Hunters

XXVII. Celebration

XXVII. Celebration

Brahmsboro was overflowing with mirth and jubilation. The Marchioness had outdone herself for the annual New Year's Ball. Even the Dowager Duchess had made an appearance—however brief it was. Ezekiel's London estate was draped in the silk and shimmer of aristocratic gowns and jewels, and the marbled halls echoed with decadent melodies.

Vaughan had not seen his wife all day; she had disappeared early in the morning and remained hidden well into the evening. He had inquired with Zeke and some of the staff, all of whom answered that the young Duchess had been with the Marchioness when they last saw her.

He hadn't been certain whether she would make an appearance at the party. Customs insisted that she maintain a dark wardrobe and expected that she would be poor company. Zora would not be in attendance, nor would their mother come. However, the Duke should have anticipated that his wife would not conform to such arbitrary rules, nor would she allow additional rumors about her person to develop, especially in her absence.

She emerged from his peripheral vision to wholly captivate his sight and thoughts. Wrapped in layers of richly colored chiffon and velvet, Lecia Cantington meant to saunter past her husband. Her hair was pinned so simply atop her head, her neckline and shoulders exposed to be admired. Perhaps she intended to be scandalous, but in all of her elegance it was impossible to find impropriety.

The Duke swiftly caught her by the hand to keep her from disappearing once more. Busy with helping his aunt or not, she could certainly find time to have at least one dance with her husband.

"I have missed you all day," he said to her. Vaughan felt a shiver in his bones as their eyes met in the midst of celebrating strangers.

"I'm sure," she dismissed him. His hold increased when she tried to slip away.

"What is it, cariad?" he asked. "You don't have to stay all night. If it's too much—"

"No," she clipped, subtly twisting her way out of his grip.

"Lecia," he insisted, gently taking her by the arm this time. "If you're feeling unwell—"

"I'm feeling quite well," she snapped. "I was enjoying the party just fine."

Taken aback by her reproach for him, Vaughan stood aghast as she muttered, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm in need of some fresh air."

As quickly as she had appeared, she had dissolved into the crowd once more. He took a moment to recover from the rejection before pursuing her. After reeling through the sea of guests, Vaughan surfaced to find that he had lost his wife again. He spun himself around to look for her, but he already felt it in his heart that she was beyond his reach.

The merriment of the ball—despite its growing influence—was not powerful enough to mask the chill leaking from a door to the gardens. Ajar, the Duke knew it had been how Lecia escaped. Relieved, he calmly approached the exit. The winter had been uncharacteristically cold and the Eve of 1886 was no exception. His concern returned instantaneously when he slipped outside and found that his wife was still evading him. The January garden was covered in a blanket of frost, and the sliver of moon did not offer the same warmth as its daily counterpart. Vaughan's breath came out as visible puffs, and he was quite thoroughly frozen. So disturbed by Lecia's absence, he would have already retched from his worry were it not for his determination to bring her inside.

Panic wanted to set in. It was so bloody cold, and she'd hardly been dressed warmly. He couldn't think what to do. Should he march out to find her? Run back inside for a lamp first? Enlist the entire party to help search? Luckily, as Vaughan struggled to decide, he spotted Ezekiel through the window. The Duke rushed inside to capture his cousin just as he broke from the wave of guests.