Bronwyn felt all the fight leave her at that bold question. Yes, it was beyond the pale to question someone on their marriage in such a way. Yet with Lady Tesh, it was not a surprise. The woman was as ever plainspoken and direct, a fact that Bronwyn had admired more often than not. At least she did not hide behind a false smile and placating words, all the while spitting venom behind a person’s back, like so many other members of society did.
And what use was there in denying it? The truth would come out eventually; she may as well do it on her own terms.
“Yes, my lady,” she replied, looking the woman in the eyes, showing her she was not cowed or ashamed. “The duke and I had every intention of living apart from day one.”
The look in the old woman’s eyes could only be called approving. “It is a common condition in many high-society marriages,” she replied. She narrowed her eyes in thought. “Though I admit, I am surprised such is the case with you and Buckley. Especially considering how deeply you seem to care for one another.”
Bronwyn sucked in her breath. “I assure you,” she managed, “you have misread our relationship. I have none of the softer feelings for His Grace.” But the declaration sounded false even to her own ears.
“No,” Lady Tesh murmured, “I don’t think I have. But there are others who are more qualified in making such a statement.” Suddenly she turned to the three girls, who were unusually quiet, standing together off to the side and watching the exchange with rapt interest. “What say you, my dears? Have you detected an emotional connection between the duke and duchess?”
Bronwyn fully expected them to take her side in this matter. She and the girls had become close, after all, and she thought for certain they would stand as a united front with her. Instead, to her consternation, they all nodded emphatically.
Nelly bounced on her toes, her eyes bright. “Oh, yes, my lady,” she gushed. “They would always look at each other in the most romantic way.”
“We most certainly have not,” Bronwyn declared, aghast.
“Of course you have,” Eliza declared with a customary roll of her eyes. “Though I wouldn’t call it romantic. More like nauseating.”
“It was not nauseating,” Nelly declared hotly, before she was once more in raptures, sighing dreamily and clasping her hands to her narrow chest. “When I grow old, I hope to have just such a marriage.”
The dowager, Bronwyn noticed, was looking much too smug. “M-my lady,” she stuttered, feeling her face heat, “you must have seen that the girls have active imaginations. They were seeing things that weren’t there.” She turned to Regina, certain she would find common sense in the girl. “Isn’t that right, Regina?”
“Actually,” the eldest sister began ruefully.
Bronwyn gaped at her, feeling betrayed. “You, too?”
Regina shrugged in apology. “You were happy with him, Bronwyn. And since he left, you haven’t been.”
“I have been happy,” she grumbled mutinously.
But as she looked about the small circle, it was obvious not one person—not Lady Tesh, or the girls, or Katrina, or Mrs. Wheeler, or even the blasted dog—believed her. Hell, if she had been in their position, she wouldn’t have believed her either.
She sighed in defeat, her shoulders slumping. “Fine, you’re right. I have not been happy.”
Lady Tesh beamed. “There, was that so hard? The only question now is,” she mused, eyeing Bronwyn with interest, “what will you do about it?”
It was on the tip of Bronwyn’s tongue to tell this woman that there was nothing shecoulddo about it. If Ash had wanted to make their marriage a real one, he would have returned for her. But after all she had learned from Seraphina, after discovering Ash’s letter regarding her research, after unearthing the incredible information that the girls were very likely his half sisters and he was staying away from them for their benefit, she knew she was just making excuses.
Her gaze wandered to the portrait of his mother once more. Whatever had happened in the past, Ash did not feel he was worthy of being in his sisters’ lives. Or in her life. It was up to her to let him know that he was.
Fear and anticipation coursing through her, she turned back to the dowager. “I rather think,” she replied slowly, her heart pounding in her chest, “that I’ll be setting off for London first thing in the morning. Or, rather,” she corrected, looking to the girls, who were gazing back at her in wide-eyed hope, “we all are. Together.”
Chapter 22
Dammit, Buckley,” Beecher growled from Ash’s office door. “You look like hell. When was the last time you got some sleep?”
Ash hadn’t slept well since leaving Bronwyn and the girls a week and a half ago. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell his partner that.
“My bed is unmade,” he muttered, not looking up from the ledgers he was carefully poring over. “Proof that I have spent the required time there. You may check yourself, if you must.”
Instead of leaving him the hell alone, as Ash’s tone invited, however, Beecher entered the room and approached Ash’s desk. “A mussed bed does not prove that one has spent their time there sleeping.” He gave a rough laugh. “God knows I have rumpled many a sheetnot sleeping.”
Ash merely grunted, hoping the other man would take the hint that he wished to be left alone. Beecher, however, was either incredibly dense or frustratingly stubborn—or both—for he propped one hip on Ash’s desk and folded his massive arms across his chest, proof that he had no intention of leaving. The desk, though sturdy and massive itself, groaned under his weight.
“Are you truly going to brood for the remainder of your days?” The man picked up a letter opener, twirling it expertly among his fingers, the sharp blade flashing in the air. “Because I don’t mind telling you that it’s become tedious as hell.”
Ash glared up at the man. “Is that so?”