Her Secondhand Groom(96)

“No. As I said, I didn’t even know you two were at odds until you told me.”

“Right.” Patrick drummed his fingers on his knee. “I wonder where she could be, if she’s not here or at Caroline’s.” He’d already determined she wasn’t there earlier in the week by arriving unannounced at Caroline’s with his girls in tow for an impromptu tea session. He’d even gone by the Hughes’ cottage and for all the chaos ensuing, Juliet wasn’t part of it. Those were the only three places he could think she’d have gone.

“Your house perhaps,” Marcus said helpfully, breaking Patrick from his thoughts.

Patrick shook his head. “I know for certain she’s not there.”

“How so?”

“I already checked,” he admitted with a twist of his lips. “Even in that blasted governess’ room. There’s not a trace of her anywhere.”

Marcus gave his head a single shake. “That just doesn’t sound like something she’d do. Disappear and not come back.” He brought his feet up and rested them on the edge of his desk. “I could understand her going out to visit her friends or family, but I just can’t picture her leaving and not coming back.”

“Well, that’s exactly what she did,” Patrick snapped.

Marcus’ grey gaze impaled him. “What are you not telling me?”

Patrick stood. There was nothing further to discuss. His problems were between him and Juliet alone, not Marcus.

“You told her not to come back, didn’t you?” Marcus said just as Patrick’s right foot crossed the threshold.

Patrick spun around. “That is none of your concern.”

Marcus shrugged. “You’re right, it’s not. But it explains why she didn’t return. You’ve lost her.”

An overwhelming sense of panic settled over him. Marcus had finally put into words Patrick’s greatest fear. He’d be lying to say he hadn’t wished she’d return, but hearing Marcus’ words made everything clear and final. “You could be wrong,” he forced himself to say to give off the air of indifference.

“I’m not. I may not know her as well as you or Emma do, but I’ve seen enough of her to know that unlike Abigail, Juliet doesn’t give up easily. She would have come back if you’d not barred the door to her.” He scratched his jaw. “That still doesn’t add up. She’s not one to cower to the demands of anyone, particularly you. That just begs the question of what you said to her exactly.”

Patrick bristled and turned to face his friend. “Not that it’s something you’d understand at the moment, but I told her to make her choice because I wasn’t going to stand for her playing loose with my girls’ affections.”

“Your girls?” Marcus drawled, dropping his quill and taking to his feet. “I can’t give you all the answers, Patrick. There are some mysteries in life you have to solve yourself, but I’ll give you the first clue. Until you stop living under all the shadows your marriage to Abigail created, you’ll never have Juliet.”

A hot retort died on Patrick’s tongue when Marcus’ eyes lit up at the sight of his wife coming into the room.

Feigning what he hoped passed as politeness, Patrick excused himself to go home.

Briar Creek was eerily quiet as he passed through the halls. He walked through the set of common rooms, then to the portrait gallery, then finally to the family wing and stopped squarely in front of the door that led to the viscountess’ room.

Hand shaking, he extended his fingers to wrap around the door handle. Five years of memories lurked behind that door. Swallowing hard, he eased the door open. He exhaled sharply. It was time to go in. Time to face the demons of his past. Time to put Abigail and her memory to rest. Time to let all his fears and worries go and start fresh.

Pushing his feet across the floor to an empty chair, Patrick looked around. Nothing had changed one bit from how he remembered it. The drapes were still half-drawn. The six candle candelabra still held only one candle because Abigail had a terrifying fear of fire. Quills and ink pots were lined up in a row along the top of the cherry secretary in the corner. The bed had been cleaned and remade, he noted, running his fingers along the edge of the counterpane. His stomach lurched. He hated this room. Hated what it represented: failure and defeat. Particularly, his failure and defeat. He’d failed Abigail.

Her image flashed vividly in his mind, reminding him of the falsity of his former thoughts. He’d done everything he could for her that day, he hadn’t failed her—she’d given up. Why she’d given up that day he’d never really know. Whether it was her jealous insecurities regarding other women, or the fact she’d never wanted the child she was delivering, it didn’t matter. She’d given up. She’d chosen the easy way. She hadn’t had much fight in her to begin with and when a chance for escape had come, she’d taken it.