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Mr. Gibbs hesitated, his eyes falling to the floor, caught between his decades of service to the Duke and the grief evident in Helena's posture.

Helena's eyes narrowed as she observed his momentary pause. "I asked you where my husband went."

Mr. Gibbs cleared his throat quietly, lifting his chin. "His Grace instructed me not to trouble you with the details."

Her voice trembled with disbelief, mounting rage and desperate heartache lacing every syllable. "The details? Mr. Gibbs, my husband has left this house without so much as allowing me the opportunity to speak to him, and you are telling me that you intend to keep his destination from me?"

Mr. Gibbs bowed his head again as he offered a soft, apologetic murmur. "Your Grace, His Grace's instructions⁠—"

"…are no longer relevant." Helena cut him off.

He fell silent instantly, closing his mouth as his eyes met hers. Helena took another step forward, closing the distance between them until she stood directly before him, her head held high in a manner that commanded respect. "I am his wife and your duchess."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Helena tightened her grip around George's letter as she looked Mr. Gibbs dead in the eye. "I do not see a reason why you will hide the Duke's whereabouts from me. Now, I ask again, where did my husband go?"

The butler's expression softened, sympathy replacing devotion. "His Grace has gone to Dover."

Helena's heart sank, the blood draining from her face. "Dover?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Why?" she demanded, her mind racing frantically as she tried to comprehend the scope of George's madness.

Mr. Gibbs bowed his head once more, his voice heavy with solemn gravity. "He intends to sail for France, Your Grace."

France? Right now? When I finally feel my heart connecting with his? Can a man be more cruel than he?

Her breaths came out rushed, her fist and letter pressed to her chest. She looked into the nursery, the crib still carrying the child that brought her and George together. If he really left like this, there would be nothing in the world, but her death, that would bring him back.

"No," she whispered to herself, shaking her head. He does not get to make this decision for me.

"Your Grace?"

"No." Helena turned abruptly. "Have a carriage prepared immediately."

Gibbs blinked in shock, staring at her as though she had lost her senses. "Your Grace?"

"You heard me. I am going to Dover," Helena stated without hesitation, already moving.

Gibbs hurried after her as quickly as his old legs would allow. "Your Grace, the road⁠—"

"I know the road." she interjected smoothly, refusing to slow her pace.

"And Lord Oliver? Surely you would not leave him for a journey that might last longer than expected, Your Grace."

Helena responded with finality. "He will be well with the nursemaid. I shall miss him and he may do likewise, but I will not take so small a child on an unknown journey."

Gibbs hurried alongside her as she reached the bottom step, his face pale with concern. "Your Grace, perhaps it would be wiser to wait until His Grace returns⁠—"

Helena stopped so abruptly that Gibbs nearly walked into her. "He is not returning." Not unless I make him.

Helena looked down at George's letter once more, smoothing out the crumpled edges. She folded the letter carefully and tucked it into her bodice, turning back to the waiting butler. "Tell them to prepare the fastest carriage we have."

Gibbs bowed his head. "Yes, Your Grace, but His Grace already took it."

Helena replied immediately, no pause or hesitation. "Then prepare the next."