The Duke and His Duchess - By Grace Burrowes Page 0,33

soldiers.”

They strolled along, a young family to all appearances indulging the children’s high spirits on a chipper day.

Esther spoke at the same time as her husband, their unison perfect.

“I’ll miss you.”

From Esther’s perspective, they were both speaking the truth, but the missing would be very different for each of them. She would miss her husband with a bodily ache and a heavy heart, and more than a dollop of resentfulness. He would miss her with a passing wistfulness, particularly on the nights when his mistress could not accommodate him.

The thought sent a spike of nausea through Esther’s belly.

“Madam, are you well?”

She’d put her hand over her middle. Behind them, Comet clip-clopped along, and the boys plotted terror on the high seas of Mayfair

“I do not want to return to Morelands, Percival. There is no reason for it.”

He remained silent until they approached the gate that would see them onto Park Lane. Percival paused, the horse coming to a halt behind them.

“Will you go because I ask it of you, Esther? I will join you at Christmas if I have to walk every step of the journey back to you in my bare feet.”

Now was the time to tell him, no, she would not go. She would not so easily let him drift into the liaisons and affairs that eventually attended every titled marriage, save the eccentric few. Now was when she should join battle, except Percival’s eyes held such a grave request, she could not form the words.

She nodded, and they turned out of the park and onto the busy streets of Mayfair.

***

“You’re not off to the levee this morning, Husband?”

Esther looked tired to Percival, making him wonder if she’d waited up for him. When he’d dragged himself home after an execrable evening at the theater, Esther had been abed, and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to wake her. His hesitance hadn’t stemmed from consideration for a woman who’d be trapped in a freezing coach with her children all day but rather from guilt.

All evening long he’d fielded curious glances and raised eyebrows from men who would no doubt tell their wives that Lord Percy Windham had been in the company of an old flame. And those wives would talk to each other, and eventually…

“I’m off to a meeting,” Percival said. “His Majesty has some notion Wales ought to be kept informed of the committee’s doings, though Wales is far more interested in chasing skirts than requisitioning uniforms.”

“Then I’ll bid you farewell. I’ve final packing to see to.”

She did not. Percival knew his wife well enough to know that her own effects had likely been packed before she’d found her bed the previous night. Esther pushed her chair back, and Percival covered her hand with his own. “I’ve said my good-byes to the boys, but…”

She gazed at him, her expression so solemn that guilt and frustration coalesced into shame. The damned beefsteak he’d been choking down threatened to rebel, and a life of such moments—ashamed, awkward, silent—rolled past in Percival’s mind.

“Esther, I love you. I wouldn’t be asking you to leave if I did not love you.”

If she asked him why her departure was necessary, he would have no answer for her: Because a vicious woman was going to use a small child to wreak vengeance on an entire family; because a randy young officer had made foolish choices.

Because he could not bear to see Esther hurt.

He kissed her cheek. “Will you finish my steak for me? One doesn’t want to be late, even if Wales will be more drunk than sober at such an early hour.”

Something shifted in Esther’s green-eyed gaze, something cooled and reassessed. “I don’t care for beef at breakfast, Percival. Perhaps you’ll serve yourself smaller portions in future rather than expect me to finish your meal.”

Her tone was so perfectly bland, Percival had to wonder if she hadn’t already heard with whom he’d been seen the previous evening. “I will try to recall your preferences when next we’re dining at the same table.”

He rose, held her chair for her, and hated what his life was about to become. Hated it so much in fact, that when he’d managed to take his leave of his lady wife without shouting, breaking things, and rampaging through the house, he did not go to his meeting. Percival instead took himself to that address he most loathed in all of London.

“Good morning, your lordship.” The same footman who’d listened at Cecily’s keyhole was now minding her front door. “Madam