Page 36 of The Wayward Duke
So Julian rose to his feet. Paused with his hand on the door, composure fracturing. “I love you,” he whispered. “I just want you to know.”
And then he left her there in the decaying opulence of their home. Left her to fade day by day among the ghosts.
In the following weeks, Julian forced himself to go through the motions of living. He remained in London but kept vigil over Caroline from afar. Ensured the staff attended to the house and grounds despite the absence of its master and mistress.
Eventually, a letter arrived, penned in the housekeeper’s graceful script:
Her Grace has departed for Brighton to continue her convalescence by the sea.
Relief crashed through Julian. Caroline was up, dressed, and well enough to travel. The breath Julian released shook his entire frame.
I suggest you let her recover without looming,Mrs Gibbons added.
Delicate words meant to hurt. She had been with Caroline through the childbirth and the aftermath – his wife’s loyal ally in his absence.
Hands trembling, Julian folded the note and placed it on top of the stack of business letters requiring his attention. He would pen a response later with instructions for the staff to provide anything his wife desired. For now, work beckoned. There was always work to lose himself in.
He would wait until she asked to see him again.
The weeks turned to months. The months became years. When Julian learned Caroline had returned to London, he waited for a letter that never came. Her voice echoed through his mind, a toxin spreading.
I can’t bear the sight of you.
*
Three years after she had banished him from her life, Julian stood in the portrait gallery at Marlborough House. He stared up at a large canvas that had stirred excited whispers and scandalised gasps: a lush, radiant painting of a muscular Achilles before the gates of Troy. The rendering was so lifelike – every detail of the model’s physique was captured with devoted precision. From the sculpted muscles, down to the fine tracery of veins in the arms.
Julian recognised the elegant brushstrokes instantly. The subtle interplay of light and shadow. The tender devotion in each motion of the brush. After years apart, he still knew Caroline’s artistic talents intimately.
In the corner, a bold signature:Henry Morgan.
A false name. But the artistry was undeniably hers. Julian stared up at the riveting portrait, chest hollowed by loss. She had found a way to channel her gifts, at least. Had begun to paint again. To live again, somewhere beyond his reach. Without him.
“He’s extraordinarily talented, isn’t he?” a voice spoke at his shoulder. A gentleman was also studying the painting, keen interest etched on sharp features. “One can almost feel the warmth of the skin.”
“Remarkable,” Julian agreed, keeping his tone neutral. “The name is unfamiliar to me.”
“Newly ascendant talent. Morgan’s work is coveted for all the finest aristocratic collections.” The gentleman shot Julian a knowing look. “Rumour has it he once served in the military. Perhaps was even the captain of a ship. Accounts differ.”
“How mysterious,” Julian said. His eyes lingered on the play of light over the muscular curves so lovingly rendered.
Grace had suggested anom de guerre, he remembered suddenly.You should use a man’s name to sell them to the unsuspecting masses. Something dashing and mysterious.
They had laughed together once, the three of them. Two lives lost, now. His family whittled down to ghosts and painful memories.
Before grief could choke him, he said brusquely, “If you’ll pardon me.”
He walked away, putting distance between himself and the pain of seeing how far she had moved on without him. How separate their lives had become. In the three years since she banished him, Caroline had learned to subsist without his presence. Even thrive in her own way.
Julian still woke reaching across the empty sheets for her. Still wandered his palatial home, half convinced he could hear her soft laughter around the next corner.
Still longed for her.
But she despised him now. Could not bear the sight of him. She had made that plain.
So he boarded a boat bound for the Continent and put miles between them. As more years passed, Julian learned to slowly and painfully live without her.
It was nothing less than he deserved.
