Very Truly Yours, Simone

25. the wife

Daniel had nothing on his mind during the duration of their journey to Coulway. Nothing but the urge to stop and turn back.

And go back to Abberton.

And forget this nonsense.

Why would he even do this? He was a duke. He did nothing wrong.

That's what his father said. That's what he had tried to tell himself. And as his sisters said, that was his second mistake. First, he ran. Second, he lied. Mostly to himself more than anyone else.

Emmeline wanted to be with him, but he told her he had to do it alone. And alone he waited inside his carriage across the street from the Craig residence while she stayed in his villa in Picadilly Street. It felt familiar because he had been here before. He had waited for hours, just sitting and watching the villa, jumping in his seat whenever the doors opened. He would slide lower in his seat like a coward.

But today, he felt something he had never felt in his previous attempts. He felt tired. Of the fear and guilt. A man could only carry something like this for too long, after all. And he had been with this burden far longer than he had lived his dreams. And he just wanted to go back to the time before it all changed. He wanted to be free.

He was not ready now. Not ever, he thought as he forced himself to open the carriage door. He would never be ready if his fears would have the last say.

And so, with shaking limbs, and heart pounding hard up his throat, he crossed the street and walked up the doors. It was red, like its neighbors. A decent home for Mrs. Craig and her two remaining unmarried daughters.

He knocked, stepped back, and waited with hands clasped behind him. He knocked again when no one answered. At that point, his mind almost managed to convince him that no one was home and that he should just return some other day. But he knew he would not return if he left now. He was about to knock again when he heard faint footsteps behind the door. He jumped back, his feet almost ready to turn and run away. He stopped and forced himself to stay.

Mrs. Craig had graying hair at both temples, her face bright with a lingering smile from a conversation she must have left behind to answer the door. And her eyes were kind as she took sight of him. "How may I help you, Sir?" she asked.

It was a surprise that he even managed to find his voice. "Mrs. Craig," he said, clearing his throat. "Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon," she replied, curiously looking at him.

"My name is Daniel Cavendish." He stepped forward. "I once worked with your husband."

It was quite obvious she did not know him. But at the mention of her husband, Mrs. Craig's face brightened and, without further question, welcomed him into her home. He looked beyond the threshold when she stepped aside, thinking he did not deserve to step into her home.

"Please do come in, Mr. Cavendish," she said. "My daughter, Isabel just made fresh biscuits and tea."

The first ounce of relief came to him when he took the first step, then the next. He finally did it. He managed to go farther than across the street. His eyes roamed around the tiny villa, at the narrow corridors and the bright parlor. It was not lavish, but it was welcoming and clean and...innocent.

The portraits on the wall were not painted by great and expensive artists, but they nonetheless pictured the kind of family the Craigs had. There were children smiling with their pets, women and men sitting side by side. But no Ellis Craig. His portrait was framed alone at the center of the others.

"I hope you can tell me more about him," said Mrs. Craig moments later when she and her daughter, Isabel, entered the room with a tray of biscuits and fresh tea. Isabel greeted him shyly after Mrs. Craig introduced her as her youngest daughter. She left to join her two other sisters in the nearby fair. "He did not tell us much about his time in the theater."