It was better that she was gone. If she didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want her here. He didn’t want any of them. Why should he try to be part of the world, when the world clearly did not want him?
He was perfectly content here alone.
Except Rafe wasn’t quite alone, it appeared. For he turned away from the window to see he had been joined by Queen Elizabeth. He wiped his hand over his eyes, but the apparition was still there.
Splendid. Not only had he lost the woman he loved, he’d lost his grip on reality too.
“What do you think?” the dead Tudor queen asked in Nicholas’s voice.
“I always thought you’d be prettier.”
“Rafe. Are you taking one of Martha’s drugs?”
Rafe blinked at Nicholas over his enormous white ruff. “You’re dressed as Queen Bess and you’re asking if I’m intoxicated?”
“I’m choosing my costume for the party. I need your help.”
“What party?”
“The Prince Regent is holding a costume party. Had you forgotten?”
Rafe fell into his chair. “If only I could.”
If only he could forget all of it, and all the ways he had been wrong.
“Your moping becomes tiresome, Rafe. If you didn’t want Thea to go, you ought to have proposed.”
“I did. She turned me down.”
“Ah. You failed to mention that.” Nicholas sat beside him and arranged his wide skirts. “So you have a broken heart.”
“I do not.”
“You’re in love with her.”
Rafe breathed in, the air slicing his throat like razor blades. “She turned me down.”
And this lovely house, ready for people to fill it. For an afternoon, Rafe had thought he would make that happen. But he was not the man for that after all. The rooms should be closed up, covers spread over the furniture and paintings, until Rafe died to make way for a new, better earl.
“This plan of hers, with the pamphlet,” Nicholas said. “I confess I have my doubts about whether it will work.”
“Of course it won’t bloody well work. But she won’t listen to me.”
“Oughtn’t you at least check on her, make sure she has what she needs?”
“I’ve already seen to it. I’ve written to London to give her the money from Mother’s trust. I’ll find another way to start that business.”
“What if Thea’s needs are not financial?” Nicholas persisted.
“She knows where I live.”
Rafe bounced out of his chair and went back to the window. Same view as always. He couldn’t even see the driveway from here.
Eventually, Nicholas stood, in a rustle of silk. “This gown is dreadfully uncomfortable. I must find something else. Will you help me?”
“No. I shall sit here and mope until this house falls down.”
“An excellent plan.”
“Have you a better one?”
“Come with me to London. I’m curious to see how the prodigal Marquess of Hardbury turned out. Aren’t you?”
“No. And I’m not going to any blasted costume party.”
“Of course you’re not,” the bishop said.
Thea’s trip to London was exactly as miserable and lonely as she had imagined it would be, however resolutely she sought to distract herself from the grim thoughts. Even when her wayward mind did not stray back to Brinkley End, her body reminded her of its change. It was not only the spots of tenderness, but something deep and intangible. A strange feeling that she could not name or identify and did not want to lose. Perhaps one’s body did not easily recover from the experience of being completely engulfed in another human being.
At least in London, she had so much to keep her busy that thinking was no longer a concern. Convincing a landlady of her respectability was troublesome, but she finally rented rooms in Soho and set about selling the items she had bought on Rafe’s account. With Gilbert’s help, she earned enough to settle her bills with Mr. Witherspoon and the publisher, and the rest went to pay for her lodging for the rest of the month. She had just enough coins to keep her fed until Helen returned from Brighton.
And on the second day after she arrived in London, she and Gilbert took a hackney cab to a warehouse in Spitalfields, where her pamphlets and prints had been delivered to await distribution the following day.
And oh, but her pamphlets were beautiful!
Well, the stacks of crates that held her pamphlets were beautiful.
As she stood in the dusty yard outside the warehouse, admiring the wooden crates, Thea felt a genuine smile warm her chest and shape her face, for the first time since she had left Brinkley End.
She had done this.
To be fair, Arabella had organized it, and Mr. Witherspoon had done the actual work, and Gilbert had done the heavy lifting, and she had paid for it by reselling items bought with Rafe’s money. But this had happened because of her. Because she had made it happen.