Chapter Twenty
Luke woke up to briskknock on his door. He rolled out of bed and threw on his robe, belting it as he reached for his door, hoping it would be Serenity. Instead, it was his butler, who looked grim.
“Sir, I thought you might want to know that the young lady, Miss Pratt, left in the middle of the night. Bradford told me she asked him to find her a hack, and she took a small bag with her.”
“Why didn’t he stop her?” Luke snapped, then rubbed his hand over his face, regretting that he’d taken his anger out on his faithful butler. “Thank you for telling me.”
The butler nodded, giving him a sympathetic look. “I’m very sorry, sir.”
Luke strode purposely down the hall to Serenity’s room. Though he knew what he’d find, he still felt the need to see for himself. Why had he left her last night? Why hadn’t he insisted on staying until she understood that she and Gabriel were the most important things in the world to him? He knew she always ran when she was afraid, and she’d only promised that she’d stay until they found Gabriel. Obviously, she figured that since they’d found him, she no longer had to abide by that agreement.
He shoved open her bedroom door, hoping it had all been a mistake, and that he’d find her still abed. Instead, he found her room empty. He opened the wardrobe and the drawer of her vanity, but no trace of her remained. When he went to the neatly made bed, however, he saw a square of white on the counterpane.
With trembling fingers, he picked it up. At least she’d left some word behind this time, but he was afraid of what it might say, afraid he’d lost her forever this time. He sank down on the edge of the bed and ripped the envelope open.
Dear Luke,
I have loved you all my life, it seems. But from the beginning of our relationship, I knew that you could never be mine. You are an earl, and I am, at best, the daughter of your drunken gamekeeper. It could never have worked between us, yet we both seem to have forgotten that time and again. The last few days have been such a whirlwind that I let myself hope that things could be different this time around. But our conversation last night reminded me that you will never see me the way that I see you.
I am going to the cottage. I hope that is all right. I can never thank you enough for all that you’ve done for me, for finding our son and giving me the means to create a new future for myself. Unfortunately, I now see that my future can never include you.
I wish only the best for you.
Serenity
He crumpled the letter in his hand, shaken by a wave of emotion. She still didn’t know. She didn’t think he wanted her, didn’t know that he would give her the world if he could. He should have told her last night, instead of promising to give her another child. She didn’t even trust him to do what he needed to do with the one they had.
* * *
LATER THAT EVENING, Luke arrived at Morgan’s house. He wanted to check on his grieving brother, and he also wanted some impartial advice over the situation with Gabriel. Morgan had always been the most level-headed of the three of them. Perhaps he could see the entire thing in a way that Luke had not considered.
Once the butler had let him in, Luke spent some time cuddling his adorable niece and nephew, which reminded him that baby Felicity was still with Fiona at Brookhaven. He buried his face in Hannah’s sweet-smelling hair, fresh anguish washing over him. So many things needed his attention and he had once again dropped a ball, a very important one. How could he have forgotten that his brother still couldn’t even bear to look at his own baby? How could he have thought that asking Morgan to help him with his own problems was a good idea when his brother’s life was in shambles? What a selfish bastard he was.
Swallowing thickly, he released Hannah and tussled her hair. “I’m going to go find your daddy,” he told her softly.
“Daddy is sad,” his nephew said.
“My mommy isn’t coming home,” Hannah parroted, obviously still not quite sure what that meant.
“I know,” Luke said, reaching down to hug her again. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
She just blinked at him, her huge blue eyes shiny with tears. With a sigh, he released her and went in search of his brother.
As he’d suspected, Morgan was in his studio in the attic, half-finished canvases all around him. Most were slashed angrily, as though Morgan had destroyed them in a fit of rage. Morgan stood at the window, staring out into the night.
When Luke entered, Morgan glanced over his shoulder. Their gazes met briefly, then Morgan turned back to the window without comment.
Luke walked forward, examining the paintings, his heart sinking as he realized they were all of Anne. Though on second thought, he realized it might be a step up from painting the fire that had killed their father.
“How are you doing?” Luke finally asked cautiously.
“Did you know that I hadn’t slept in the same bed with my wife for six months before she died?” Morgan asked, his tone surprisingly casual.
