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I read over it in horror as I reached the section on Verity and her condition. Fuck all! Knowing her, this would be gutting. The one thing she did not want was for people to know her condition. She did not wish to be pitied.
“Where are you going? What about your meal?”
I did not care to eat. I rushed to my horse, needing to see Verity. She was not all right, and I was sure of it.
“Dr. Darrington!”
A horse pulled up before mine with a man I did not recognize but a uniform I did. He was from Everely House.
“Dr. Darrington! The Duke of Everely has requested you come to him immediately.”
“On what business?”
“It is dire, sir. Follow quickly,” he replied before heading off. Again, I thought of Verity, but I also knew her brother would not have called me if it were not indeed grim. The man hated to be treated for any matter.
I went with him, and no less than five minutes into our ride, I realized we were not headed toward the duke’s estate. We rode through the woods until we found ourselves at a small manor covered in vines.
“The duke is inside, quickly!” the man said, taking the reins of my horse.
When I reached the door and stepped inside, the first thing I noticed was blood that was stained on the wooden steps of the foyer, and I knew then that I would not be able to see Verity today.
Verity
Yesterday, I had written to the inn, but he had not come, despite my plea.
I searched for Evander too, but he was nowhere to be found.
My anger prevented me from going to Aphrodite, for it was she who had exposed the secrets of my nightmares and the pain of my childhood to the world with no thought or care. She was far too worried over Marcella to understand the injury she had done to me. No one had been home all day and I had not been able to sleep all night, and now dawn approached once more and still I was unable to reach anyone.
Knock. Knock.
“Enter.” I turned to see it was Aphrodite’s maid, Eleanor. She was always well put together. However, today, the skin on her face was sallow, her hair was down and messy—not in a bun as was her custom—and the hem of her dress was muddy, even torn. She looked as though she had crossed the county on foot. “What has happened to you, Eleanor?”
“Lady Verity, the duke and duchess have returned and would like to see you in the main drawing room,” she said gently, and immediately, I was going to the door.
“Is everything all right?”
The look on her face said that it clearly was not. Picking up my skirt, I rushed out. The only comfort I had, the only thing that kept me calm, was the fact that she had said both my brother and Aphrodite were waiting. Which meant they could not be gravely injured. Nevertheless, to be called like this—something was wrong. The other telltale sign was the servants. It was never good when they stopped whispering and looked away as one walked by.
Was this about me?
Did they know Theodore and I had…? No. Surely, they could not. And yet even still my heart filled with panic.
I was thoroughly unnerved by the time I reached the main drawing room, and the sight of them did not help matters. Aphrodite sat in a chair, her hands clasped together, her tea untouched, staring absent-mindedly at the floor. Evander was no better, as he stared up at the only portrait of our father.
“What has happened?” I asked them, as they did not notice me. Aphrodite stood to attention, and Evander looked at me as though he feared to speak. “You are only frightening me more by not saying whatever it is.”
“Verity, sit,” Evander said to me.
“I think it best I stand for now,” I replied. If they were going to yell at me I needed to have my feet firmly planted.
“I do not know how to say it, but it must be said.” He exhaled deeply. “Last night, Fitzwilliam died.”
“What?” That could not be right. “Dead? Fitzwilliam? No.”
But the looks on their faces said yes. I shook my head and looked at Evander. “You?”
“It was not Evander’s doing!” Aphrodite said quickly. “So much has happened, even we cannot grasp the horror of it. It all occurred so quickly.”
I listened as they told me the story about Marcella and Fitzwilliam, how they sought to help her escape him, how Mr. Wildingham, her father, had been the one to shoot, and how Theodore had been the one to try to save him. My mind struggled to comprehend how everything could go so wrong. How one moment Fitzwilliam was here, an ever-present thorn, and the next he was gone—murdered. I could not understand my feelings either. None of this made any sense to me.
