Page 70 of A Gamble with the Rakish Duke
“Well, I am certain that whoever J. Lewis is, he or she is a talented composer. We’ve had our share of music lessons, Cathy. What do you think?” he asked, glad that a footman was walking around, picking up empty glasses and serving more brandy.
Oliver swapped his glass for a full one even though his sister was glaring at him.
“Interesting that you said he or she, Oliver. You’re the only one who’s entertaining the possibility of J. Lewis being a woman. And oh, I do love this composer. The emotions are very vivid, certainly, but the technique is also exquisite.”
“Have you not considered that someone from the fairer sex can be J. Lewis?” Oliver asked genuinely.
If there was anyone—aside from Alexandra—who would advocate for the rights of women to behave as they wanted, it would be Catherine.
“I have. It was just that everyone simply assumed that J. Lewis was a man because ladies often only get taught how to play and not to create their own music. Now that you’ve said that, perhaps women should be allowed to nurture their talents.”
Oliver loved how indignant his sister looked. However, neither of them could help Alexandra right now. He had also asked his wife to leave. So, there was that.
“Oliver, where is Alexandra? Whatever fight the two of you had, there is always a solution. Talk. You can’t let your pride get in the way this time,” Catherine advised, her voice hard but her eyes soft.
Oliver wished he could tell her about what was happening, but he couldn’t.
“I should go, Catherine. I-I shouldn’t be here,” he said, thinking of Alexandra.
Had she already arrived at the country house? Perhaps.
Perhaps she had only taken a few things with her. He imagined that he would go to see her and apologize—see if there was anything that could be done about their marriage. He would listen to her this time, find ways in which he could help her with her problems on her own terms.
Alexandra was probably right when she chose Prescott to help her sell her compositions. The idea of her husband taking over the process would make her feel even more trapped.
Trapped.
That was not how Oliver wanted her to feel. He needed to go home.
At least to see if she had returned.
“Run faster,” he urged his coachman, who quickly obeyed.
They raced through London as if they were heading for a different country altogether, not a townhouse only a few blocks away.
When the carriage rolled to a stop, the Duke looked upon his residence with trepidation. There was something different about it.
He rushed inside, already breathless before he flung the door open.
An eerie silence greeted him. No strains of piano. No giggling from the young maid. No footsteps running down to greet him.
Yes, the past few days had been bliss. But it was because of Alexandra. He hadn’t expected her absence would feel like this.
As if something was ripped away from him.
“So, it’s over,” he whispered.
Of course she did.
But could he still go and see her? He could visit her in the countryside—properly woo her this time. Make her feel special, even though she already was.
He ran up the steps. He needed to see for himself. For some reason, he went to see the music room first. Without Alexandra, it felt empty. Hollow. It was like a piece in a museum—dead and forgotten, even though she had not left that long ago.
Oliver checked the drawers, but no sheet music was left save the ones he and Catherine used to play—much simpler pieces than the ones Alexandra played. There were no J. Lewis compositions either, except for a crumpled sheet music on the piano.
Breathing hard, he ran to his wife’s room, which she had only used for the past few nights to dress herself. He opened her wardrobe and found nothing. There were trunks on the floor, neatly piled on top of each other. A note lay on one of them.
Here are the dresses you bought for me. I won’t be needing them anymore. You can perhaps donate them to charity or sell them to fripperies. If you want to be free of me, wait for when they discover who I am. The scandal will give you a reason to divorce me. Do what you will.
