Alastair took a pull of his cigar as he threw down a card. He smiled to himself. He had never been much of a whist player but had certainly come to enjoy it since his marriage. Not that he would ever be nearly as good a player as his wife. After his escape from the atrocious Lady Hester Montgomery, he had found his gentlemen friends in the library, where he was content to while away the time.

“How is life as a wedded man?” asked Lord Greville with a grin.

“As it happens, it is not nearly as abominable as I had assumed it to be,” he responded with a shrug. “My wife makes life interesting, to say the least.”

“And she is a good woman for having you,” said Lord Merryweather, as they good-naturedly ribbed him.

“As it happens, I believe I had promised her a dance shortly,” he said, taking out his pocketwatch. The time had passed much quicker than he had imagined. “It seems I am rather tardy. I shall return in due time, gentlemen.”

As he wandered back into the ballroom, he reflected on the fact that, in all actuality, he was looking forward to time with his wife in his arms, even for a dance in public. He was certainly not the man he used to be, though he could not decide whether or not he welcomed that fact.

Standing tall, he looked around the room for Olivia, but saw not a glimpse of her blonde hair, which typically stood above most of the other women. His gaze flicked past Lady Montgomery and one of her friends, who sent a smirk his way. Whatever was that about? Paying it no mind, he found Lady Rosalind Kennedy.

“Lady Kennedy, have you happened upon my wife recently?”

Rosalind turned to him shaking her head.

“Last I knew she was looking for you.”

He continued his search around the room, finally coming upon a disheveled Lord Penn.

“I say, Penn, what happened to you?” he asked the normally well-put together man.

“I was in the middle of a set with a woman I am hardly acquainted with when she whisked me off the dance floor and out into the gardens,” he said, the flustered look remaining. “Next I knew she had pushed me onto a bench and was kissing me like a high-class courtesan. I cannot quite decide whether I enjoyed it or not.”

Alastair raised his eyebrows. “That is an interesting turn of events,” he said. “And who was such a woman?”

“Lady Hester Montgomery. Do you know her?”

“I do,” he said, his mouth a set line. “In fact, I had the pleasure of a dance with her earlier this evening. She was also present at the moment my fate in marriage was sealed. Consider yourself lucky no one happened upon you or you may now be betrothed to the woman. Perhaps that was her aim. Now, Penn, I am having quite the time locating my wife. Have you seen her?”

“I have not, my apologies,” he said.

Alastair felt a presence at his elbow and turned to find Lady Frances Davenport, a woman with whom he was only slightly acquainted.

“Excuse me, Lady Davenport, but I must locate my wife.”

“Oh yes, Your Grace, that is what I have come to discuss with you.” Her cheeks turned a bright pink, and Alastair looked at her expectantly. “She asked me to provide you with a message.”

“Yes?” he said impatiently.

“Olivia — your wife — she said she had to leave suddenly and to tell you she had gone home. She was looking for you, but could not locate you anywhere.”

He looked at her incredulously. “I was but in the library! For whatever reason could she have left so urgently?”

“I - I am unsure Your Grace,” she said, shrinking back away from him. She seemed somewhat of a timid creature, and he wondered at why Olivia would leave a message with a woman who, as far as he could ascertain, she did not particularly enjoy.

“She did look for you, I believe, however she returned to the ballroom, provided me with a message, and left through the front doors. She has not returned since, as far as I am aware.” The woman looked up at him expectantly.

“She said nothing else?”

“No, Your Grace.”

Alastair had had enough of this woman’s half-stories and answers that only raised more questions.

“Enough of this.” He said with a wave of his hand, sweeping by her and striding for the door. He wasn’t sure what this woman was playing at, but now he needed to speak with Olivia.

He called for his carriage, but the footman attending him gaped at him, stammering out the words as Alastair burned a glare at him.

“Y-Your Grace, I am at a loss. Your w-wife took the carriage b-but minutes ago,” the man said. “Sh-she said something to the effect that you would be leaving with another guest.”

“Oh?” Alastair’s eyebrows raised. “And who might that guest be?”

“Sh-she did not provide a name, though I have reason to believe she thought it to be a woman, Your Grace.”

Alastair tried not to lose his patience with the man, but he needed answers much quicker than the footman was providing. “And why, pray tell, would you believe that?”

“She said you would be with … I shan’t like to repeat the word she used, Your Grace.”

“Go ahead, my ears are not so delicate.”

“A — a strumpet, Your Grace. That you would be leaving with a strumpet.”

The man’s face had reddened, all the way to his ears, as he looked down to the ground in front of him. Alastair took pity on him and sighed.

“Would you find a hackney for me, my good man?”

“Yes, Your Grace, right away.”

This would take some time, Alastair knew. Time that would put much space between him and Olivia. He hoped she would be at home awaiting him when he arrived, for he had much to say to her.

* * *

She was gone.

How one woman with so many items could have packed and left with such haste, he was quite unsure. She had not taken everything with her, of course, but a few of her dresses, her comb, her brush, some of the books she had been reading, all of the paper she had been scribbling on — what she would have deemed essential.

“Bloody hell!” he yelled, knocking a candlestick to the floor as he turned suddenly to the door. Thankfully it lost its flame on its fall but it limited the light to the sole candle that bathed the room in very dim light.

What could he have possibly done to cause her to leave, and in such a manner? He had done everything possible for her — provided a welcoming home, allowed her to continue with any activity she wished, and escorted her to all social events she desired — be they respectable or not. He had thought she enjoyed his attentions in bed, despite her initial misgivings of consummating their relationship, and he had forsaken all other women for her.

Whatever could have happened at the ball to change her mind? Or had it been a ploy to escape from there? And where had she gone? His concern over her whereabouts rose as he continued his search, his mind running through all he would say when he found her.

He made his way down to the stable to find Roger, a groom who had been with him for quite some time and whom he trusted implicitly.

“Roger!” he called. “Have you any idea where my wife went?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the man said, coming around the corner at Alastair’s call. “She came round here not long ago and asked for the carriage to be readied. ‘Tis an awful late hour, and we were concerned about her, Your Grace, but … well, she was determined. She told Harry to take her to an address on Queen Street.”

Alastair sighed, in both relief and resignation. It was the address of the Duke and Duchess of Carrington, friends to them both. Clearly she would be safe there, but at the same time she had no other reason to leave at this late hour with all of her belongings unless it was that she had, in fact, decided to leave him.

He turned on his heel and marched back towards the house. If this was what she truly wanted, to be free of him, then so be it. His initial worry for her began to slowly dissipate — she was with one of his grooms, a man who had been with them for years. In place of his concern came a low, seeping anger. Anger that she would leave without a word to him. Did he not, at the very least, deserve an explanation? There was one thing he could say about his wife — she was an intelligent woman, that was for sure, and she should have known he would want more than an abandonment without even a word. And what of his mother, his sister? Anne adored Olivia. How could she leave without bidding her farewell?

With anger mounting, he pushed open the door to the house, in dire need of a drink. As he made for his study, his steps faltered when Anne stepped out of the library. “Alastair?” she said softly, and his expression softened, as it always did upon seeing his sister.

“Whatever are you doing awake?” he asked. “Should you not be long in bed?”

“I was waiting for you,” she said quietly as she opened the door to the library. “Come inside.”        

He hesitated, not wanting his anger to flow over to her, but followed her in. As she took a seat in one of his large wingback chairs, he went to the sideboard to pour himself a brandy.

“Alastair, Olivia came to speak with me this evening after she arrived home from the Duchess of Stowe’s ball.”

He turned in surprise to look at her. “Oh? And what, pray tell, did she have to say to you?”

“Simply that she was sorry things did not work out between the two of you. That she loved me and would be sure to visit me soon,” she said, an unhappy look in her eyes. “Did you do something Alastair? I thought you to be so in love! She looked extremely upset, though she tried to keep it from showing.”

“I did nothing,” he said, his frown deepening. “Everything was as it was previously until tonight. I cannot understand why she would leave without a word. And you are a romantic, darling, for she certainly does not love me. And I —”

“You are wrong, and I am not saying that simply because I love the two of you. Some great misunderstanding has happened. You must go after her,” his sister said, walking over to him, looking up at him with pleading in her eyes.

“No,” he shook his head in refusal, though he did not allow Anne to see the depths of his anger, his hurt over Olivia’s betrayal of his love. His love? Where had that come from? He knew he admired her. He respected her spirit, the way she was willing to say whatever she thought, would allow no one to stand in her way when she wanted something. He enjoyed her presence, and had come to think of them as good friends. He had also never felt passion as he did with her. He desired her body more than he ever had any other woman, and appreciated the spirit she brought to his bed.

And now … now that she was gone, he felt a hole in his chest unlike anything he had ever felt before. He loved her, and she had broken his heart. What a fool he was. He passed a hand over his eyes.

“You should go to bed, Anne,” he said.

“But —”

“Go to bed. We’ll discuss this in the morning.”

She sighed. “Good night, then Alastair. Please think on my words.”

“Good night, Anne.”