The footman moved about the room, replacing spent candles with new ones. August watched him work then caught the way the man’s gaze darted from the empty chair to August standing beside it like a fool.
The footman finished and bowed. As he reached the door, he glanced back once more. Not at August this time. At the chair.
August was certain the entire staff knew by now that the Duchess had left. Knew that she had departed before dawn without telling her husband. Knew that the Duke had spent the day working in his study then wandered the hallways like a ghost searching for something he had lost.
The footman withdrew, and August sank into the chair opposite Eliza’s. Not her chair. He would not sit in her chair.
He stared at the empty seat across from him. At the book with its ribbon marking page one hundred and thirty-seven. At the indent in the cushion where she had sat just yesterday.
She had not even said goodbye.
The thought arrived unbidden, sharp, and unwelcome. She had written a note—polite, formal, everything a duchess should be. But she had not woken him. Had not knocked on his door. Had not given him the chance to ask her to stay.
Would you have asked her to stay?
He did not know. And that, perhaps, was the problem.
“My dear, I have known you since you were a child. You are not here for idle conversation.”
Lady Hartwell set her teacup down with a decisive click that made Eliza’s fingers tighten around her napkin.
The drawing room at Lady Hartwell’s townhouse was exactly as Eliza remembered. Pale green walls. Watercolor landscapes in gilt frames. The settee by the window where she had spent countless afternoons reading while Lady Hartwell attended to correspondence. Nothing had changed.
Except everything had changed.
Eliza smoothed the napkin across her lap and focused on the delicate floral pattern embroidered along its edge. “I simply thought it would be pleasant to visit. The weather has been rather fine lately, has it not? And I heard that Lady Pemberton hosted a musicale last week that was apparently quite?—”
“Eliza.”
The single word stopped her mid-sentence. She looked up to find Lady Hartwell watching her with those shrewd eyes that had always seen far too much.
“The weather is tedious, and I care nothing for Lady Pemberton’s musicale.” Lady Hartwell picked up a biscuit from the tea tray, examined it, then set it back down. “You arrived on my doorstep at an ungodly hour this morning with one small valise and circles under your eyes. Now, you sit in my drawing room making polite noises about the weather and gossip you clearly have no interest in.”
“I missed you,” Eliza said. “Is it so strange that I would wish to visit?”
“It is strange that you would visit without your husband. It is strange that you left your home before dawn. It is strange that you look as though you have not slept properly in days.” Lady Hartwell leaned back in her chair. “So, let us dispense with the pleasantries, shall we? What has happened?”
Eliza’s fingers found the edge of her napkin again, worrying at the embroidered flowers. “Nothing has happened. I simply needed some time away.”
“Time away from what? From Wildmoore Hall? From London society?” Lady Hartwell’s gaze sharpened. “From your husband?”
The words hung in the air between them. Eliza wanted to deny it, to construct some perfectly reasonable explanation that would satisfy Lady Hartwell’s curiosity without revealing the truth, but the truth pressed against her throat, demanding release.
“Your husband needs you,” Lady Hartwell said.
The statement was so matter of fact, so utterly confident, that Eliza almost laughed. “August does not need me.”
“Does he not?”
“I heard as much from him myself.” The words emerged harder than she intended. She set down her teacup before her shaking hands betrayed her. “Three nights ago, he was meeting with his advisor in the library. I was walking past and heard them discussing our marriage.”
Lady Hartwell said nothing. Simply waited, her expression revealing nothing of her thoughts.
“The advisor congratulated August on his timely marriage. Said it was a practical solution, sensibly executed. That the duchy required stability after his father’s death, and August had provided it.” Eliza’s throat felt tight. “August agreed. He said the marriage had served its purpose well.”
“I see.”
“Do you? Because I am not certain I do.” She stood and moved to the window, needing distance from Lady Hartwell’s penetrating gaze. “I knew what our marriage was. I understood from the beginning that it was born of scandal and necessity. But I thought—” She broke off, pressing her palm against the cool glass. “I allowed myself to hope that perhaps it might become something more.”