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Chapter 18
Baldwin stared down into his glass of Scotch, listening as Marta made her way towards her bedroom upstairs. Her footsteps were soft, delicate, and he felt strangely as though he could sense the darkness of her beating heart. Her sadness had certainly seemed to stretch over her, coating her like a cloak. He felt enraged at both himself and Lewis Remington. He hadn’t done enough.
Ewan, to his credit, didn’t speak for several minutes. The men knew one another too well for that. Ewan surely recognised the chaotic churnings of Baldwin’s thoughts and knew better than to dip in too early, yet it was essential to halt the wild stirrings soon, in order to calm him.
“Marta doesn’t understand this world,” Baldwin murmured, mostly to himself.
“Although I dare say she understands far better than Lord Remington thinks,” Ewan interjected.
“Do you suppose?” Baldwin asked.
“The girl is no child,” Ewan said. “I told you. The events that transpired back in Austria led her here with a broken heart and a deeper comprehension of the world. I dare say what occurred at the Regent’s ball is something of a mainstay for her. Perhaps she crafts gossip and drama wherever she goes. This is not to say I don’t appreciate a good bit of gossip and drama.”
“If anything, you should thank her for adding a bit of light to your life,” Baldwin agreed.
The men shared a laugh. Baldwin drank the rest of his Scotch and returned his eyes to Ewan’s. There was a great deal that had remained unsaid between them. Baldwin’s heart dipped low in his chest.
“You had an all right time before we had to leave, didn’t you?” Baldwin asked.
Ewan gave a lacklustre shrug. “It’s never boring. Especially this time. But I suppose the county will be up in arms about you. You stole the Duke’s lady from under his grip.”
“And punched him in the gut…” Baldwin dropped his face into his palm, remembering it. The Duke’s stomach had been hard as a rock, powerful, yet he’d felt him spasm in pain the moment Baldwin’s fist had connected with his muscle.
“I dare say he won’t go on about that,” Ewan affirmed. “If nobody else noticed, the Duke won’t wish to spread the news around.”
“I suppose not,” Baldwin agreed. “It might make him look weak.”
“And our dear Duke is never weak,” Ewan said with a wink.
**
Upstairs, Ewan collapsed in the guest bedroom, atop the mattress that, if he wasn’t incorrect, had begun to stitch itself around his body years ago. This fact made the mattress far more his than any other guest’s. In every way except title, this bedroom was his bedroom.
But sleeping at the Thompson Estate was far different than it had been prior to Marta’s arrival. Now, he felt he could feel her still a few doors down. Had she collapsed into slumber immediately? Or had the events of the night wrapped tightly around her frame and caused her panic and unrest? He thought back to what Ewan had said about her history. Yes, truly, she was adventurous and wild and free, the sort to have multiple stories such as this. But there was also something else about her, something softer and kinder and more emotional. It didn’t seem likely that she could just brush this off.
Regardless, Baldwin couldn’t turn his mind from a seemingly-pure fact: he was falling in love with her. His mind called out to her, even as he tossed and turned on this, his mattress. He remembered the heaviness of her head across his chest on the carriage ride home. He’d longed to spread his fingers across her hair and kiss away all tears, had she shed them. Although he would never be the one to shoo Ewan away, he’d longed for privacy at that moment.
Of course, yet again, he wasn’t entirely sure what Marta thought of the entire affair. Surely, she looked at him as more than just a friend of her cousin’s. She’d sought him out throughout the rockiest of encounters with the Duke himself. And when the Duke had attempted to hurt her, Baldwin had been the one to step in. He’d known it to be his duty.
Somehow, he felt linked to Marta. Somehow, he felt he owed it to her to protect her from such wretched men.
But it was even difficult for himself to explain it in his own mind.
**
Baldwin struggled to sleep that night. When he awoke in the morning, he dressed slowly and spread the curtains to peer out at an early summer morning. He’d always been rather good at guessing the time, and he assumed that it was no later than 7:45. When he appeared in the hallway, he was surprised to find Laura, the Austrian maid, entering Marta’s bedroom several doors down. As she turned the doorknob, her blue eyes connected with his. She looked as though she’d been caught doing something she felt she wasn’t supposed to do.
In response, however, Baldwin gave her a light-hearted smile. “It’s all right. I don’t know the rules.”
Of course, Laura hadn’t a clue what he’d said. She returned a shrug and then crept the rest of the way into the bedroom. Just before the door closed, Baldwin’s ears sought out syllables from Marta.
She spoke in German to Laura, and the words shimmered with vitality and friendliness. They struck Baldwin with their beauty, so much so that he felt frozen for a moment before forcing himself the rest of the way to the staircase.
Breakfast wouldn’t be served for another hour. This left Baldwin a good deal of time to roam through the gardens and walk towards the forest. Throughout his life, he’d frequently taken to walking as a means to restructure and order his thoughts.
In truth, Baldwin felt moderately frightened about what the Duke might decide to do about him. For many years, the two of them hadn’t seen eye-to-eye. Now, the Duke had the ear of the Regent, a great deal of power, and, furthermore, interest in Marta Schnitzler. This was a recipe for sure disaster.
Yet, despite his best efforts, Baldwin was something of a romantic when it came to Marta. He found a sort of resolve within him. He would fight for her, no matter what he had to do. She was worthevery effort.
