entryway.

Where he stopped short.

Eliza was not alone. Lady Abingdon was with her. They grasped each other by the elbows, their foreheads almost touching. Sebastian stepped back, sinking deeper into the shadowy space behind a credenza, not wanting to attract their notice.

“How—How…” Eliza murmured.

Lady Abingdon gave a soft peal of laughter. “Oh, the usual way, I imagine. Although perhaps it was one of the more…ehrm…unusual times.”

“Hush, you.” There was such affection in her tone that Sebastian fairly ached from it. “I meant to say, how do you feel?”

“I am well.”

They beamed happiness at each other.

A wave of longing nearly brought him to his knees. He wanted that. The tenderness, the affection, the confidence. The happiness that increased tenfold when shared with someone who understood. The belonging to each other.

Why not him?

“I can’t stay. But I had to—” Lady Abingdon said.

“I know.”

Realizing they were parting, Sebastian hastily retreated so he wouldn’t be found eavesdropping. But not before he saw Eliza’s expression as she watched Lady Abingdon turn to the door.

Fear.

And with that telling look, he understood. He could very easily guess Lady Abingdon’s secret, and what Eliza’s reaction to such news would be. She would not be so cruel as to share those thoughts with her blissful friend. No, she would pour out her fears, her hopes, her prayers in a letter—to someone who was not Sebastian.

Jealousy pickled his stomach.

“Sebastian! There you are. I had a tea tray sent to the green parlor.” So called because it was green, as opposed to the gold parlor which was…gold. “Are you hungry? You must be, after your ride. Come.”

He turned to look at her. Her cheeks were still rosy from happiness, her brow slightly furrowed from worry. Was it too much to ask that she share both with him? Yes, he could guess her thoughts, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to hear them in her own words. He wanted her to turn to him for both comfort and joy.

She led him to the parlor and gestured to one wing-backed chair. She claimed the other with a soft whoosh of her skirts. She spoke of the weather as she poured his dish of tea, but he could tell her mind was still with Lady Abingdon.

Tell me. The words hovered on the tip of his tongue.

“Perhaps it will be less dreary tomorrow. I crave a bit of sun.” She handed him his dish. “I suppose it is too much to hope for a letter from Riya this soon. She left barely a fortnight ago, so they could not have reached Alexandria yet.”

“No, not yet,” he said distractedly. “It will be another month, at least, before she can write.”

He pondered his tea for a long moment. Dark, clear amber, for she never forgot to serve it strong and plain, not even once since the first time he had requested it two years ago.

He wanted to know her. He wanted her to know him. And while he couldn’t force the former, he could at least offer the latter.

He looked up.

“Eliza,” he said. “I detest tea.”