by Abigail Agar
She rushed towards the hallway, her coat flowing out behind her and her thoughts racing, a million a minute. Within moments, she reached the staircase, flung herself down the steps, and hustled towards the door. Outside, the darkness had made the wind whip back and forth, tossing the trees to and fro and tearing off the last of the brown leaves.
Marina pulled her suitcase and violin with her, rushing towards the carriage house. She prayed that someone was still there for the evening, that they hadn’t returned back to their families just outside the estate. But when she drew closer, she saw the outrageous gleam of the blond-haired Lucas. He was seated at the top of a stall, swinging his thin legs back and forth. When she popped in, he dropped off from the stall, his smile spreading wide.
She remembered how he’d said they could race off to London together, after she’d retrieved the ledger from the musical instrument shop. He still looked at her with a similar hope.
“Lucas,” she whispered. She realised it was the first time she’d spoken since the incident upstairs. She shivered.
“Marina. Marina Blackwater!” he said, too overzealous with his words. “Marina, what are you doing down here? Haven’t you heard about the Duke? His sight?”
“I have,” Marina said, nodding.
Lucas’ eyes raced over her frame, to her suitcase and her violin. His smile faltered. “Where are you going, Miss Marina?” he asked.
“I need to leave,” Marina said, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. “And I am willing to pay you to take me to the city. I have very, very little money, but you can have everything I own. As long as you take me anywhere else but here.”
Lucas pondered this for a moment. He tapped his foot, and then marched in a circle around Marina, seemingly assessing her. Marina forced her eyes to remain upon his, daring him to ask her the reasons why. She clenched her jaw, her nostrils flared. Lucas’ hair whooshed back in the breeze. His eyes gleamed with wet, from the chilly air.
“And what if I came with you?” he asked, arching his eyebrow.
“I don’t understand why in the world you would,” Marina said. She placed both her suitcase and her violin on the ground and rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them. “You have a proper job here, and a good life. I wouldn’t want to show you a reason to abandon that.”
Lucas took a slight step forward, so that his nose was just an inch or two away from Marina’s. Marina was painfully aware of how similar this stance was to the one she’d just shared with the Duke. But she stared back at him, her eyes angry and hard. If he dared try to kiss her, she would shove him away from her with every ounce of strength she possessed.
Lucas nibbled at a toothpick. He brought it from between his lips, removed it, and then tossed it into the dirty and grizzled hay below their feet. “You’re saying there’s not a single chance in the world that we’ll end up together, Miss Marina?” he asked.
Marina shook her head. “I won’t end up with anyone on this planet, Lucas. It’s best that you know that now.”
There was a long, tense pause. Marina knew that Lucas was far more powerful than she, that he could easily whirl her up in his arms and toss her into the carriage, take her wherever he wanted to go. Even have his way with her if he wanted to. But she remained stalwart, waiting. Her ears craned for some sort of sign from the mansion. Perhaps the Duke, running after her, looking for her. Eager to tell her that he’d been wrong.
But of course, there was only silence.
“All right,” Lucas clucked. He reached for the suitcase, the violin, and he placed them tenderly in the back of the carriage. “I’ll take ye wherever you want to go, Miss Marina. Honest with you, I’m antsy and aching to go anywhere else. We’ll take the carriage to Leeds and pay the other carriage boy to bring it back, hey? Then, we’ll take something else to London. All the way to London town. A whole new life awaits us there. Just imagine, I thought tonight would be just another night. Maybe with a bit of cake from old Margaret. But I suppose there will be plenty of cake once we get to London.”
Marina cleared her throat, her heart pattering wildly. “I hear the streets of London are lined with cake,” she heard herself say before jumping into the back of the carriage after her things.
Lucas remained in the doorway of the carriage, beaming down at her. “Now, my lady, if you don’t sit up top with me and keep me company, I don’t know how I’ll drive through this wild, dark night.”
Marina expected to feel that once-familiar pang of excitement, due to the incredible adrenaline of adventure. But she felt only hollowness. Suppressing an eye roll, she bowed her head and slunk through the hole in the carriage, landing herself on the top. Lucas latched the carriage to the horses, drawing his fingers through their coarse manes before leaping up onto the seat beside Marina. As they snaked out from the carriage house, a light rain had begun to patter, joining the wind as it whirred and crisped at their ears. Marina forced her eyes to remain on the road. She didn’t want to see the glow of the candles from the dining room, as they prepared for the grand feast. She didn’t want to feel the pang of nostalgia, the memory of all the evenings she’d spent with the children, laughing and screeching in the playroom. She didn’t want to think of the duets she and the Duke had created, the ones she’d scribbled out on long pads of paper, hopeful that someday, he could see them with his own eyes. “We’re really making magic, together,” he’d said once.
What a lie that had been. There had been no magic at all.
The carriage found speed outside the grounds. They bolted towards Leeds, with Lucas frequently letting out a wild, “YAHOO!” which, despite her complete devastation, often made Marina grin. She wasn’t sure how else to react to such a youthful man. When they pulled up outside the carriage house in Leeds, Lucas blinked at her with confusion, his grin still wide.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked her.
“I am,” she said.
They exchanged carriages, borrowing some horses that they would then have sent back to Leeds later, while another carriage boy brought the Duke’s carriage and horses back to the estate. Marina and Lucas sat perched on the top of the new, more rickety carriage, while Lucas waved his goodbye to an old stable boy, a friend.
“Where you off to, Lucas?” the stable boy asked.
“Gonna seek my fortune in the city, hey,” Lucas said. “With this lady here by my side.”
“Not exactly,” Marina said, rolling her eyes.
“You have to forgive Lucas. He means well,” the stable boy said. “Although I can’t imagine anyone else to take better care of you.”
“We’ll head to my brothers, I reckon. Been a few years since I seen his stupid face, but I can’t imagine he won’t take us in.” Lucas turned his head to Marina, scrunching up his face in an almost sour way. She fixated on little wrinkles, forming beneath his eyes. “He’s been making the big money, over in the city. Maybe he even needs a maid.”
Marina felt the words flash across her like a smack. A maid? God, she’d only just been a governess for the Duke of Wellington—a man she’d revered even prior to meeting him, even prior to being pulled out of her farmhouse upbringing and taken to the estate.
If only she’d forced herself to remain unemotional. If only she’d never linked any feelings of love to that dark face of his.
Marina kept her eyes towards her hands, feeling the carriage as it crept away from the Leeds’ carriage house and out the door. Beside her, Lucas whistled, casting the note from one brick building to another so that the music seemed to flash between the teensy, curved walkways between the homes of Leeds. The houses were warm, their candles flickering in their windows and their families joined at their tables, their necks drawn forward like those of swans, for pre-dinner prayer. It was seeing these flickering images, as the carriage cantered out of town, that chilled Marina’s heart. How horrific, knowing that she was abandoning the only family she’d ever formed for herself. She imagined Lottie’s voice, piping up just before Margaret
served the stew. “We shall wait for Miss Marina, won’t we?”
Would the Duke already know that she had gone, and the reasons why? Mightn’t she have been able to pretend that it had all been false? That he hadn’t rebuked her in such a fashion? She forced her eyes from the windows, from the flickering candles and the bright eyes of other people’s children. She focused upon the dark horizon, the tree lines that cranked to and fro against the grisly grey and black of the night sky.
“You ain’t never been to London, have ye?” Lucas asked.
Marina didn’t answer. She couldn’t possibly find the strength to make her tongue articulate a single one of her swirling thoughts. She paused, gaping. But before she could proceed, Lucas had found traction all over again.
“My goodness, girl. You can’t possibly think that you’ll be suited as a maid for my brother if ye can’t even find the words to speak. Jesus, I saw ye when you were yelling at that dumb little fat man, that Jeffrey Brambles. I thought, hey. That woman is going to be something someday.”
Marina slunk lower atop the carriage, wrapping her coat tighter around her chest. Lucas’ words swirled around her, and then snuck off to the yonder trees, lost in the whirling chaos of the night. She would listen to him ramble on for the next hour, maybe two. But she wouldn’t give him a lick of her soul. Not when she felt so in-tune with her love for the Duke. She felt his name at the tip of her tongue. She wanted to call out his name. But she held it in, hoping that someday it would grow sour in her mouth—that she would spit it out and be free of it.
She just couldn’t possibly imagine that day.
Chapter 31
The Duke’s children gathered at the dinner table at the appointed time, blinking up at their father from behind their set chairs. Since Lottie had been old enough to sit with them, they’d long formulated this position: the Duke at the head of the table, Lottie to his left, Christopher to his right, and Max beside Christopher, with Claudia on the further side. He’d heard their voices, a cacophony that created the texture of the room before him, over the previous months. But it was remarkable to see them in their dinnertime best: Claudia in a deep blue dress, Max with a crooked bowtie around his neck, Lottie in lace. Christopher, naturally, had already tossed off his dinner jacket, letting it fall to the ground. But the Duke chose not to speak a word about it. Instead, he beamed at the four of them—marking time until Marina’s arrival.
For certainly they could pretend that what had unfolded a few hours before hadn’t occurred. He had blinked into her eyes and seen only the memory of Marybeth. How that image still haunted him! But with Marina at the table that evening, he would make certain not to look her in the eye. He would focus his attention on his children and listen half-heartedly while the children bantered with Marina. He hadn’t the heart to rid his house of the remarkable governess, at least until he found a more viable, less painful option.
Margaret scurried into the dining hall with a bottle of the finest red wine the Duke kept in the cellar. She tapped the cork upon the tablecloth, gazing at the Duke with lovely, green eyes. Margaret had worked for the Duke’s father, before working for him, and had therefore been a mainstay at the house for most of the Duke’s memory. He reached for her wrist, tapping it. “I want to thank you for all your help, while I was ill,” he said, his voice low.
She tittered, pulling the wine bottle back after filling the glass. “I just wish I would have had the eyes to know what was going on with Ms Hodgins, sir. She really gave me a rough time near the end, you know. But if it hadn’t been for Miss Marina, we might have all fallen victim to that woman.” Margaret’s eyes skated across the table, where Marina traditionally sat. “Where is that girl, anyway? Never one to be late to dinner.”
Lottie’s eyes darted to the empty chair as well. “Father, where is she? Would you like me to go collect her from her bedroom? Such a terribly small little room, isn’t it?”
The Duke felt a pang of fear. It was very much like the feeling of holding onto something for dear life, only to watch it slip through your fingers, or come apart in the water. He felt suddenly that a great space had opened up in the house, presenting only darkness.
The Duke lifted his wine glass, watching the liquid swirl. All of his children were watching his motions, trying to judge him. Claudia piped up. “What’s wrong, Father? Your face is pale. Father, do you think you should lie down? Perhaps this day has been too much.”
“No, no,” the Duke sighed. He lifted his glass, tipping it back and allowing the intense liquid to fall over his tongue. “My stars, no. I’m certain Marina will be with us shortly.”
“Perhaps she’s just dressing up a bit for dinner, hey?” Margaret asked, her eyebrows lowering.
“Perhaps,” the Duke offered.
“We’ll wait a few more moments for her, then,” Margaret said. “I can’t imagine starting the meal without her. She’s a part of the family, now. Don’t you say so, children?”
“Oh, yes!” Max cried. He jumped up slightly from his chair, his eyes electric. “She’s not our mother, Father, but she said she loves us all the most. She said it.”
What terrible pain love was. The Duke sipped the rest of the wine, his ears straining to hear any creak from the floorboards upstairs, or the familiar pattering of steps on the staircase. Having only just gained back his sight, he felt his ears remained fine-tuned, like a hunting dog’s. But the only moans he heard were those of the massive house, shifting with the autumn wind. The only clattering he heard was from the kitchen, several of Margaret’s workers hovering over pots and pans, cranking spoons and forks through simmering ingredients.
Christopher’s normally mischievous smile had faltered. He swung his hand out to grip his crutches, before rushing to his feet. “I think I’ll just go check on her, Father,” he said. “Like Margaret said, she’s ordinarily not so late. And I don’t remember seeing her the past few hours. We had to do some of our reading work alone, Claudia and I.”
The Duke rose up from his chair, placing his palms firmly atop the table. “Margaret, you’re to begin serving the children,” he said. “Christopher, please return to your seat. It’s absolutely outside the rules to leave your chair the moment dinner is being served, and you know this. Now, I’ll return shortly. I’ll just go to collect your governess.”
As he marched away, his thick black hair swirling across his shoulders, his heart felt gripped and black. He hustled up the steps. Surprisingly, he didn’t hear a single peep from his children who, ordinarily, would have torn into rampant conversation upon being left alone. No. It seemed they sat in stunned silence, as well. Ready for something to blow.
The Duke hadn’t seen the hallway in which the governess had slept, not since her arrival. Walking down that hallway felt like walking down a memory, lined with shadow. But when he reached the end of it, where the governess’ doorway waited, he found only an empty room. The bed had been made; the table had been wiped clean. The mirror reflected back nothing but the white-washed walls and the sombre face of the Duke. He dropped himself in the chair in front of it, drawing his fingers across his cheeks. Could she possibly have left them?
The Duke hadn’t seen his reflection since he’d gotten his sight back. It shocked him, seeing that grizzled, 40-something man—handsome, regal, perhaps, yet still very much older than the 20-something man he’d been. Certainly much more harrowed than the 30-something man who’d been married to Marybeth, who’d created children with her. How strange to watch time stamp its way across your face. What would Marybeth say to him now: now that he sat alone in an old governess’ room, unable to decide his feelings for her?
But hadn’t she just made up his mind for him? He’d rebuked her. And she’d run.
Was there still time to go after her? He shot up from the chair, giving a final glance to his gritty reflection. If that girl loved him; if that girl wanted to be with him, who was he to say no?
The Duke shuffled down the steps, whipping past the dining room. Of course, his ch
ildren spotted him and darted out of the hall, their little shoes tapping along the marble floor. “Father! Father, wait!” Claudia cried, tearing ahead of the others.
