Smiling to put her mother at ease, Sarah nodded. She chose not to mention that he could have sent a letter from one of the posting inns he would have stopped at. When she’d asked Friedriechsen if he knew where the duke had gone, the butler had not been able to offer any further information. Neither could Matthew’s secretary, Mr. Sheffield, or his valet, Mr. Albertson. Nobody knew where Matthew was. They simply assured her he probably had matters of great importance to see to and that he would return once they’d been resolved.
But when another two weeks came and went without any word from him, Sarah grew increasingly worried. Surely this wasn’t typical behavior for a husband. Her mother had said it wasn’t, but she and Sarah’s father had always had an uncommonly close bond, so perhaps she’d commented from that standpoint. And since Sarah had no wish to discuss the intricacies of her marriage with anyone, or betray Matthew’s trust by revealing the issues she knew he still dealt with, she hadn’t asked her sisters-in-law for their opinions.
Her unease grew as additional days went by. It became harder to explain his continued absence without lying. It didn’t help matters that she now knew without a doubt that she carried his child.
Uneasy and desperate to talk things through with him, to share the impending joy of parenthood with him instead of allowing loneliness and the sense of abandonment to swamp her, Sarah pondered her options. Five weeks had passed since their wedding and it was high time she faced reality. Matthew had fled. Perhaps it had been the intimacy of their wedding night, perhaps the words of love she’d spoken. Whatever the case, it hardly mattered. The only important thing was he’d left her, and while she acknowledged the threat of tears this realization brought, she refused to cry.
Instead, she located a travelling trunk and called for Anna to help her pack. Matthew had four estates. She would visit every damn one of them until she found him. And God help him when she did, because no matter what he’d been through or how frightened he might be of opening his heart and letting her in, this sort of behavior was not to be born.
Even though his view was blurred by thick drops of November rain, Matthew stood in the room he’d been renting at Mivart’s Hotel for more than a month and stared out the window. He was an ass. There was no doubt in his mind about that or the fact that he desperately missed Sarah.
Registered as Mr. Donovan to preserve his anonymity with the hotel staff, he’d spent the last weeks in solitude. Forcing himself to delve into his past, to reflect on every painful detail and face his demons, he’d finally come to a startling conclusion: running away didn’t help. It never had. If anything, it only ever served as a brief distraction from the torment.
Casting a glance over his shoulder, he surveyed the empty decanters and various glasses he’d used to dampen the pain. Christ, he’d been foxed. Scrubbing one hand over his jaw he decided he needed a shave. That, and some clean clothes. Perhaps even a haircut if he were being completely honest.
One thing was for sure, though. It was time to go home, time for him to be the husband Sarah deserved, to trust her to give him the help he’d been too blind to realize he needed.
It was time to tell her he loved her.
Acknowledging the emotion had probably been the hardest thing of all. He’d always been so determined never to love anyone ever again, to never put himself in a position where the possibility of loss would slowly kill him. Only now it occurred to him that in doing so he’d stopped living.
It was time for all that to change.
With a renewed sense of purpose, he took half an hour to make the room a bit more presentable, then wrote a note to his valet and called for a servant to make sure it got delivered. Albertson arrived within the hour and went straight to work on improving Matthew’s appearance.
“How is my wife?” Matthew asked while the valet ran the shaving blade down the side of his neck.
Silence followed.
Matthew frowned while a smidgen of unease crept up the nape of his neck. “Albertson?”
Albertson cleared his throat and rinsed the blade in the bowl of water he held. “It is my understanding that Her Grace departed for Sunderland Hall this morning.
“What?”
“If you would please hold still for a moment, Your Grace, I’ve yet to complete the other side.”
Matthew sat as if frozen. His mind reeled with possibilities while his heart hammered and a painful knot twisted his insides. “Did she say why she chose to go there?”
“I believe she went in search of you.”
“Damn it, Albertson. Why didn’t you say so?”
“I did not think it my place, Your Grace. Now please hold still so I do not nick you.”
“Fine. Just make it quick, will you. I’ve got to get going and–” He glanced at the window. Rain pelted down outside, more heavily than before, instilling in him a sense of dread so fierce it almost left him immobile. “This is not good weather for travel.”
Propelled by the same sort of uneasy feeling he’d had when he’d watched his parents and siblings ride off, Matthew stood, pushed Albertson aside, and snatched up his jacket. He’d been a child back then. No one had listened to his words of warning about the weather. They’d had a schedule to keep.
Well, he was an adult now and he would be damned if any harm came to his wife because he’d been too selfish and foolish not to stay by her side.
“Your Grace. I’m not finished,” Albertson said in a rush while following Matthew to the door. “I still have to–”
“Never mind any of that,” Matthew said. He flung open the door and stormed into the hallway not caring if he looked unkempt or deranged. “The only thing that matters right now is getting my wife home. Everything else will have to wait.”
He raced down the stairs, bounding over several steps at once until he finally reached the foyer. He didn’t care that he’d forgotten his hat and his gloves. The only thing that signified was acquiring a horse as fast as possible so he could go after Sarah.
Ignoring the whispers and stares from the people he passed, he made for the front door and pulled it open so fast he collided with a man who was trying to enter.
“Brunswick?”
Matthew gave the man a closer inspection and instinctively cursed before clearing his throat. Damn his rotten luck for bumping into Sarah’s eldest brother of all people. “Mr. Townsbridge.”
Mr. Charles Townsbridge, having seemingly recovered from the shock of encountering Matthew here, frowned. “Where the hell have you been and what was so important you had to abandon my sister the day after your wedding?”
“I, um…” Matthew looked around, frantically searching for some quick means of escape. “I have to go.”
“Hold on one moment.” Mr. Townsbridge’s frown deepened while he gave Matthew a closer inspection. “Unkempt appearance. Ruffled clothes. No hat or gloves. By God, man! Have you been staying here all this time while she thought you had travelled on business?”
“No. Well, yes. I mean–”
“Which. Is. It?”
“I really don’t have time for this, Townsbridge. I have to find my wife.”
“And so you shall. Right after this.”
The force of his brother-in-law’s fist landing squarely against his jaw made him stagger. A burning ache spread through his cheekbones, leaving no doubt in his mind it would bruise. Gasps could be heard from those who’d witnessed the altercation.
“Pull yourself together,” Mr. Townsbridge snapped while flexing his fingers. “You look a damn fright.”
“No thanks to you,” Matthew grumbled even though he knew well enough he’d deserved the blow. “Now I really must go. My valet just informed me your sister set out along the North Road this morning. Apparently, she believes I’m at one of my four estates and has determined to find me.”
“Christ, you’re an idiot.”
“I won’t dispute that, but right now I must–”
“Tell Mr. Partridge that Mr. Townsbridge won’t make the meeting aft
er all, would you please?” Mr. Townsbridge told the clerk behind the front desk.
“Very good, sir,” the man said. He stood and waved for another man to approach.
“And also,” Mr. Townsbridge continued, “I need a note sent to Number Ten Berkley Square informing my wife that I have travelled with the Duke of Brunswick and that I shall be home as soon as I can.”
“I’ll see to it,” the clerk assured him.
“Excellent.” Mr. Townsbridge handed the man a few coins and stormed back outside into the pouring rain with a, “Let’s go,” directed at Matthew.
Matthew hurried after him toward a black, unmarked carriage. Instructions to take the North Road were delivered to the driver together with an order to stop at every posting inn they passed along their way. As soon as this had been accomplished, Mr. Townsbridge climbed into the vehicle. Matthew followed. His already soggy clothes clung to his body. Cold wetness started to pool beneath him on the bench. A shiver raked his entire frame. If only he’d thought to bring a greatcoat.
“Don’t look to me for sympathy,” Mr. Townsbridge said when Matthew happened to catch his gaze. “In my opinion you deserve a good bout of influenza - the sort that will keep you teetering at death’s door for a couple of days before you recover.”
“How magnanimous of you to hope I survive.”
“Don’t think for one moment I wish you well for your own sake,” Mr. Townsbridge murmured. “I simply don’t wish for my sister to be made a widow.”
“Of course.” Matthew gave his attention to the window and the grey exterior beyond. Even though he was finally doing something - acting, as it were - he’d never felt more out of control. His heart beat frantically while tension gripped him so tight he could barely breathe.
“Would you please stop that?” The startling sound of Mr. Townsbridge’s voice after nearly two hours of silence made Matthew flinch. “Tapping your foot will not make this carriage move the least bit faster. If anything, it will only increase my desire to strangle you.”
“She told me she loved me,” Matthew stated. It seemed so ridiculous now that those words had scared him away when they ought to have done the opposite. “I’m afraid I panicked.”
“Hmph. Well, I don’t suppose you’d be the first man to do so, but bloody hell, Brunswick. You’ve been gone for over a month without a word. And all the while you’ve been cooped up a mere mile away from your house. You’ll have to forgive me for not understanding what in God’s name you were thinking.”
“Sarah will,” Matthew muttered. Whether or not she’d be capable of forgiveness was quite another matter.
Mr. Townsbridge just gave him a baffled look and shook his head. The silence between them resumed until they reached the first posting inn. Matthew almost tore the carriage door off its hinges as soon as they rolled to a halt. He leapt down onto the muddy ground and ran inside the establishment only to learn that the Brunswick carriage had indeed passed there a few hours prior but that it had stopped only for a change of horses.
Swearing so violently the innkeeper raised both bushy eyebrows, Matthew returned to the carriage and related the information to Sarah’s brother. “It will be late before we catch her. Perhaps you would like to return home while I continue the search?”
Mr. Townsbridge gave him a hard stare, then slowly nodded. “You’ll move faster if you hire a horse to ride. Is a good one available?”
Matthew went to inquire and was instantly shown to the stables where he picked out a fine looking stallion. When he returned to the carriage with the horse, Mr. Townsbridge stepped down and removed his greatcoat.
“Take this,” he told Matthew as he flung the garment across his shoulders. “It will hopefully keep you from getting wetter.”
Matthew thanked him and mounted the horse while Mr. Townsbridge climbed back inside his carriage. Before he closed the door, Matthew hastened to add, “I promise to bring her home safely.”
“See that you do.”
The clipped remark was followed by the slam of the door. Matthew didn’t wait to watch the carriage take off. He just gripped the reins and urged the horse straight into a gallop. Darkness would soon be upon them because of the thick clouds hovering low, and with no hint of the rain letting up any time soon, it became nearly impossible for him to see where he was going.
With water pelting his face like squalls coming in from the ocean, Matthew raced toward his next destination. Wind swept across the road in angry bursts, whipping his hair and hampering his pace. Making sure he kept to the side where potholes were less likely to occur and his horse less likely to stumble, he tore into the storm until his mount tripped to a halt and whinnied.
Dismounting, Matthew caught sight of the large object obstructing its movements. His heart slowed to a near stop. One of the horse’s legs appeared to have gotten caught between the spokes of a broken off carriage wheel. Crouching, Matthew carefully eased the leg free while cold shivers rippled through him.
“She’s all right,” he quietly told himself. Lost carriage wheels weren’t so odd. One happened upon them occasionally when travelling through the countryside. Rising, he led the horse forward a few paces to test its legs. The stallion tossed its head but seemed to be otherwise fine. Matthew placed one foot back in the stirrup, prepared to mount. And that was when he saw it - the dark irregular shape a bit further ahead.
Unwilling to move toward it, yet knowing he had to, Matthew grabbed the horse by its reins and walked the fifty yards or so to the overturned carriage. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to approach the door. His throat was already closing, his eyes beginning to burn on account of the unmistakable Brunswick insignia staring him in the face.
No.
Tears mingled with the falling rain as he fought the pain squeezing his chest and reached forward, almost blindly pulling the door open so he could check the interior. For nineteen years he’d held them back, trapping them before they managed to fall and turning his back on the grief whenever it tried to confront him.
Gulping for air he searched for the bodies he feared he would find, but the space was empty. A sob of relief shook him and he allowed himself to survey the scene in closer detail. All personal items appeared to have been removed. The horses were missing too, which surely meant they’d been unfastened by the coachman and brought to the nearest inn.
With a renewed sense of urgency, Matthew swung back into the saddle and spurred his horse onward at a gentler pace. He arrived at The Red Rooster after another few miles of riding, swiftly dismounted, and thrust the reins at the young stable boy who came to greet him. With foreboding nipping hard at his heels, he marched into the inn.
She had to be here. She simply had to. Because if she wasn’t…
“I’m looking for the Duchess of Brunswick,” he told the innkeeper in a tremulous tone. “Where is she?”
Chapter 9
Sarah was just stepping out of her bath when the shouting began. She glanced at Anna. It sounded as though a lion was on the loose downstairs. She dried off, put on a clean chemise, and was about to let Anna assist her with her stays when a roar, sounding much like a name, gave her pause.
Surely she must have misheard.
Surely her husband would not be here looking for her.
Surely–
“Sarah!”
Feet pounded on the stairs.
“Sir,” another much fainter voice yelled. “You cannot go up there without permission. I don’t even know who you are.”
“I am the Duke of bloody Brunswick and I intend to find my wife!”
Sarah blinked. A fist pounded against a door a bit further along the hallway.
A female voice shrieked.
More pounding followed.
Sarah blew out a breath, put on the robe she’d discarded earlier, and crossed the floor. She was verily exhausted after the ordeal she’d been through. No woman liked walking several miles in a downpour after being tossed about in a careening carriage. And while her intention had been
to find her husband, she wasn’t sure she had the energy for the furious mood he was clearly in. And what on earth was he doing here anyway when he was supposed to be at Sunderland Hall, or if not there then at one of his other estates? Nothing made sense.
Bolstering herself for what was to come, she swung open the door and gasped, because the man who stood before her looked like a madman who’d just fought his way out of hell. Drenched from head to toe, with uneven bits of beard protruding from the right side of his jaw, he stared at her with red-rimmed eyes conveying such anguish her heart instinctively cried out in pain.
“You’re alive,” he rasped and she saw he was shaking. “I thought… My God, Sarah. I feared… When I found the carriage I…”
His hands came up to cover his face, perhaps in a futile attempt to hide his complete destruction. Unable to bear it for one more second, Sarah stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m all right,” she whispered. “No harm has come to me, Matthew. The driver spotted the hole in the road and managed to slow the horses before we hit it. Come. Let’s get you inside so you can dry off.”
She felt more than heard his quivering breath right before she disengaged herself from his tight embrace and led him toward the fire.
“I will be in my own chamber if you need me,” Anna said and slipped quietly from the room, closing the door as she went.
“You’re in shock,” Sarah said as she removed the greatcoat from Matthew’s shoulders and began unbuttoning his jacket. The worry and anger she’d felt over his continued absence and the manner in which he’d left her were replaced by a desperate need to offer comfort, to ease his torment, and to help him overcome it. “The bath should make you feel better.”
As soon as the jacket came loose, she pulled it down over his arms, shook it out, and hung it over the back of a chair before going to work on his shirt. Tugging it free from his breeches, she hefted it up and over his head and was just about to hang it over another chair when he grabbed her wrist.
The Townsbridge's Series Page 41