Her Secondhand Groom (38 page)

Marcus brought his chair forward with an echoing snap. “You know very well what my reasons were and you were the one who encouraged Emma’s involvement with Sir Wallace.”

Patrick shrugged. “What has that to do with me?”

“
Allow me to repeat myself. You knew what my reasons were, just as I know yours.”

“
And what would those be?”

“
The ones you tell yourself, or the real ones?” Marcus challenged.

Patrick swallowed. Just what did his friend know anyhow? Before he could ask, Marcus spoke again.

“
You might tell yourself you want a mother for your girls, but that’s not true, Patrick. What you really want is an equal. You―”

“
I had that with Abigail.”

“
No, what you had with Abigail was an overgrown child. Sit back down. Now. I am not done speaking to you. I listened to your observations a few months ago when I confronted you about your involvement with Emma’s impending marriage to Sir Wallace, now you’ll grant me the same courtesy and listen to me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Patrick, can you deny what I said?”

Sadly, he couldn’t. Though he’d loved Abigail, many of the things he’d done for her over the course of their marriage were more in line with what a parent or older brother might do, not a husband. “No.”

“
Patrick, she wasn’t a good match for you. She just wasn’t. Of course at the time you married her, I wasn’t in a position to advise you against asking for her hand, and I honestly hoped she’d mature as time passed, but I know she didn’t.” He shook his head. “Look at the way she treated poor Caroline.”

Patrick nodded. For being secluded for more than thirteen years, Marcus was quite a good detective. Abigail had treated Caroline horribly, all for a reason Patrick couldn’t fully understand. Before their wedding, Olivia intentionally let Caroline’s secret slip. Besides mortifying Caroline, nobody else thought a thing about it, except Abigail. She’d grown jealous and refused to ever go to Ridge Water. Instead, she’d invite Marcus―
just
Marcus―to Briar Creek, then ooze false charm. But it was still obvious she detested Caroline. It was only at Patrick’s demand she “agreed” to chaperone Caroline for a Season if Marcus was able to scrape together the funds.

“
I’m sorry she treated Caroline that way,” Patrick said solemnly. “She had no right, and I should have demanded Abigail treat her better far sooner than I did.”

Marcus waved his hand through the air. “It’s of no account now, the past is the past. Besides, Caroline has never held a grudge in her life. But that’s irrelevant to our conversation. What is relevant is that Abigail was not the woman she, or you, would have us all believe she was.” He sighed. “Quit protecting her, Patrick. You did enough of that while she was alive. It’s time for you to start living your life. And while I’ll admit I didn’t approve of your most recent match at first—through no fault of the bride’s—I think you’ve made an excellent choice this time.”

“
She left,” Patrick said flatly.

Marcus cocked his head to the side. “For some reason I don’t believe that.”

“
Believe it. We quarreled and she left.”

“
Perhaps she’s coming back, then,” Marcus said with a shrug.

“
She’s not.”

“
Are you sure?”

Patrick exhaled. “Yes. Quite.”

“
That doesn’t sound like Juliet,” Marcus said. He picked up his quill and started idly tapping it against the side of his jaw.

“
Whether it sounds like her or not, it’s the truth,” Patrick admitted, glancing to the floor. Why had he been so heartless as to treat her that way?

“
Because we tend to hurt those we’re the closest to the most, and it’s obvious you love her,” Marcus commented.

Patrick’s head snapped up to look at his grinning friend. “Pardon?”

“
Most times I ignore, or pretend not to notice when you mumble under your breath. You do it mainly when you’re upset. This time I decided to answer your question for you.”

Patrick ground his teeth. “Well, thank you, Marcus, but I’d already come to that conclusion many weeks ago.”

“
Which conclusion?”

“
That I love her,” he said through clenched teeth, ignoring the blush he was sure was stealing over his cheeks.

Marcus chuckled. “No need to be embarrassed, Patrick. I’ve admitted my love for a woman in front of you on more than one occasion. It’s not the most masculine pursuit, I’ll grant you, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He dropped his quill and leaned back in his chair again. “I do wonder, however, if
she
knows you love her.”

Patrick lowered his head and scoffed. She wouldn’t care if he loved her or not, she didn’t love him.

“
Perhaps you ought to tell her, and find out for yourself.”

Patrick’s head jerked up. “Is she here?” he asked, too excited at the prospect of seeing his wife to care he’d just been caught mumbling under his breath again.

“
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.

Just like Juliet.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. They were safer there where he could fist his hands around his change and keys and squeeze them until the insides of his hands bled rather than out where his hands would be free to tear the room apart like he was tempted to do.

What was it about him that drove everyone to give up on him? First his father, then Abigail, and now Juliet.

At least he still had his girls. His brow furrowed. The memory of the way Marcus flinched earlier when Patrick mentioned his girls flashed in his mind. Blinking off the thought, he pulled out his pocket watch. He had just enough time to go see the girls for a bit before dinner. Slipping his watch back into his pocket, a slip of paper on the floor caught his eye. He’d felt something fall out when he’d removed his watch, but hadn’t paid it too much mind. Snatching it up between his thumb and forefinger, Drake quit the room.

“
What are you girls doing?”

“
Painting,” Kate said, extending her masterpiece in his direction.

He squinted and nodded. “Looks great, Katie. What have you painted, Helena?”

“
You,” she said. She turned the canvas in his direction and he did his best not to cringe. She’d once again painted an image that better resembled an angry bear than him.

“
And you, Celia?”

She shrugged, and moved the canvas away from him.

He stepped closer, curious.

“
Why do you have a letter from Juliet in your hand?”

Four sets of eyes went down to where his right hand held a small folded piece of paper.

Patrick’s heart hammered in his chest. What had she written? When had she written it? How long had he been carrying it around?

Swallowing convulsively, Patrick’s trembling hands worked to unfold the missive, his eyes frantic to read the words, whatever they may say, scrolled across it.

Drake,

Forgive my leaving this way, I tried to find you, but couldn’t. It’s most urgent that I leave at once. My mother has begun experiencing early labor pains. As it would happen, she will not let the village physician assist her after the debacle with Lucas and has requested I attend her.