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Now West understood why he’d called. “And until I do, your committee does not wish to be publicly associated with me. Is that correct?”

“It is most regrettable, your grace. But in these times, when anyone who speaks against the government falls under immediate scrutiny, we cannot afford…”

“Yes. I see. I quite understand your position.” There was a thunderous outburst of banging from downstairs.

The only thing of which West could be certain now was that a number of people hadn’t done their jobs.

And one of them was him.

“I have packed your boots, your grace.” Tompkins stood in the dressing room doorway, scanning it as though running through a mental checklist. “It is a pity that we had not time to order a new pair.”

“That cannot matter. I must resolve this immediately.”

“I have every belief that you will, your grace.”

How Tompkins—or anyone—could have any faith left in him, he couldn’t imagine. After all, he’d already destroyed Pomona’s trust. He wasn’t entirely certain that Sir Anthony believed him. And whatever had happened at Castle March, it had been his responsibility to ensure that his estate was run the way that it ought to be run.

And in that responsibility, too, he’d failed.

On the stairs a stream of footmen was carrying trunks and boxes out to the waiting traveling carriage. He stood at the head of the stairs for a moment, irresolute. He couldn’t bear to leave matters with Pomona the way they were now. He must leave her a note. But… what could he tell her?

And then, as though his thoughts had conjured her, she appeared at the open front door and paused, plainly startled by the bustle of servants loading the carriage. The sunlight behind her cast her shadow onto the marble floor of the cold and gloomy entry hall.

She slipped into the house. She was wearing an old, drab pelisse and bonnet that he thought that he remembered. She didn’t look like a duchess. In fact, none of the footmen had noticed her inconspicuous entrance.

A pang went through his heart. He must say something to her, of course. He must explain why he was leaving for Shropshire so suddenly.

But… how? He didn’t want to tell her what Sir Anthony had said, or about the increasingly poisonous political struggle in which he'd involved himself. And he couldn’t tell her that he’d given himself a reputation as a neglectful landlord. He didn't want her to know about the blind item in the newspaper. She’d already been a victim of London’s most vicious gossip. The last thing that she needed to hear was that, thanks to him, people might be whispering about her for an entirely new reason.

No. He couldn’t tell her any of this.

She’d already started up the stairs when she saw him. He saw her hesitate. Then she squared her shoulders. Her jaw set and her lips thinned. The forlorn young lady in the entrance hall became an icy grande dame. She continued up the stairs toward him.

“Good afternoon. I find that I must go to Shropshire to... Well.” He cleared his throat. “There are a number of outstanding matters that I must address.”

“I see. Thank you for telling me.”

He searched her face for any hint of warmth. “I, er… Unless you wish to speak over tea, before I depart?”

“Oh, no. It appears that you are leaving presently. I should only delay you.”

“Yes, well—the necessity for the sudden journey… That is, I only became aware that…” He trailed off again. There really was nothing that he could tell her.

“Well then. I wish you safe travels, your grace.”

He longed to embrace her. He wished that he could kiss her good bye. He wanted to tell her how much he would miss her until he saw her again. But servants were rushing past them with the luggage. And her distant expression told him that while he might be able to put his arms around her, she would only stand there limply anyway. There was no point in holding her close when she was mentally as far from him as possible.

“I… thank you.” He couldn’t make himself stop standing there like a fool, unable to simply walk away. He swallowed. “Pomona…”

She simply looked at him and waited. He couldn’t think of what he wished to say. “Well. I will be back in, perhaps, a month or two. I do not know. I am not certain what I shall… That is, how many matters will require…” His face was beginning to heat.

She tilted her head slightly to one side and studied him. “I see.”

He made her a quick bow and clapped his hat on his head. “Then it is good bye for now.”

“Good bye.”

He strode down the stairs, regretting every step.