Chapter 86
We had to wash ourselves a second time, a rather necessary ritual, given the... ordeal she had put me through. I skipped breakfast entirely. My appetite had vanished. Millicent, however, I forced to eat. No lover of mine shall wither away for lack of nourishment.
As for cooking, perish the thought. Neither of us could summon the strength to lift a ladle, let alone fry an egg. I instructed the maids to prepare something and deliver it directly to my chamber. Yes, I had plans to cook for her. Romantic, humble, sweet. That dream died with her final thrust.
Now, seated inside the rumbling carriage, I regarded her from across the seat. The Duchess of Ivoryspire sat composed and unbothered, her gaze fixed upon the passing scenery.
"Did you truly have to do that?" I asked. "While Kyle was still at the door?"
She didn't look at me.
It was one matter to feel jealousy. But this? This was military-grade audacity. The woman ravished me against a locked door while my unfortunate husband wailed on the other side like a confused bloodhound. I mean really, have we no societal rules left?
Granted… I may have initiated it. But we were alone at the time!
"And why," I added, my voice rising, "are you without drawers?!"
"You provided none."
I narrowed my eyes. "And yet, somehow, you neglected to ask me?"
"I was just about to," she replied with infuriating calm. "But as you are aware… the course of events strayed."
"You-"
I rose to my feet, only for my legs to betray me at once with a wobble, the consequence, of course, of our earlier indecency. The persistent, uninvited ache between my thighs had haunted me since. An ache, I might add, brought forth by that infernal instrument of hers, a monstrous thing, wholly unnatural, and quite frankly, deserving of exhibition beneath reinforced glass in some scandalous, forbidden museum.
Millicent reached out to steady me as I sank beside her.
"You are unbearably petty," I sighed. "Why must you wound the poor man's heart so viciously?"
"I see," she murmured, her voice smooth as polished marble, casting me a slide glance. "So you still harbor sentiment for him. Alas, I am utterly undone. Betrayed. Abandoned. You have, it seems, chosen him over me."
I threw my arms around her waist and pulled her close. "Cease this ridiculous performance. Of course I chose you. Do not be absurd. I am simply suggesting that you might permit the poor man a morsel of dignity before trampling it beneath your perfectly polished heel."
"Very well," she said, with all the emotional resonance of a funeral bell. "I shan't set foot upon your resident again until you and your husband are officially, legally, and unequivocally separated."
"You are angry."
She turned her gaze toward me, her face an unreadable mask. "I certainly am not."
"Oh, but you are."
"I assure you, Your Ladyship. I am not."
Your Ladyship? Oh. That was not simply a formal address. That was a declaration of emotional warfare dressed in silk and civility. She had deployed the nobility titles.
Unable to help myself, I cupped her face with both hands and tugged her toward me, planting a quick kiss on her lips. She remained as still as marble, not even a flicker of response.
I pulled back with a smirk. "Ah, so you are angry, then."
"I am not," she said, the same flat tone still clinging to her voice.
I leaned in and gave her another quick kiss, this time lingering a moment longer. "Admit it. You are."
She shrugged. "What can I say? I am simply not."
I sighed, released her face, and wobbled unsteadily back to my seat. I retrieved the stack of documents I had brought along, their due dates hanging over me like an unwelcome cloud. If she wanted to sulk, so be it. I had work to do.
That was until she yanked the papers from my hands.
I stared. Wordlessly. My hands remained suspended in the air, fingers still poised in the tragic posture.
"I was under the impression," she said in that maddeningly calm voice of hers, "that we were to spend the day together."
"Are we not presently doing exactly that?"
"You began working," she said flatly. "Thus, we are no longer spending time together."
"That is because-"
"So the documents are more important. I see. I recall quite clearly abandoning my entire schedule to bask in your company. But naturally, such devotion is not reciprocal."
Heavens above. Since when had the Duchess of Ivoryspire descended into petty tyranny?
Yet, rather than roll my eyes or throw a shoe, I laughed. I could not help it.
"You are absolutely unreasonable," I declared between lingering bouts of laughter.
Millicent shifted beside me, then slid an arm about my waist. "A touch," she admitted, entirely unrepentant.
I, too, looped my arms about her, unable to resist the magnetic pull of her warmth. "By the way… how fares my father?"
"Rotting in prison," she said with a smile.
Her arm loosened their hold. She dropped her gaze to her lap, her fingers unmoving. The shift in her countenance did not go unnoticed. The air grew heavier, laden with something unsaid, something I understood far too well.
I took her arm and guided it back around my waist, where it belonged, then reached for her face, gently drawing it to face mine.
"Stop," I said, more softly. "None of this is your fault. You are a duchess, Millicent. You did what duty demanded, and you did it with honor. Ivoryspire is fortunate, no, blessed, to be governed by a woman such as you, one who upholds justice even when it breaks her own heart. You are a true leader. And I do not merely believe you shall continue to lead your duchy into prosperity, I know it."
Her lips trembled. Her voice barely escaped. "I have failed you in many ways, Florence. I am so terribly sorry."
"There is nothing for you to apologize for." I leaned in and kissed her. "We are together now. Let us no longer claw at the wounds of yesterday. Let us spend our remaining days in joy, with our son, with each other. That is all that matters."
She gave no reply, her silence heavy with more sorrow than words could carry.
So, I kissed her again. "Should you continue to wallow in this self-inflicted guilt, I shall up and leave you."
It was meant in jest. Clearly, clearly it was jest. But the moment I said it, her arms seized around me tightly. Her face buried itself against the side of my neck, and her words emerged muffled.
"If you leave again," she whispered, "I fear I shall not recover. Truly."
Again.
That word.
I held her tighter, swallowing the truth I would never speak. I would not tell her it was her mother's doing. That I had been torn from her side. That I had clawed at walls and screamed in silence. No. Let her believe I had walked away, if it would spare her another descent into despair.
"I was jesting," I murmured, lips brushing her temple. "I ought not to have said such a thing. Forgive me. I shall remain by your side until time itself forgets us. We shall watch Vincent inherit your title. We shall live long enough to be mocked by our grandchildren."
The carriage continued its journey toward Vaneeri estate. Outside, the world shifted, landscape melting into landscape. But within the carriage, Millicent remained nestled in my arms, unmoving, and I held her, as though I could somehow shield her from the weight of everything we had survived.