The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(99)
She turned and faced the valley in an effort to shield herself from the pain. In seconds, Donar’s pounding hooves broke across the meadow, creating the much-needed distance.
It would be the last thing Michael ever gave her—the eviscerating sound of him leaving her behind.
*
After McCalpin had returned from Leyton and his disastrous meeting with March, he’d sought refuge in his study. He stared out the window and saw nothing. He’d found no peace. Just an emptying pain.
A lone tear escaped.
His mind and his heart were engaged in a fierce battle with the winner taking all. Whatever the inevitable spoils of war, he knew he would be the loser. All his life he’d just assumed love would find him. He’d always considered it his due much like his duty was his birthright.
What he felt for March consumed him and made him want to disavow every responsibility he’d been groomed to accept and manage. Never in his wildest imagination did he think he’d face something this brutally unfair—choosing between duty and a woman he thought would be the perfect wife—even if she stole from him. If forced to choose between the two, he wasn’t certain of the outcome. That was the extent of his so-called honor. However, he’d never face that decision.
March had made the choice for him. Her true regard had been as clear as the country air he’d breathed today. His throat tightened as the pain rose in surges like angry waves in a storm. She’d cast him aside and ripped his heart to pieces in the process.
He suddenly realized both of his cheeks were wet. How appropriate. He hadn’t shed any tears since that fateful day with Mrs. Ivers. He brushed a hand down his face in a feeble attempt to clear his misery. It did little to subdue the gut-wrenching despair.
How could he have been so mistaken to think she was different from any other woman he took great means to distance himself from?
Thankfully, Buxton interrupted his pitiful musings with a summons that the duchess needed an escort home from Hailey’s Hope, the charity for homeless soldiers that she managed along with Claire. His mother never asked for his assistance, so without delay, he headed her way. It would keep his thoughts from March.
Within minutes, he was escorting her into his black-lacquered carriage. As soon as they settled opposite each other, the vehicle moved like a well-oiled machine through the streets of London heading toward Langham Hall.
He said little since he wasn’t interested in conversation. His only desire was to return home to the solitude of his study. He was poor company and didn’t try to hide it.
His mother tapped the roof once, and the carriage slowed to a halt at the Hyde Park entrance closest to the Serpentine.
“Madame, are we stopping because you’re interested in some exercise?” he drawled.
His mother sat in the forward-facing bench and scooted over to the window. She patted the seat beside her, indicating she wanted him to sit next to her. “I want to show you something.”
McCalpin did as requested. His mother pulled her own curtain back and pointed to a group of three women and one boy standing off to the side of the main walkway.
“Look there,” she commanded. Her melodic voice held the unmistakable hint of steel.
His attention was riveted to the sight of March with Bennett, Julia, and Faith.
“At this very moment, March is telling them she’s leaving for Boston. This is her farewell,” she whispered.
“How do you know? Why isn’t she at Langham Hall saying her good-byes?” From this distance, he could easily make out the distress on Julia’s face. Faith had her back to him. Bennett had his hands clasped behind his back, studying the ground.
“She believes she isn’t welcome.” His mother’s voice cracked, but he couldn’t see her expression as she held a vigilant watch with her face turned toward the group. “She sent notes to all of them to meet her here. She also left one for your father.”
Immediately, his guard went up, but he slowly released his breath. She’d never divulge his ineptitude with numbers to his father in such a manner. It wasn’t in her character. She’d be the type to cut him in pieces in person so she could enjoy the carnage. That talent was in evidence today when she’d desecrated him at Lawson Court. “Madame, how are you aware of all this?”
His mother turned her gaze to his. “The footman Milton is Bennett’s favorite. Bennett told him his plans, and Milton is loyal to me. I know what is occurring in my own household.”
“Remind me never to attempt a coup when you’re home,” he chuckled. It was the only way to mask his unease. He’d tried to convince himself March wouldn’t leave her family, which meant she’d still be in his life, but the proof was before him.
His mother ignored the quip and studied the sight before her. Finally, after a few minutes, Julia’s hands flew to her mouth and her shoulders shook. Faith tried to pull her close, but Julia shrugged her sister off and launched herself into March’s arms. Even though he couldn’t hear the conversation, his heart wrenched in two as Julia’s grief became poignantly bare to all.
A knot rose in his throat when Faith pulled Bennett to her side as if needing his strength. The boy succumbed to his sister’s wishes, but his face bore the torment he suffered. March released Julia and hugged Faith. The two sisters exchanged words and nodded to each other, then Faith bowed her head.
“I can’t perceive how agonizing this must be for her.” His mother’s soft whisper slashed straight through his resolve not to care. “She’s struggled for over eight years to take care of that family, a responsibility foisted upon her because of ill luck.”