Married to the Marquess (36 page)

Though she knew it impossible, Kate could swear she heard her heart crack at the words. He could not even eat with her. Not even in a stony silence or a formal politeness. He would not see her at all. “Then yes, I will eat now,” she managed. “But just a little.”

As it turned out, it would be a very little that she would eat before she was overcome and had to leave the room, racing back up to the would-be comfort of her bedchamber. She closed the door behind her, and threw herself upon her bed, yet again surrendering to the waves of tears and heartache that were destined to be her companions for some time.

Outside of her bedchamber, leaning against the wall beside her door, Derek listened to the broken cries of his wife, feeling as though his own heart were no longer beating. He shut his eyes as she tried to muffle them, wishing that he had the strength to go in and comfort her.

She continued to cry, the frequency and depth of her sobs growing, and Derek could bear it no longer. He grabbed at the door knob only to find it locked. In his own agony, he rested his head against the door, grimacing. He couldn’t bear to knock, to beg for entrance when he could not even meet her for dinner.

He cursed the folly of his pride. What had he gained by fighting with her? Only this growing ache in his heart, and the bleak expanse of his future. She had returned his barbs as expertly as she had ever done, and rather than spar her out of it, he had taken it, and each had felt like a knife in his heart. His Kate was a woman who would not be trampled, and he had attempted to trample her. And for what? To feel that he could win one fight with his wife, when he had lost so stunningly to his father? What sort of victory had he attained? Nothing but a hatred of himself and the sobs of his wife that tore at his soul.

With the only semblance of strength left in him, he pushed away from her door and turned down the hall, away from the direction of his own room. He couldn’t sleep now, if he ever would.

She would never forgive him.

He would not blame her.

For he loved her still, and always would.

That stung worst of all.

C
hapter
N
ineteen

T
he morning dawned cloudy and dismal, which suited Kate just as well. She rose slowly, mutely, forgoing any pride in appearance or manner. She donned her plainest gown, silently allowing Jemima, who was, for once, also silent, to button her up and assemble her hair in the plainest, simplest array possible. But she did refuse to wear it tightly back, as she had before. She was not Katherine any longer, and she would prove it to Derek.

If she ever saw him again.

Her lip quivered ever so slightly and she bit down on it hard. The words he had lashed upon her had been horrible, had wounded and frightened her, but nothing could ever sting like his use of her full name, the name he had only called her when forced to or when out of her hearing. He had called her Katherine, not Kate. Katherine. The name of the woman he hated.

Could one day, a matter of hours, really change everything so completely? From being on the verge of confessing her love and adoration to suddenly having nothing but memories that felt more like dreams; it seemed impossible to comprehend, and yet it was. She might not even have a husband, if he carried through on his threats. Would he? Could he?

She softly thanked Jemima and hesitantly made her way downstairs. Part of her longed for even the merest glimpse of him, just a reassurance that he was here, that he was well, and perhaps, to see if he might miss her too. Another part wanted to hide, refused to see him, wanted to sulk and mourn and become a pathetic shadow of herself, waiting for the misery to overpower her. Still another part rankled at the memory of the fight, was galled that Derek thought so little of her, didn’t want to see him at all, for the anger still burned. A last, smaller part felt nothing, was empty, completely numb.

But what did it matter how the many parts of her felt? There was nothing for her to do but go on, attempt to put some semblance of her life back together.

If only she knew how.

Today was cold and dark, and the weather matched the feelings of her heart perfectly.

As she attempted to eat breakfast, alone again, she was able to discern from Harville, who was careful to only leave her enough hints in his morning ramble so as to avoid being impertinent, that Derek had not left and had not requested that anything be packed or readied. He was working outside with the men again, toiling at the garden project he had started for her. Kate had nodded, murmured her thanks, and resumed her small meal, but was unsure if she were pleased by the information or not.

Why was he here, if he could not stand her? Why continue on a project he had begun to please her if that were no longer an objective of his? Why exert such physical efforts for her when he hated doing so, and now had no reason to?

She made an impulsive decision and left the breakfast room, walking rather hastily to the gallery upstairs, which provided an excellent view of the back garden. Since he would not face her, she was left with making her own opportunities to see him. She could not bear to see him face to face, not after the hurt she had caused. But neither could she forgo seeing him altogether, if he were here. She could not go back to pretending he was nothing.

She propped herself in the window seat to one side of the room, hoping to remain out of sight, should he glance up. The work was progressing rather impressively, and it would not take long before all was complete. The gazebo was nearly fully constructed, and now only required painting. The shrubs had all been planted, the stone pathway begun, and off to one side, she could see the fountain, ready to be set in the ground. Everything was in order, and all were busily occupied.

It didn’t take her long to find him. He was working the hardest out of any man she could see, digging at the ground where the stone path would go. He seemed obsessed with the work, never once looking around or becoming distracted. He did not converse with any, and there was not a hint of smile to be found in his countenance.

In spite of everything, Kate felt the same pull at her heart when she saw him, and the ache within her grew. His shirt was quickly dampening, though the day was cooler than any they had seen for some time. One of the men tapped him on the back, and only then did his focus move from the ground before him. She saw him nod, then hand off his shovel and proceed over to the gazebo, where men were smoothing out the wood that would become the bench within, and a few were working at the saw on some large pieces for the top. He took over for an older man, who nodded at him gratefully.

In tandem, he worked with the men, over and over again running the saw through the wood, his face a mask of tension. Even from her present position, she could see the muscles in his arms flexing and relaxing as he sawed, and she wished those strong arms would hold her again, would
want
to hold her again. But it seemed improbable at this point.

She would wish all the same.

A large chunk of wood fell off of the end then, and the sawing ceased as the men fetched it and carried it over to the others. Derek wiped at his brow, then, suddenly, he looked up at the window.
Her
window.

Kate’s breathing stuttered as her eyes met his, so striking even from this distance. His expression did not change, but she could have sworn his breathing did. He became impossibly still, staring at her without blinking, his entire being fixated along with his eyes. Her heart thudded loudly, pulsing in her ears, drowning out all else in existence.

He was not looking away; did that mean he didn’t hate her? He wasn’t smiling; had he not forgiven her? Questions poured into her mind, and she could not bear to answer a single one of them. All she could was to gaze upon him, as he did her, longing to see a hint that all was not lost.

But no hint came.

The men returned to his side and he resumed working, never once glancing back up at her window.

Hot tears flooded her eyes, and she turned from the window, clutching at her heart. How would she bear living this way? She didn’t know, could not even imagine. In an instant, the world became a darker place, and she could not find a single glimmer of light to cling to.

Mournfully, she descended to the music room, feeling there was the very last connection she had with him. She could finish the song,
his
song, and she determined to do so, but no longer would it be the song she would save for him, to prove her love to him. Now it would become her song about him, her anthem for all that he was and ever had been. It would be the last gift he would ever give her, the painful reminiscence of what had been lost.

Much later, Kate sighed to herself as she finished the rest of her composition, feeling a mixture of pride and loss at the same time. At last she had completed what had begun as a musical declaration of her feelings and had ended as a testament to what had once been. This was something she would always have, and no one could take from her. Perhaps one day it would bring back happy memories instead of the pain she was feeling now.

She had been working at it for hours today, forgoing luncheon, as she was not the slightest bit hungry. Now she had no idea what time it was, and nor did she care.

A soft knock came at the door, and her heart leapt within her. Had he heard after all? Had he come to see her at last?

“Come,” she managed, brushing strands of hair out of her face.

Harville entered, sending her a sad smile as if he could sense how keenly she would be disappointed. “Begging your pardon, milady. Lady Beverton is here to see you.”

Kate swallowed and wished she had been able to see him and hear the words he had spoken without tears forming again.

Harville shuffled anxiously at the door. “Shall I tell her you are not receiving, milady?” he asked softly, his eyes full of concern.

“No,” she sniffled, trying for a smile. “No, thank you, Harville. She wouldn’t listen anyway.”

He nodded, smiling. “That is what I figured as well, milady. Shall I show her in?”

“Please.”

He bowed and left, giving Kate a little time to prepare herself. Moira was far too intuitive to not notice that something was very much amiss, but perhaps she could hold her off for a while.

“Good afternoon, Kate,” Moira called cheerfully as she entered, Harville closing the door behind her. “I have come to see if you… oh my, are you all right?”

So much for that idea.

Kate shook her head at her friend, hoping against hope that she would not ask.

But that was not Moira. She immediately came over and pulled Kate to the sofa, then sat beside her, holding her hands tightly. “Kate, what is it?”

She opened her mouth, but hesitated. What was there to say?

“Kate, please trust me,” Moira begged, her bright sapphire eyes earnest and worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Everything,” Kate whispered, feeling those blasted tears rising within her again.

“Could you elaborate just a little bit?” Moira requested, a hint of a smile at her lips. “Everything is a bit much to take in.”

“I have lost him, Moira.”

“Lost whom?” she asked, stroking her hands. “Derek?”

She nodded frantically.

“Not possible,” Moira said firmly with a shake of her head. “That man is so head over heels for you it is remarkable his feet ever touch the ground.”