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Chapter Twenty-Three
Patricia waited impatiently in the carriage, while the two gentlemen went inside the club. She peered out the window anxiously. There were not many people out at this time of night.
Bond Street looked different under gaslight. She had shopped here often during the day. She and her mother would often peruse the milliner’s shop and tearooms. Her face twisted. She could see the sign for Mrs. Hedley’s dressmakers. Only days ago she had been in there, being fitted for her wedding gown. It seemed a lifetime ago.
The street seemed to have taken on a different character at night. Gone were the respectable ladies and gentlemen flitting from shop to shop. Now, she could see ladies of questionable virtue parading the street. They were dressed in garish gowns, with large feathers and flowers in their hair. She quickly averted her eyes from a woman sidling up to a passing gentleman.
She sighed heavily. Her mother had always told her that Bond Street after hours was for the gentlemen. No respectable lady would ever be seen here, and certainly not without a chaperone. She sunk back into the seat of the carriage, her face burning. She knew she was safe in the carriage, but the charged air still assaulted her senses.
Her eyes filled with tears again. Would Jackson have sought solace with one of these harlots? The mere thought of it was unbearable. It was never talked about amongst ladies, but she was aware that gentlemen often did so. She had read enough of those scandal sheets to know that gentlemen were susceptible to the temptation. She had heard whispers about fine gentlemen keeping mistresses, who were known actresses or courtesans, away from their legally wedded wives.
Her heart flipped in her chest. It might happen in her marriage if she could not convince Jackson that her affection for him was real. There was no way they could get an annulment now – they were married until one of them died. And how would they live that marriage if they were estranged from each other? Would they go their separate ways, with one of them living in the country and the other in the city, only seeing each other at Christmas or other events?
Her hands tightened in her lap. She simply could not bear the thought of it. She honestly thought she would probably wither away with shame and loneliness.
Oh, Jackson. My love. Where are you?
She recalled his description of Thornbury Manor, his beloved house by the sea, in Norfolk. He wanted to take her there.
She closed her eyes, imagining that sea. She had never been there, of course, but she pictured it with a wild landscape, with waves crashing against the shoreline and an azure sea with a pebbled beach. There would be high cliffs and rocks.
She pictured them walking along that pebbled beach, hand in hand, as those waves crashed around them. The hiss of the sea, pulling back from the shore, before crashing once again. The cry of seagulls circling in the sky.
They would not talk as they walked hand in hand. There would be no need for words. They would smile as they encountered things along the beach – an unusual shell, a washed-up starfish, a lone crab scuttling along – but they would not linger for long. It was enough to simply be there with each other in utter harmony. Total communion.
They would walk towards the rocks. He would take her hand, assisting her to climb them. The saltiness of the breeze against their faces. That sea wind whipping their hair around their faces.
He would lead her over the rocks to a secret cove. He knew this beach; he had been coming here since he was a boy. He would lead her inside, so that they huddled within, watching the waves crashing the shoreline. It would be as if they were the only two people left upon this earth. Their own private hideaway.
They would sit side by side, watching this glorious, wild beauty unfold around them. She would hear his breathing and know that there was no one else in this world who was him. No one else who could make her feel the way that she did.
And then…and then…he would slowly tip her back, his hands sweeping over her, and his green eyes glinting like jewels in the semi-darkness. She would sigh and surrender to him. His lips would find hers. They would be cold from the sea wind. But soon the heat between them would change all that.
She knew how she would feel. The way that he always made her feel. Like a goddess whose power was unleashed by the touch of his hands upon her flesh. A goddess, who was transformed by light whenever they were together.
And slowly, ever so slowly, he would whisper soft words of love into her ear. His lips would sear the skin of her neck. She would touch him, reverentially, feeling his hardness pressing against her flesh.
And when she was delirious with need, he would take her. Twisting into her, melding his body with her own, still whispering those words of love into her ear. Telling her she was the only woman for him. The only woman that he could ever want or love…
Suddenly, she sat up. The daydream of Jackson and the sea abruptly dissipated like smoke into the air. The door to the club was opening. Lord Reynolds and Lord Reading walked swiftly towards the carriage, getting inside. Their faces looked grim.
She could not bear it a second longer.
“Well?” she demanded. “Does anyone know where he might have gone?”
Lord Reynolds sighed heavily. “We spoke at length to the footman who attended him during his time there yesterday,” he said slowly. “Apparently, the Duke was on a mission. He consumed an entire bottle of whiskey and stumbled out the door. The footman tried to aid his departure, but the Duke angrily shook him off.”
Patricia gasped with distress.
“The man had no idea where he was heading,” said Lord Reading, his lips thin. “The Duke did not speak with him. He rather thought he was probably on his way home to sleep off the excesses of the afternoon.”
Lord Reynolds cleared his throat. “He only spoke with one other person while he was in there. But they had no idea of where he was heading either.”
“Who?” asked Patricia sharply.
The two gentlemen exchanged uncomfortable looks. They both seemed reluctant to tell her, for some reason.
“A woman,” said Lord Reading eventually, squirming in his seat, not meeting her eye. “They sometimes do business in the club. Apparently, she approached the Duke, but he brushed her aside. He didn’t speak with her very long at all and told her nothing of what he was intending to do after he left the club.”
