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“To what do I owe the pleasure, young Duke?” Carolina asked in a teasing voice, tilting her head to the side. “Don’t tell me you’re here to learn why your father was so enamored with me?”
William didn’t respond. He merely pulled out a pouch and held it out to her. “For your silence,” he stated.
Under the light of a nearby gas lamp, he saw that her eyes filled with intrigue. “You will have to be more specific, Your Grace. Is this for my silence regarding what we might do together tonight?”
He wouldn’t let her taunt him, though he could feel annoyance rising in him already. “Do not play dumb.”
Carolina’s heavily rouged lips tilted up into a smirk. “What do you mean? You come here in the middle of the night, so how can I not think that is what you had in mind? But considering you’re glaring at me right now, I suppose I must have been mistaken.” She reached out and took the pouch from his hand, studying it. “How much is this?”
“One hundred pounds.”
Carolina’s eyes snapped back to him. This time, they were filled with wariness. “My, Your Grace, you certainly are generous.”
William took one step forward. “If I find you lingering around where you should not be, I will not hesitate to dispose of you. If I hear so much as whisper regarding the circumstances surrounding my father’s death, you will hear from me. And you will not like it.” He stopped just inches away from her. She kept her face neutral, though her breathing grew heavier. William felt a tad satisfied watching her composure slip. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Even if you didn’t, this money certainly did.” She had the courage to smile at him. William had to admire her audacity. “Now, are you certain you do not want to come inside? Perhaps I could find some way to thank you for your kindness?”
Without a word, William turned and walked away. He didn’t care to linger any longer and if someone were to see him, it would make his efforts all for naught. But his fists were clenched, his irritation shooting towards the stars above him. A piece of him wanted some sort of trouble so he could sink his fist into something since he couldn’t take it out on the source of his anger watching him walk away.
“The tavern,” William ordered his coachman instantly before climbing into the carriage. His coachman, Wesley, always did as he was told. He didn’t mind coming to decent neighborhoods like this one, or to shady ones like the one William was heading to next. The best coachman William could possibly ask for.
He let out a long breath as the carriage began to move off, staring at Carolina through the window. So many times, he’d found his father in an inebriated state singing off-key about the woman named Carolina. So many times, William had wondered if his father had dared to share that woman’s bed before the late Duchess had passed away. On too many occasions did William get the urge to take his frustrations out on the Duke, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything but watch the Duke destroy himself.
But he was dead. William was now the Duke of Brandon. And he had to put together all that his father had destroyed while he’d held the position.
Despite it being rather out of character for him, William peered out the window at the full moon above him. For the first time in a very long while, he wondered about the people who had left him and the people he had left behind.
“A terrible, terrible idea.” Patience crossed her arms. “I do not approve.”
Elizabeth urgently picked up her brush and began running it through her hair. She knew Patience wouldn’t let her do that herself for long, and just as expected, her lady’s maid let out a frustrated breath and came over to take the brush. She laid a hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder, lowering her onto the seat.
“Perhaps it is,” Elizabeth agreed with a nod. “But I have to do it.”
“You do not have to do anything,” Patience insisted. “You will only get yourself hurt.”
Instantly, Elizabeth thought of the puckered scars hidden under her clothes. She pushed the terrified thoughts away, focusing on her determination. “Perhaps I will. But I have to do it.”
“You are repeating yourself, I hope you know.” Patience sounded exasperated and Elizabeth couldn’t blame her. It was the dead of night, dawn just a few hours away, and here they were up and about—Elizabeth preparing to run away from home and Patience trying to convince her not to.
Twisting around, Elizabeth looked up at Patience. Despite knowing how scary and dangerous her path ahead might be if she did this, she was thrumming with excitement. Ever since she left the ball, ever since she returned home, that excitement had been mounting within her. She’d feigned illness to get her father to take her home long before the ball would actually come to an end.
