Page 58 of When her Duke Returns
“You asked!” her brother sighed then swept over to the vanity to freshen himself up once the bleeding had ceased.
“What did they want? Whowerethey?”
“I do not know who they were, nor do I particularly care. And I don’t know what they wanted! They were locals, I assume, probably none too fond of Englishmen. They stripped me of my things after our tussle and left me, certainly thinking I was more wounded than I was.”
“And what of Francis?”
“Oh,Francis,” Harry spat, “he practically left me for dead once the boys were upon us. He said he hadgone for helpthough none ever came, I dare say!”
Mary bit her lip. “You don’t suppose…”
“Suppose what?”
“You don’t suppose theyknew?”
Harry turned slowly, picking up on her cues. “Do you think I’m so careless as to let slip the nature of my being to whoever should come to ask?”
“I found you out.”
“That’s hardly the same!” Harry huffed then settled on the vanity in a lump. He ran his hands through his hair. “Speaking of… There is something I must tell you, but you must promise not to throw yourself at my knees and muck up your skirts once I do. Is that clear?”
“And it cannot be seen to later?” she asked and rolled her eyes. There would be time for theatrics once her penance had been paid.
“No, it cannot,” he declared and then sighed deeply as though the words he would come to utter were unspeakable in their nature. “I’m leaving, Mary. I’m leaving England for good.”
Mary felt her blood turn to ice. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Joking, then.”
“Mary, it’s true. There is a boat set for travel across the channel as early as next Wednesday, and I plan to be on it when it sets sail.”
“No!” she shrieked and fell to her knees in a pile of lace and satin. She could not believe what she was hearing. “You cannot do this to me, Harry. You cannot do this toyourself!”
Harry bolted toward her, sinking to her level. “Come now, Mary. What did you think would happen? If Burkley knows, it’s only a matter of time before half of London is privy to my affairs. These things spread like sickness…” He brought a hand to rest on her shoulder. “Look, pup. This isn’t all bad. It might just be what we need to set you free.”
Mary snapped her head up. “Do you mean to say—”
“That I know of Antony’s threats on my life? I do. And you are a tremendous buffoon if you think I would ever let you trade your life for mine. Unfurl that dark brow of yours, sweet sister, and let’s be on our way before it’s too late!”
A collection of butterflies burst from their cocoon in Mary’s belly as she contemplated Harry’s offer. It was all she wanted—to be free and safe—but the promise of his departure rang hollow in her heart. If nothing else, Antony had shown the unending darkness of his character, and she feared no amount of light or distance would come to quell it entirely. If there was any sickness to be spoken of, it lay withinhim.
“You don’t know Burkley, Harry—not as I do. He is not a person one can hope to outrun. If you slip from his grasp, Francis shall be next. Or Sophia or Mama… He will send men after you on the Continent and chase you across the world if he has to! He willneverlet us be free, not until he gets what he wants.”
“You don’t know that.”
“But I fear it enough to know that I cannot test him.” She rushed to her brother then, settling against his knees, smearing whatever mask had been painted across her face by her girls. “Harry, thismustcome to an end. The fighting is too much to endure. For you, for myself, for our family. Better to dance with the Devil than surrender our souls.”
Harry hummed, bringing his sister into his arms. She felt a tear fall on her cheek from above and looked up to see him sob. “All my life, I have ever worked to keep you safe.”
“I know, my darling brother… Lay down your arms and allowmeto watch overyou.”
ChapterTwenty-Four
On the far-western lawns of the abbey lay a small, crumbling chapel. Its roof had long caved in, engaging the building in an eternal, flippant battle with the heavens and their many whims. Two columns of cedar benches lined the small aisle of the chapel. Candles had been set along the crumbling remnants of the church walls as a blanket of leaves hung overhead from nearby oak trees. A carpet of shocking red had been set out between them, piercing through the heart of the building and leading to a stone dais beyond where countless pairs of would-be Simons had proclaimed the truth of their hearts before their peers and God, beneath the rains and snows of Edinburgh.
For any other woman at any other time on any other day, the moment might have felt like the cherished end to a fairy tale, recounted between generations, subject to the many dreams of little ladies.
