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Marion felt her own heart racing painfully at his words, but she wouldn’t back down, she wouldn’t break down. At least, not yet. She could feel herself on the edge of plaintive tears of distress, but she swallowed them, refusing to appear weak in front of him.
“No,” she hissed, glaring at him. “I made sure the tailor in Covent Garden knows to expect me. I made sure my house staff knows to expect me. We are not alone in this park,Father.There are other people around us who will notice your…attitude toward me.”
“You can’t speak to me this way!” Ted snarled, but Marion could see uncertainty in his eyes. He had not counted on her fighting back, on her threatening to use her power and status against him. On some level, he was expecting her to love him, still.
“I am your father!”
Marion wrenched her arm away from Ted and spat out her final furious words. “You’re no father of mine!” She fled back down the alley, unable to stop the disappointed and frightened tears from rolling down her cheeks.
Chapter Nineteen
“Where is the Countess?” Simon asked as soon as he returned home that afternoon. He had not gone on to Nathan’s—he couldn’t stomach speaking to his friend when his brain was still turbulent with the vision of his wife’s hand being held by another man. He had, instead, gone to his gentleman’s club and fenced for an hour there, happy for an excuse to get all of his aggression out. He was feeling slightly better—in a way, beating out all of his aggression had given him some clarity.
He needed to have a discussion with his wife, that much was clear, and the sooner, the better. He resolved to be calm, collected, to not make any assumptions or accusations, and to not, in any way, suggest that he had followed his wife that very afternoon. But he was undoubtedly gripped with a serious urgency. As soon as he came back to the house, he went looking for her, but couldn’t find her in her bedchamber or their parlour or the music room. In fact, walking around the house, he had the distinct impression that Marion was not here.
“Marion!” he called loudly, dismissing how it would look to the servants if he was shouting around the house for his wife. He listened for a response, but heard nothing. Somehow, he could feel her lack of presence.
He glanced down at his watch. It was twenty minutes to four. She had met the man in Green Acres Park nearly four hours ago. Despite his earlier fury at her, at the man, at the terrible situation he had witnessed, he felt a sudden sickly combination of worry and anger. Was she alright? Was she well? Had something happened with that…that man? And who the devil was he? Simon’s anger relit at thoughts of him.
“For God’s sake,” Simon cursed softly through his teeth. “Where is she?”
He gazed down the staircase, waiting to hear a carriage or footsteps, but heard nothing. The silence bounced back to him in furious, accusing waves. He clenched his fists. This was not what he had wanted when he had married again. He was used to this silence, to this horrible, unending loneliness—it was what he had lived in since Stella died. When he had remarried, he at least hoped that Marion might, in the least, be able to bring an end to the silence.
And Marion had given him more, so much more, than he expected. To receive this silence now, to have to bear it and everything it signified after the closeness they had previously experienced, was far too much for him. He had to find her.
“Loretta!” he bellowed, walking down the stairs. He heard a little squeak from down the hall and scuttling footsteps before Marion’s lady’s maid appeared at the foot of the stairs, her face flushed.
“Yes, master, I am here,” Loretta said, breathlessly arranging her mobcap. Simon felt sorry for his sharp, bellowing tone—the poor French girl looked positively terrified.
“I apologize for my shouting,” Simon said curtly. “Where is my wife?”
“I - I am not sure, Milord.” Despite his apology, the girl seemed even more flustered at his words. Her eyes darted nervously to the large grandfather clock in the hall. “She - she was meant to be back by four.”
“Well, where did she say she would be at this time?” Simon demanded, wondering if she had planned to take a different route back after her ‘meeting.’ Perhaps she had given some hint to her ladies maid.
“I - I - she - she wasn’t clear, Milord. She said she would be shopping.”
“All day?”
“I - I don’t know, Milord, I am - I am sorry!” Simon frowned at Loretta, trying to understand her reticence. She was not giving him a straight answer, and she honestly looked close to tears. She kept looking at the clock and shifting her feet.
Suddenly, Simon had a horrible thought. What if she knew exactly of Marion whereabouts? What if she had been told to lie to him about where Marion was today? He felt his stomach curdle with anger and sadness at the thought of it. How could she possibly be so deceptive? If that were so, Simon could think of only one thing to explain his wife’s actions—she was having an affair.
He was seized with a torrent of emotion, and before his rational thoughts could come back, could reassure him that his sweet wife would do not such thing, he found anger taking over. He couldn’t help himself standing over a quaking Loretta, demanding in an angry tone that carried through the grand halls, “Loretta, where is my wife?”
“I’m sorry!” Loretta burst out, twisting her fingers, almost close to hysterics. “I don’t know, I really don’t”
“Tell me!”
“My Lord!”
Simon turned to see Hughes marching down the hall towards him. He was walking swiftly, with a frown, but addressed himself to Simon as if Loretta wasn’t there.
“My Lord, you are home,” Hughes said. “Would you be available to speak with me about some urgent matters in the library?”
Simon took a deep breath. Part of him was annoyed to be interrupted, but another part was secretly grateful. He would not like to behave in an ungentlemanly or less than lordly manner towards his wife’s lady’s maid. He was the Earl of Reading, and he must try to maintain his equilibrium, even if the events of the day were rapidly disrupting him.
“Yes, Hughes, of course. That will be all, Loretta.”
