Page 49 of Miss Ridley and the Duke

She sighed heavily. When had she become so stupid? You fall in love one time and suddenly you want to do anything and everything you can to earn the admiration of your heart’s desire.

If only she had told him, she would not have felt guilt-ridden with secrets and perhaps the second error of blurting out her heart would have never occurred either.

Earning his love had been a futile endeavor from the start. His heart belonged to the exquisite Jane, who had rejected him and closed off his heart. The young woman who had made the duke fall in love in the ballrooms of high society, just as Annabel had first envisioned when she had gazed upon her likeness. Jane, who had captured him with her beautiful features, soft blonde curls, blue eyes, and rosebud lips. Not to mention her accomplishments with the pianoforte, needlework and, she surmised, watercolor paints. The perfect debutante and exact opposite of Annabel in every way. All Annabel could hope for was to earn his affections.

I promise to not have unreasonable expectations.

She would love their baby, and she would earn Philip’s friendship again, if he would allow it. And she would keep her admiration to herself, shut inside her heart where it belonged! She decided her husband would feel compelled to sort out their disagreement, if for no other reason than he was a gentleman who believed in fidelity.

Her advice to Philip had been correct. One could drive oneself insane with these thoughts bouncing around one’s skull. She sat up and rubbed her belly, smiling wanly as she recalled stating that very idea to Philip less than a month ago. If these thoughts kept chasing around her head, she would be forced to talk to herself out loud, just to get them out of her head and out in the open where she could hear them. Judge the logic of them. If that happened, she wouldn’t have to worry about being sent to another estate. She would be sent to Bedlam instead.

* * *

It had taken Philip the better part of one evening plus another day to inquire at all the clubs and gaming hells he could recall Saunton mentioning. He had been forced to go to Markham House, his London townhouse, in the early hours to allow his footman, his coachman, and himself to eat and rest. With a fresh change of horses, they had recommenced their crisscross of London’s districts.

When he finally succeeded in locating the earl, it was at the Stratford Club on Little Portland Street in Mayfair. They must have sailed past the club multiple times in their search while Richard had played whist through the night.

Philip did not have a membership, but when he made himself known, and whom he sought, they ushered him in.

He had expected to find Richard deep in his cups or buried in a high-stakes card game. In his mind, Richard would be as drunk as … well, drunk as a lord. He was taken aback to find Richard seated in the shadows at a back table—alone—facing the room, and sober, in a frightening way, his face severe as he surveyed the men playing cards throughout the room. His affable cousin did not look … affable.

Richard ignored Philip’s approach until the duke stood right next to him, where he hesitated, unsure what to say.

“I hope you are here to apologize for stealing Annabel,” Richard stated after a long pause, tilting his head back to focus on Philip’s towering form standing above him. “I am still quite angry about that.”

Philip took the seat beside him and opened his mouth to apologize. Then he shut it, realizing the one thing he could never apologize for was taking Annabel away from him. He wondered at this, why he felt that way, before attempting another reply. He did not know what words he would say until he heard himself speak. “Annabel deserved better. You did not treat her well.”

“You are better?”

Philip took a deep breath. He had not expected his meeting to be easy, but it surprised him just how difficult it was to sit here, to talk to his estranged cousin, his—how maudlin a sentiment—former best friend. “Saunton, Annabel has uncovered the truth. That you never betrayed me with Jane. I am here to apologize for misjudging your intentions during that visit three years ago.”

Saunton’s lids slitted into a suspicious glare. “What do you mean, Annabel uncovered the truth? What truth?”

“Jane had a twin brother.”

This was met with an expression of perplexment. “And?”

“His name was Richard Marley.”

Saunton’s face gradually cleared as he digested the information. “I see. And Annabel believes that Richard Marley is the one Jane was calling for in her fever?”

“Marley died when she was young, and apparently, the loss was … traumatic.”

“Ah.” Richard looked down at his untouched drink. Philip waited for his cousin to sort through his private thoughts. Eventually Saunton looked up, not quite meeting his eye, but staring somewhere beyond Philip’s shoulder. “I have missed you,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Her Grace was a beautiful woman, but I swear I would never have interfered between you and your late wife. I tried to tell you at the time. I could never have done such a thing to you. Especially when I was present because you had requested my help.”

“I know that now. And, for jumping to conclusions and failing to hear you out, I offer my profound apologies.” Philip cleared his throat, chagrined by the force of his relief at reuniting with his cousin. He was grateful to Annabel for clearing up their misunderstanding, despite her personal history with the earl providing her with good reason to not reveal the truth. He had an inkling she had finally disclosed it for his sake, because she wanted him to be happy.

Saunton coughed into his hand, looking abashed at revealing his sentiments. “I have had a deuced awful month since encountering you at Baydon Hall. Quite depressed, in fact, old chap. Have not even had the will to drink or visit any beds. Can you imagine? It is hell, I tell you!”

Philip snorted in response. “I missed you. I did not know how much I missed you until I married Annabel and rediscovered the joys of friendship.”

They both sat in silence, staring at the table between them, lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Saunton looked up. “The joys of friendship? Is that what you and Annabel share? How is that different from what I was offering her, then?”

Philip chuckled as he thought of his wife. “Annabel is amazing. She is funny and kind. She loves looking after people. She loves looking after me …” Philip grinned as he thought of their past weeks together, his chest warming in fondness. “She is clever and adventurous. I can talk to her about anything, and she jolts me from my maudlin thoughts. I could spend a hundred years with her and never grow tired of her company. I think about her all the time, and I missed her more this week than I missed you in the past three years.”

Saunton tilted his head in a bemused query. “Halmesbury, what you just described, that is not friendship, I do not think.” His cousin was staring at him with a strange expression when Philip refocused on him, bringing his mind back to the present. Philip frowned in confusion.