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Patricia awoke with a start, sitting up in her bed, gazing at the wall. Her heart was filled with the most awful dread. But why?
And then it all came back to her in a sickening rush. The ball. The scandal sheet. Jackson’s furious rage before storming out of the house.
Her heart racing, she flew out of bed, opening the adjoining door to his chambers. She must have eventually fallen asleep. She hadn’t heard the carriage return. Had he come home at all?
The answer was obvious as soon as she ran into the room. His bed was empty. The covers hadn’t even been pulled back. The bed was still neatly made. He hadn’t slept in it at all.
She gave a cry of distress. Where was he?
Quickly, she returned to her own chambers, throwing on her dressing gown. She rushed out into the hallway. “Sally! Where are you?”
Her maid was walking down the hallway, carrying some fresh linen. She turned, astonished, at the sound of distress in her mistress’s voice.
“Your Grace,” she said quickly, running towards her. “What is it?”
Patricia took a deep, ragged breath. “Where is His Grace? Did he return home last night?”
Sally bit her lip, coloring slightly. “No, your Grace. The carriage returned, apparently, but not with His Grace.” She paused, frowning. “I spoke briefly with the driver and the footmen. They said he insisted on walking off into the night and told them to come home.”
Patricia gasped. Why had he done such a thing? It was unsafe. And he still wasn’t home.
Her blood went cold. He had been furiously angry at her, but she didn’t think he wouldn’t come home. She had sat up half the night worrying over him, but she had always thought he would come back home eventually. Had he decided to sleep at a friend’s place? How would she know if he did not send word?
Her heart seized again. Had he deserted her? Was he intending on never seeing or speaking to her again?
“Come and dress me now, Sally,” she commanded. “I must speak with the carriage servants. I must find out where he is.”
* * *
The servants all gaped at her as she ran through the house, towards the stables. Patricia barely noticed them. All she was concerned with was finding out where Jackson was.
A footman was sitting in the stables talking with the groom and a stable hand. He looked astonished as she ran toward him.
“Where did you leave His Grace?” she asked quickly, trying to catch her breath.
The man blinked rapidly. “On Bond Street, your Grace. Just outside his club.”
She frowned, her mind racing. “And did you see the direction he went in? Did he tell you where he might be going?”
The man slowly shook his head. “He did not. He only said that he would rather walk and that we were to return to the house.” He paused. “He walked in the opposite direction to the club. I do not think he was planning to go back there. But where he went, I cannot say.”
Patricia bit her lip. It wasn’t much information to go on. Jackson could have walked anywhere.
She turned back to the man. “What time was this?”
The man considered her question. “It was close to midnight, your Grace. Maybe just after.”
“Thank you,” she said, trying to hide her distress.
She drifted back into the house. She had no choice but to wait for him. Her stomach was churning frantically. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to eat. She would be on tenterhooks until he arrived back.
Suddenly, she was aware that the servants were giving her furtive, covert glances as she passed by. Of course, they knew that Jackson hadn’t returned last night – it might just be about that. But when a maid blushed fiercely, unable to meet her gaze, every hair on the back of her neck sprang to attention.
They knew.
Without thinking, she followed the maid towards the kitchen, hovering in the doorway, where no one could see her.
There was a hubbub within the kitchen. Cook was stirring a large pot on the wood stove, while barking orders over her shoulder at two harassed maids, who were chopping vegetables. In a far corner, two other maids were seated around the hearth, obviously having a break. One of them held a sheet of parchment in her hands. They were both giggling.
