Hunters

XXII. Doubt

XXII. Doubt

The unwelcomed heat had abated. Vaughan had been especially grateful for this small miracle, as he'd had to travel back to town. There had, of course, been reservations in doing so, but since he'd had to leave abruptly after Vasyl's death, and subsequently cut off all communications with everyone save his wife—and a few others—for almost two weeks, it was necessary to return. Although he had tried to get everything settled again through mail correspondence, some business was better conducted in person.

Lecia hadn't seemed to be particularly delighted when he told her, but she, regrettably, had neither begged him to stay. Not that he expected her to. She was not the type of woman who would, not even if her life depended on it.

Regardless, Vaughan had been quite tempted to use his position to force his associates to travel to Martis instead of having to travel himself. He'd left when the heat was still quite unbearable, and had therefore taken the train. Beside the anxiety of railway voyages, the Duke was not especially eager to leave his melancholy wife. Foremost on his mind was his memory of the last time he'd left her alone, though knowing that her mother was in residence was of some comfort.

When the summer fever broke, he became restless in the city. Perhaps, after considering all motives, he'd left Martis for more than London conferences. Perhaps the unusual heat had had peculiar effects on everyone's senses. Perhaps he had made his best efforts to contain certain impulses, but there was not much else he could do beyond escape temptation. Perhaps, now that the strange heat was gone, things would be easier. Perhaps.

So, the Duke hastily finished his meetings and made arrangements to return home. As if by destiny, the morning before his departure from town he received a letter from the dowager Baroness. She had thanked him for his graciousness in accommodating her, and apologized for having to leave without waiting for him to return. Apparently there had been a false scare with Zora's pregnancy, which had prompted the young woman to reach out and request her mother's presence. Her condition had progressed substantially anyway, so her mother was quite excited to be there waiting to welcome a grandchild.

Be that as it may, Florence Harper was still very concerned about her other daughter. She explained to Vaughan what had transpired between Lecia and the late Baron. While it was none too serious, and in actuality the man had—though not formally—forgiven his daughter and wished her nothing but happiness, the stubborn girl was also sensitive.

Finally enlightened (and realizing that he forgot his wife's birthday in all of the chaos), Vaughan was eager to return home. His relationship with Lecia was maybe the most complicated one he'd ever shared, but it was his most favored. She'd been odd lately, whether entirely due to the loss or also influenced by the heat, he was curious to know. Even still, he quite simply missed her.

He arrived home late in the evening. The grounds were quiet, and so was the house. After dismissing assistance from the few staff that were up at the hour, Vaughan went to his apartment. He'd wanted to go straight to check on Lecia, but the tranquility he felt throughout the palace was telling. So, he strode to his suite for fresh clothes first.

When he entered his study, he stopped dead. With the windows open for air, the breeze wafted the alarming scent of lavender. Nowhere on the grounds was that plant grown, and for a long time he had been very clear that it should never enter his home. But, there was one source of that foul reek that remained. Whether he just liked to torture himself with it or not, he never knew.

Sure enough, approaching his desk, he saw that the offending letters were there. They'd been in the bottom drawer, out of sight and out of mind, for years. Now they were strewn about his station, some drifted onto the floor, in varying states of neatness. For instance, one that he picked up from under his chair was partly crumpled.