Would she?
“Anne said she dreamt Miss Wren came to the nursery to say farewell,” Elizabeth added. “And that she would miss us so. Maybe it weren’t a dream.”
“Maybe it was not a dream, dearest,” Lady Octavia corrected gently.
Realization thundered into him.
Fucking hell.
His feet were moving, his legs striding, taking him from Jasper’s study. Ignoring the confused calls that followed him, he took the stairs three at a time, practically leaping up them in his driving need to get to Persephone’s chamber.
She cannot be gone.
She cannot be gone.
She cannot be gone.
With each frantic step he took, the words repeated themselves in his mind, a litany the rational part of him was beginning to suspect was a lie. He was dimly aware of one of Jasper’s dogs chasing at his heels in nervous excitement. It was Motley, the young pup, panting and dogging his every footfall.
By the time Rafe reached Persephone’s room, desperation led him to throw open the door and race inside, not giving a damn about propriety or privacy. Motley followed him with a loud bark and then an accompanying whine.
The chamber was empty.
The maid had been right.
Not a hint of Persephone remained. The bed he had made love to her in the night before was sternly made, nary a wrinkle on the coverlet. The bedside table was empty. The small wardrobe was barren when he threw open the doors. Nothing remained, save the slightest hint of Winter’s soap.
Persephone was gone.
A howl emerged from him, scarcely human, bubbling up. She had left him. Fled in the night at some point after he had gone. Had it been because of what had happened between them? Had she believed he would not offer for her after he had taken her maidenhead?
“Damn it,” he muttered.
Motley shadowed him as he paced around the small room, nearly tripping him. With a growl of pure rage and frustration, Rafe swiped at a c
hair, toppling it over. The action did nothing to diminish the rising anger he felt for himself.
He should have asked her to marry him last bleeding night. If he had, maybe she would have stayed. Motley whined again, then made a low sound of complaint and lay on the floor, resting his head on his paws. Utterly defeated, Rafe sank to his knees beside the dog.
She had disappeared.
As if she might have never been, aside from the ache in his heart to show she had found her way there.
One way or another, he was going to find her. This was all his buffle-headed fault.
Motley licked his coat sleeve and then began chewing on it. Rafe didn’t even have the heart to stop him.
CHAPTER 12
Leaving the Sutton town house without notice had proven easier than Persephone had anticipated. She had even chanced a hasty visit to the girls’ nursery to whisper a farewell one last time.
By noon of the following day, she was ensconced in a small room she had paid far too dear a price for, considering its slovenly state. But never mind that; it was to be expected. Her years navigating London as an unwed lady left her feeling fortunate indeed to have found a room that was at least suitable to live in.
And though her heart was aching and broken, she had resorted to finding her next situation, just as she had half a dozen times before. She had already answered three requests for a governess. However, given her urgent need of a new placement and the current available posts, her choices were lackluster at best and dreadful at worst.
She had been here before. Had done this before. Starting over was no different today than it had been the last time she had done so. She looked at her portmanteau resting beside the tiny bed and tried in vain to conquer a fresh rush of tears. Rafe’s cravat was still tucked neatly within it, placed there with loving care the last time she had extracted it to bring it to her nose for the faintest hint of him.
You did the right thing, Persephone.