Page 113 of The Sainted Duchess
“Do not dress my caution as cowardice,” Stephen sighed. “It would be best if we did not have this conversation anymore.”
“Running away from the truth will not do you any good,” Peter said.
“Well, it will at least buy me time,” he replied. “Which is something I need.”
The more Stephen thought about things, the more apparent it became to him what he was to do next. He was to maintain his distance. That was the only way things could work.
CHAPTER 23
For two days, Maria had not seen her husband.
Breakfast trays came and went, yet Stephen did not. The servants said he had taken his meals in his study; the footmen, when questioned, looked politely ignorant. It was as though the duke had dissolved into the house’s silence.
How odd.
By the evening of the second day, her patience cracked.
She dismissed her maid once, then called her back.
“Elinor,” she said, pacing, “is it customary for a husband to vanish into thin air?”
Elinor folded a gown over her arm. “Some gentlemen prefer solitude, Your Grace.”
“Prefer it?” Maria stopped. “For two days?”
Elinor hesitated. “Men often find marriage…a change. Perhaps he is only busy.”
Maria gave a small, incredulous laugh. “One can only wonder how busy he can be.”
“I would not know, Your Grace,” Elinor murmured, “but the duke has his ways. He is not an unkind man.”
“No,” Maria said, “Only absent.”
She sank onto the edge of the bed, clutching at the embroidery on her sleeve.
“When I was younger,” she said softly, “absence was the kindest thing one could hope for. But now, it feels like punishment that I do not even deserve.”
How odd was it that he could be perfectly warm one moment and then vanish the very next? It gave her a headache.
Elinor set the folded gown aside and went to pour tea.
“You must give him time. Gentlemen have peculiar notions of duty.”
“Duty,” Maria repeated. “I married him for duty, and he married me for honor. If one more person tells me to be patient, I may very well scream.”
“That would be most unladylike,” Elinor said gravely, setting the cup into Maria’s hand.
Maria laughed despite herself. “Perhaps I am tired of being ladylike. Ladylike women are left waiting in rooms while their husbands find something more interesting than conversation.”
The maid did not say anything.
She stared into the tea’s pale swirl. “Do you think he regrets it, Elinor? The marriage?”
The maid hesitated, then said carefully, “I think regret is a luxury. The duke does not seem a man who indulges in luxuries.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the only honest one I have.”
