Ellen shook off her cloak and other winter garments and handed them to the elderly butler. “My husband knew precisely where I was.”
He shook his head. “We don’t know where he is either. We’d hoped he was with you.”
Ellen’s heart lodged somewhere in her throat. “You don’t know where he is?”
Gaye, clearly frustrated at the circles the conversation was going in, shook his head again. “We’ve had no note, no word, and I’m considering the police at this point.”
Did he leave me?The thought was a punch to her gut.Last night was too difficult. I shouldn’t have let himcome. I’ve scared him off.Ellen forced her shaking hands to still. “I am ready for the midday meal. Is Cook able to prepare it earlier than usual?”
Gaye blinked. “But.”
“We parted ways around dawn,” Ellen said. “I’m sure he’s just socializing at White’s.”
“He doesn’t have a membership at White’s, madam.”
She fought the rising panic.He left. He left. He left me. Again.She couldn’t bear her heart breaking a second time. “If he’s not back by teatime, then we’ll send word to his brother and see about next steps.” That sounded calm and reasonable, right? Not like her heart was cracking?
Ellen had a bath, changed into new clothes, and ate lunch by herself in the dining room. Her fear and anguish slowly turned to anger.How dare that man leave me? After promising we had all the time in the world together!
She reflected on what she could remember from last night. Amelia had known, based on the baby’s faltering heartbeat, what the outcome probably would be. Ellen remembered little more than going out and staring at the wall. Her all-encompassing emotion from last night was bone-weary sadness. The sadness that kept her in bed for nearly seven months after Constance. The sadness that made it seem completely pointless to get up and get dressed each day. It scared her, that melancholy. She’d clawed and fought her way out of it, when she realized she could honor Constance in better, healthier ways than staring at her bedroom wall for the rest of her life. Sometimes it crept back at her, the black edges of melancholy, during certain times of the year, like the end of May. Usually, it caught at her whenever she was around another woman’s stillbirth. Like last night. And she’d kept it at bay, mostly because of Mark’s presence.
Perhaps she’d missed something from Mark because of her struggle. He’d cried, she remembered. He’d been so distraught that she’d become the leader of the three of them. And he’d been too upset to get in the cab with her and Amelia.
Now Ellen didn’t know what to feel. Sadness? Betrayal?Worry? Washefalling into a pit of despair because of what he’d witnessed?
At the end of dinner, Ellen decided to find Luke. She could’ve sent a message, but her feet tapped the floor and her hands twitched at her sides. Knowing the servants would be scandalized by a lady running her own message, she quietly slipped on her walking boots, heaved her winter gear on, and left after whispering where she was going to the footman.
Instead of crossing into SoHo, where Luke lived, she went the opposite way, deeper into Mayfair. Ellen didn’t know where or why she was going, she just knew if she was going to search and find Mark, she needed more peace of mind before she confronted him.
After fifteen moments, Ellen touched the wrought iron fence before her reverently. She hadn’t meant to come here. Maybe her soul needed to rest with Constance nearby. Ellen stepped inside the cemetery and saw a man’s form resting against the elm tree in the back corner. Her steps slowed.A drunk? Is he ill?She peered into the shadow, the dim winter light not giving her much illumination. He was sitting directly beside Constance’s headstone, his back to the tree and his legs drawn up, knees supporting his arms.
I’ll ask him to move.Ellen raised her chin.I can do that.When she was a few yards away, she recognized the bowed head, the slumped shoulders.
“Mark?”
The figure paused, not even breathing. He didn’t lift his head. “Ellen.” His voice was hoarse from disuse.Weeping?
All anger at his desertion dropped out of her as she knelt by his side. “We didn’t know where you were. Gaye was going to send for the police.”
“I’m here,” came his gravelly voice.
Ellen bit her lip, thinking. “I didn’t know you came here.”
He finally raised his head to look at her. His eyes were bloodshot, his face pale with bags under his eyes and scruff growing along his jaw. He looked horrible.
“When did you get here?” she whispered.
Mark shrugged. “After I put you in the cab, I suppose.” That was seven, almost eight hours ago.
“It’s too cold to be sitting on the ground like this.” Ellen absently reached forward and pressed a palm to the headstone just above Constance’s name, like she always did. “You’ll catch your death out here.”
“She died, Ellen.” Mark watched her fingers trace the name carved into the stone.
“Yes.” Simple words, simple concept. But still devastating, world-changing, and irrevocable.
“I always thoughtyoulost her,” Mark said, turning to stare at her profile. “But I did, too. I lost her. I wasn’t there. I lost her and I never even got to hold her.”
“I almost didn’t get to hold her, either.” Ellen cleared her throat. “The doctor said I shouldn’t, it would upset me too much. But my mother handed her to me while the doctor was cleaning up. I’ll be forever grateful for that.” When she felt she could without breaking down into sobs, she looked at her husband. “Welost her.”