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With a sorrowful frown, she lightly patted his back and held him for as long as he needed her to, letting him be the one to decide when to pull away.
However, one thing was becoming rather clear: she needed to have an overdue discussion with her husband about William’s mother.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Your Grace?”
Marina snapped to attention, scrabbling to pull a square of paper off her cheek. She had fallen asleep at her desk again, simultaneously too exhausted and too anxious to make it to her bedchamber.
“Up here,” she called, hurrying to the mezzanine ladder.
Below stood the housekeeper, dressed in her housecoat and looking less than impressed, a letter clutched in her one hand, a lantern in the other.
“A message came for you,” Mrs. Havers said, while Marina climbed down, though her limbs had not yet woken up properly.
Marina took the letter with an apologetic smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Havers. I am sorry you were woken.”
“Not at all, Your Grace,” the woman replied through clenched teeth, before turning to go.
Only when Marina was sure that the housekeeper was gone did she open up the letter, her nerves jittering as her eyes skimmed the note. The reply had been quicker than she expected: a glimmer of hope in an otherwise endless sea of frustration and despair.
It simply read: I have what you desire. Come to me tomorrow afternoon. You know where.
At the bottom, it was signed with the initials ‘WP’.
Her heart leaped, all of her fatigue evaporating as optimism thrummed in its place. Indeed, it was the first good news she had had since leaving London, and her uncle.
“Has Marina breakfasted already?” Anthony asked upon entering the breakfast room.
Usually, she sat at the far end with William, but there was no sign of her this morning. In her place was Mrs. Havers, quietly embroidering.
“She went out,” William replied brightly. “I waved.”
Anthony halted. “Went out? What do you mean?” He looked to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Havers?”
“Master William, might you excuse us for a moment?” the housekeeper said, as she set down her embroidery.
The boy shrugged and scraped back his chair, swiping a piece of toast as he headed out of the room.
The moment he was gone, Mrs. Havers unleashed an unsteady sigh. “She received a message late last night. This morning, she requested the use of a carriage but would not tell me where she was going. She left not long after dawn and, by the looks of her, she had not slept.”
Anthony straightened, unease knotting his stomach. “I spoke to her at dinner last night. She made no mention of expecting a letter,” he said coolly. “When did it arrive, exactly?”
“Close to midnight,” the housekeeper replied. “Now, I am sure there is a reasonable explanation, but I do not know it. She was… very secretive.”
“Did she seem distressed?” Anthony’s throat had gone dry.
Mrs. Havers hesitated, then shook her head. “Quite the opposite. She was rather… cheerful. Excited, one might say.”
What?
“Did you see what the message said?” He knew it would be a violation of trust for the housekeeper to read private correspondence, but, in that moment, he did not care.
There was a good reason he did not trust easily, and if Marina gave him a reason to doubt her…
Mrs. Havers looked appalled. “I did not, Your Grace. I would never do such a thing.”
He barely heard the response, memories flooding his skull. None of them good. The lies, the dramatic antics, the affairs, the destruction, the utter chaos of a time he preferred to forget.
