Hunters

XVIII. Honor

XVIII. Honor

There had been times that Vaughan had woken, but remained in bed just to keep Lecia in his arms. There was, however, a period of time he'd had to leave her and prepare for their journey to Lekenbourgh. He'd had the servants pack her a bag and bring to his room a set of clothes to wear as they travelled. He sent a request to the train station to hold seats, and wrote out letters to his associates that he would be unavailable for a time. It was all terribly boring, and the entire time he felt guilty for leaving his wife.

She was still asleep when he returned to her. Vaughan climbed back into bed and enveloped her in his arms once again. It pained him that she would ever have to wake up and feel the misery of loss, and he was worried that she would spark a war between them if she was unable to cope with it; he would not let her turn to alcohol again, and he was determined to protect her from herself.

Her even breaths had put him to sleep. When he awoke, there was nothing against his chest and he sat up with a start to look for her. She was at the window, her arms wrapped around her shoulders, her loose black hair curled down her back and past her hips. It occurred to him that he'd never seen her hair look so beautiful; even when it was left long, it was tied in braids, or twisted in a ribbon, but, as it fell so effortlessly, he would never like to see it any other way.

The gentleman scolded himself; it was a poor time to be impressed by his wife's beauty. Even as her back was turned to him, he knew the stricken face of loss that would greet him: he'd seen it before.

"Lecia," he called her carefully. She flinched, surprised by his voice, but didn't look around to see him. The Duke pulled himself out of bed and slowly made his way over to his wife. He stood behind her, the cool glass reflecting her resigned countenance.

"I've made travel arrangements on the train; we'll have to leave soon," he said.

She still wore his bedclothes, and although she was clean her breath still hinted of the drinks she'd had.

"I can't go," she croaked. It was an aching task to move even a single muscle. As the tears had run out, so had the effervescence that sustained her.

The impulse to hold her had become beyond Vaughan's control; he turned her around to face him and cloaked her in his arms tight enough for them both to know he would never let her go.

"I will carry you if I must," he countered. After a moment, he loosened his hold. "We must dress; our bags are packed and ready. Izzy brought you a gown to wear. Shall I call for her, or can we manage?"

Lecia peered around the room to see one of her dresses laid out on the bench at the end of the bed. It was a tea gown only somewhat suitable for mourning until such a time more appropriate clothes could be found.

"I'll be fine on my own," she whispered. After all, the tea style did not require the extensive stays or cinching, not that Lecia had ever truly been a slave to tight lacing fashions.

"I'll leave you, then; I need to change as well," Vaughan said, letting her go. "I'll just be in the other room if you need me." He left her to clothe himself for the journey, but he'd wanted so badly to stay.