Chapter 78
And thus, a month passed.
Since that day, I removed myself from the marital bedchamber and claimed a guest chamber as my own. Laura served as my quiet sentinel, warning me should Kyle draw near during the night hours. Her watchful presence spared me from encounters I had no strength left to navigate.
In the quiet, when my mind wandered too far into the depths of what had been lost, or worse, what could never be, I would weep. And always, without fail, Laura was there. She said nothing when I broke, only held space for the ruin I had become.
Some days I drowned in sorrow; most days, in ink and parchment.
It became evident rather swiftly that retirement, once a distant fantasy, was not in my stars. Every document I reviewed was more asinine than the last - a ridiculous labyrinth of conditions woven with loopholes, entrapments, and punitive clauses that would make a solicitor weep.
One clause was tied to another, which in turn was shackled to some laughable penalty, and again bound to yet another contingency. It was as though Anthony had gone out of his way to ensure misery for whoever dared clean up the mess of his legacy.
I worked from morning until the hours where sleep lost meaning. Laura remained at my side throughout, tireless in her devotion.
The first action I took, with no hesitation whatsoever, was to sever all ties with the slave trade. Every soul he had bound in servitude, I freed. Those under the Vessit contracts, I tore the documents in half myself. Those under Zar, I had Laura placed their contracts into their own hands. They remained bound, yes, but now they held the chains themselves.
Because of the endless nature of my duties, Laura moved into the residence entirely, taking up the bedchamber directly opposite mine. We barely had the time to rest between waves of documents. Every night we concluded one stack only to have it replaced with a fresh onslaught by dawn.
We severed every tie we could. Others we were forced to uphold, suffocated beneath the threat of ruinous penalties should we resist. It was a cruel and tangled legacy, and I was fastened to it, lest I forfeit all the wealth in my possession. I could not bear to return to a life of copperless misery, for that existence had been dreadfully hard.
Over the course of the month, we sold no fewer than twenty-one estates scattered across the known world. I still found myself baffled. What creature of excess believed it necessary to own a residence a month's carriage ride into the uninhabitable mountains of Harthen, or another in the center of a cursed marsh in the east?
Nobles and their indulgences. The more I uncovered, the more I seethed.
And then, of course, there was Baron Fondy. How splendid. He had the gall to send a proposal, yet another serpent cloaked in courtesy. I always knew his so-called kindness was naught but a polished veneer, stretched over something festering.
"Shall you be partnering with Baron Fondy, My Lady?" Laura inquired, seated across from my desk.
When it was just the two of us, she addressed me as My Lady, and I welcomed it. It was familiar. Intimate. When among the other vultures of nobility, she called me Your Ladyship.
We placed a desk for her in my study, but she seldom used it. More often than not, she simply sat across from me, sleeves rolled slightly, always present, always indispensable. That desk remained largely untouched, were it not for the diligent maids who dusted it each morning.
I scoffed, tossing the baron's letter to the floor with the contempt it deserved, and reached for the next document.
"Laura, I am entangled in the tiresome task of unraveling Anthony's ridiculous web of obligations. I have no interest in forging new ones."
"Did you even read his proposal?"
"Certainly not."
"Very well." She reached for another envelope. "This one is from the Grand Duchess. Another invitation for tea."
"Into the hearth."
"That makes thirteen this month," she noted, rising and crossing the room with the letter pinched between her fingers.
"She must be deathly afraid," Laura said, dropping the letter into the hearth.
"As she very well should be."
"Do you intend to extract revenge?" Laura inquired as she reclaimed her seat across from me, picking up a document.
"No, the last time I schemed, I ended up with child."
She chuckled. "Worth it."
A smile crept to my lips. "Indeed. That drug you procured was truly a work of art."
"Vincent has begun studying politics as of late," she remarked, shifting the papers before her.
"He is five. Perhaps let the boy play in the mud before crowning him chancellor."
"Nobles," we both said in unison, followed by a mutual sigh. The tragedy of aristocratic children.
"Tell me," I leaned forward, my voice dropping in excitement, "did you secretly give him the candy I made?"
"I did," she replied with a soft chuckle. "He devoured it. Refused to share a single crumb with Isabell."
"Isabell?" I blinked. "Who is Isabell?"
Laura paused, then tilted her head. "My daughter. Have I not told you?"
My eyes widened. "You have a daughter?! Laura-no, you most certainly have not told me! How utterly rude."
She laughed. "Well, I do. She is four. Quite the determined little lady already. She is to inherit Isaac's position someday and serve as Vincent's personal aide."
"That is wonderful news!" I exclaimed, genuinely delighted. "And yet you withheld it from me like some state secret! Scandalous."
Then, a more sobering realization dawned upon me. "Wait, she is four? And still, you have spent every night here for a month straight. Laura, good heavens, go home!"
She gave a quiet laugh, unbothered. "I shall. Soon."
"You had better," I said with mock sternness, though my heart ached with affection.
Laura reached for the next document. "This one is an invitation to an auction event. They claim the proceeds shall go to support orphanages."
"I am not a charitable woman," I replied, signing my name across the parchment before me.
"Hope Orphanage is listed among the beneficiaries."
My hand faltered.
Hope Orphanage.
The very one I had visited to see which child Millicent would choose to raise.
"Do I even possess anything worth donating?" I asked.
Laura raised a brow at me. "You have much, My Lady. I dare say you could outfit the event singlehandedly and still retain more wealth than is decent. Why do you ask me such things when you know them to be foolish?"
"I do not know," I murmured.
"You may offer that painting that once hung in this room, the one you so detested, you nearly slashed it with your letter opener. It is, after all, a coveted piece. Nobles have clamored for it. I have no idea how your father managed to acquire it in the first place."
"By some illicit channel, I am certain."
"I would not doubt it."
"Very well," I said at last. "Let us make the necessary preparations."
"You shall need to take Mr. Woodstone with you. Such events typically expect the appearance of both husband and wife."
I stilled.
It had been some time since I last stepped beyond the resident beside Kyle. Not since that day. And since then, I had watched his anxiety swell. He had become a shadow of a man, fumbling through the motions with trembling hands and eyes. We crossed paths only during meals now, and even then, silence reigned between us. He would sweat through his shirt, shift uncomfortably in his seat, and whisper the same weary plea, "Please don't leave me."
And I would respond, always the same, "I am not leaving you."
But those words had begun to taste dull on my tongue, as if they no longer belonged to me. They were recited, not meant.
The guilt that once pressed upon me like a weight divine had been eclipsed by a deeper, more piercing sorrow. An ache for Millicent, and for my son. A longing to be his mother.
"Very well," I said at last. "Ask him if he wishes to attend with me."
Perhaps, if I extended this olive branch, he might at last cease his endless pleading, his desperate refrain of please, do not leave me.
Because, heaven help me, there were moments when the truth climbed so high in my throat I nearly let it fall: I am leaving you.
And I feared the day I would no longer possess the strength to keep it from slipping past my lips.