The Duke and I (39 page)

 The single sheet of paper slipped from Daphne's fingers and floated slowly to the floor. A harsh sob escaped her throat,

and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, as if that might possibly stem the tide of emotion that was churning within her.

 He'd left her. He'd actually left her. She'd known he was angry, known he might not even forgive her, but she hadn't thought he would actually leave.

 She'd thought—oh, even when he'd stormed out the door she'd thought that they might be able to resolve their differences, but now she wasn't so sure.

 Maybe she'd been too idealistic. She'd egotistically thought that she could heal him, make his heart whole. Now she realized that she'd imbued herself with far more power than she actually possessed. She'd thought her love was so good, so shining, so pure that Simon would immediately abandon the years of resentment and pain that had fueled his very existence.

 How self-important she'd been. How stupid she felt now.

 Some things were beyond her reach. In her sheltered life, she'd never realized that until now. She hadn't expected the world to be handed to her upon a golden platter, but she'd always assumed that if she worked hard enough for something, treated everyone the way she would like to be treated, then she would be rewarded.

 But not this time. Simon was beyond her reach.

 The house seemed preternaturally quiet as Daphne made her way down to the yellow room. She wondered if all the servants had learned of her husband's departure and were now studiously avoiding her. They had to have heard bits and pieces of the argument the night before.

 Daphne sighed. Grief was even more difficult when one had a small army of onlookers.

 Or invisible onlookers, as the case may be, she thought as she gave the bellpull a tug. She couldn't see them, but she knew they were there, whispering behind her back and pitying her.

 Funny how she'd never given much thought to servants' gossip before. But now—she plopped down on the sofa with a pained little moan—now she felt so wretchedly alone. What else was she supposed to thinkabout?

 "Your grace?"

 Daphne looked up to see a young maid standing hesitantly in the doorway. She bobbed a little curtsy and gave Daphne an expectant look.

 "Tea, please," Daphne said quietly. "No biscuits, just tea."

 The young girl nodded and ran off.

 As she waited for the maid to return, Daphne touched her abdomen, gazing down at herself with gentle reverence. Closing her eyes, she sent up a prayer.
Please God please,
she begged,
let there be a child
.

 She might not get another chance.

 She wasn't ashamed of her actions. She supposed she should be, but she wasn't.

 She hadn't planned it. She hadn't looked at him while he was sleeping and thought—
he's probably still drunk. I can make love to him and capture his seed and he'll never know
.

 It hadn't happened that way.

 Daphne wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but one moment she was above him, and the next she'd realized that he

wasn't going to withdraw in time, and she'd made certain he
couldn't
...

 Or maybe— She closed her eyes. Tight. Maybe it had happened the other way. Maybe she
had
taken advantage of more than the moment, maybe she had taken advantage of
him
.

 She just didn't know. It had all melted together. Simon's stutter, her desperate wish for a baby, his hatred of his father—it had all swirled and mixed in her mind, and she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

 And she felt so alone.

 She heard a sound at the door and turned, expecting the timid young maid back with tea, but in her stead was Mrs. Colson. Her face was drawn and her eyes were concerned.

 Daphne smiled wanly at the housekeeper. "I was expecting the maid," she murmured.

 "I had things to attend to in the next room, so I thought I'd bring the tea myself," Mrs. Colson replied.

 Daphne knew she was lying, but she nodded anyway.

 "The maid said no biscuits," Mrs. Colson added, "but I knew you'd skipped breakfast, so I put some on the tray, anyway."

 “That's very thoughtful of you." Daphne didn't recognize the timbre of her own voice. It sounded ratherflat to her, almost as if it belonged to someone else.

 "It was no trouble, I assure you." The housekeeper looked as if she wanted to say more, but eventually she just straightened and asked, "Will that be all?"

 Daphne nodded.

 Mrs. Colson made her way to the door, and for one brief moment Daphne almost called out to her. She almost said her

name, and asked her to sit with her, and share her tea. And she would have spilled her secrets and her shame, and then

she would have spilled her tears.

 And not because she was particularly close to the housekeeper, just because she had no one else.

 But she didn't call out, and Mrs. Colson left the room.

 Daphne picked up a biscuit and bit into it. Maybe, she thought, it was time to go home.

 Chapter 19

 The new Duchess of Hastings was spotted in Mayfair today. Philipa Featherington saw the former Miss Daphne Bridgerton taking a
bit of air as she walked briskly around the block. Miss Featherington called out to her, but the duchess pretended not to hear
.

 And we know the duchess must have been pretending, for after all, one would have to be deaf to let one of Miss Featherington's shouts go unnoticed .

 Lady Whistledown's Society Papers,9 June 1813

 Heartache, Daphne eventually learned, never really went away; it just dulled. The sharp, stabbing pain that one felt with

each breath eventually gave way to a blunter, lower ache—the kind that one could almost—but never quite—ignore.

 She left Castle Clyvedon the day after Simon's departure, heading to London with every intention of returning to Bridgerton House. But going back to her family's house somehow seemed like an admission of failure, and so at the last minute, she instructed the driver to take her to Hastings House instead. She would be near her family if she felt the need for their support and companionship, but she was a married woman now; she should reside in her own home.

 And so she introduced herself to her new staff, who accepted her without question (but not without a considerable amount of curiosity), and set about her new life as an abandoned wife.

 Her mother was the first to come calling. Daphne hadn't bothered to notify anyone else of her return to London, so this was not terribly surprising.

 "Where is he?" Violet demanded without preamble.

 "My husband, I presume?"

 "No, your great-uncle Edmund," Violet practically snapped. "Of course I mean your husband."

 Daphne didn't quite meet her mother's eyes as she said, "I believe that he is tending to affairs at one of his country estates."

 "You
believe?"
 

 "Well, I know," Daphne amended.

 "And do you
know
why you are not with him?"

 Daphne considered lying. She considered brazening it out and telling her mother some nonsense about an emergency

involving tenants and maybe some livestock or disease or
anything.
But in the end, her lip quivered, and her eyes started to prick with tears, and her voice was terribly small, as she said, "Because he did not choose to take me with him."

 Violet took her hands. "Oh, Daff," she sighed, "what happened?"

 Daphne sank onto a sofa, pulling her mother along with her. "More than I could ever explain."

 "Do you want totry?"

 Daphne shook her head. She'd never, not even once in her life, kept a secret from her mother. There had never been

anything she didn't feel she could discuss with her.

 But there had never been this. She patted her mother's hand. "I'll be all right."

 Violet looked unconvinced. "Are you certain?"

 "No." Daphne stared at the floor for a moment. "But I have to believe it, anyway."

 Violet left, and Daphne placed her hand on her abdomen and prayed.

 *  *  *

 Colin was the next to visit. About a week later, Daphne returned from a quick walk in the park to find him standing in her drawing room, arms crossed, expression furious.

 "Ah," Daphne said, pulling off her gloves, "I see you've learned of myreturn."

 "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

 Colin, Daphne reflected wryly, had clearly not inherited their mother's talent for subtlety in speech.

 "Speak!" he barked.

 She closed her eyes for a moment. Just a moment to try to relieve the headache that had been plaguing her for days. She

didn't want to tell her woes to Colin. She didn't even want to tell him as much as she told her mother, although she supposed he already knew. News always traveled fast at Bridgerton House.

 She wasn't really sure where she got the energy, but there was a certain fortifying benefit to putting up a good front, so she squared her shoulders, raised a brow, and said, "And by that you mean ... ?"

 "I mean," Colin growled, "where is your husband?"

 "He is otherwise occupied," Daphne replied. It sounded so much better than, "He left me."

 "Daphne..."Colin's voice held no end of warning.

 "Are you here alone?" she asked, ignoring his tone.

 "Anthony and Benedict are in the country for the month, if that's what you mean," Colin said.

 Daphne very nearly sighed with relief. The last thing she needed just then was to face her eldest brother. She'd already prevented him from killing Simon once; she wasn't sure if she'd be able to manage the feat a second time. Before she could say anything, however, Colin added, "Daphne, I am ordering you right now to tell me where the bastard is hiding."

 Daphne felt her spine stiffening. She might have the right to call her errant husband nasty names, but her brother certainly didn't. "I assume," she said icily, "that by 'that bastard' you refer to my husband."

 "You're damned right I—"

 "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

 Colin looked at her as if she'd suddenly sprouted horns. "I beg your pardon?"

 "I don't care to discuss my marriage with you, so if you cannot refrain from offering your unsolicited opinions, you're going to have to leave."

 "You can't ask me to leave," he said in disbelief.

 She crossed her arms. "This is my house."

 Colin stared at her, then looked around the room— the drawing room of the Duchess of Hastings—then looked back at Daphne, as if just realizing that his little sister, whom he'd always viewed as rather jolly extension of himself, had become her own woman.

 He reached out and took her hand. "Daff," he said quietly, "I'll let you handle this as you see fit."

 "Thank you."

 "For now,"he warned. "Don't think I'll let this situation continue indefinitely."

 But it wouldn't, Daphne thought a half hour later as Colin left the house. It couldn't continue indefinitely. Within a fortnight, she would know.

 *  *  *

 Every morning Daphne woke to find she was holding her breath. Even before her courses were due to arrive, she bit

her lip, said a little prayer, and gingerly peeled back the covers of her bed and looked for blood.

 And every morning she saw nothing but snowy white linen.

 A week after her courses were due, she allowed herself the first glimmerings of hope. Her courses had never been

perfectly punctual; they could, she reasoned, still arrive at any time. But still, she had never been quite
this
late...

 After another week, though, she found herself smiling each morning, holding on to her secret as she would a treasure.

She wasn't ready to share this with anyone yet. Not her mother, not her brothers, and certainly not Simon.

 She didn't feel terribly guilty about withholding the news from him. After all, he had withheld his seed from her. But more importantly, she feared that his reaction would be explosively negative, and she just wasn't ready to let his displeasure ruin her perfect moment of joy. She did, however, jot off a note to his steward, asking that he forward Simon's new address to her.

 But then finally, after the third week, her conscience got the better of her, and she sat down at her desk to write him a letter.

 *  *  *

 Unfortunately for Daphne, the sealing wax hadn't even dried on her missive when her brother Anthony, obviously returned from his sojourn in the country, came crashing into the room. Since Daphne was upstairs, in her private chamber, where she was
not
supposed to receive visitors, she didn't even want to think about how many servants he had injured on his way up.

 He looked furious, and she knew she probably shouldn't provoke him, but he always made her slightly sarcastic, so she