A stilling hand stopped Race in his attempt to climb out of bed that evening. Shifting further against his side, Bianca placed her head on his chest, her arm slung lazily around his waist.
“Don't go.” She whispered softly against his chest.
Placing an arm around her shoulder, he brushed his lips against the top of her head. “I am here.” He said, even if in that moment, he wanted to be anywhere but here. The very thought made him ashamed, but Race could not help the way he felt —he could not help his weakness. It was difficult to sit there and hold her in his arms and act like he was strong, when all he wanted to do was retreat to a quiet place and cry like he had done when she first told him everything.
Lying beside her, he still felt the pain of hearing her say it. Perhaps the fact that he knew about it in the past, was nothing compared to the fact that she was now aware of it as well. He had hoped she would never remember, or find out.
Overwhelmed by the realisation that she knew, he said the first thing that came to his mind, before disappearing out of the building and into the streets. It had been a long, lonely walk, tears blurring his vision as he forced one foot after the other ahead of him, until it became impossible to keep walking. Then, he hunched down by the foot of a tree, and gave in to his tears.
Even now, his heart still ached, and his eyes still stung with unshed tears.
“I had been drinking that evening,” She exhaled slowly. “I was so furious with the very thought of you spending the entire evening with Carla in a ball... I should not have gone out.”
“It is not your fault.”
She rose her head up slightly, a small frown settling on her face as she searched his eyes. “It isn't?”
He shook his head. “I am at fault as well, I should have been there.”
Her frown deepened. “No one is more at fault as Lord Wilson.”
His heart stopped in that second. Stiffening, “Lord Wilson?”
She nodded, and his heart started pounding again. Only, this time, it was pounding at a rather dangerous speed.
“You saw his face?” He forced the words out of his lips.
“It was dark and I was a bit drunk, but I would never forge—”
Reaching out suddenly, Race pushed Bianca's form off of him, jumped out of the bed, and scrambled for his clothes. He must have left a dozen buttons undone, and he was almost certain that as he hurried out of the door, Bianca was yelling after him, but all Race seemed capable of hearing was the rush of rage that rapidly circulated his system and all he was capable of seeing was the fury that blinded him.
He was in the stable in only a few minutes, and was riding out of the estate in less than a minute, his eyes fixed straight ahead and his mind fixed on nothing else but Lord Wilson.
*
“Camden!” Bianca hurried forward, her arms wrapping around Camden's torso as she buried her face in his firm chest.
“Lady Bianca?”
She tightened her hold around him, certain she couldn't control the tears that fell unrestrained down her cheeks, wetting his waistcoat.
“My lady, please tell me what has you so upset.”
Shaking her head, Camden managed to pry her hands from around him, his hands holding her shoulders captive and helping to steady her.
She cupped her hand over her mouth in a failed attempt to silence her sobbing.
“Mrs Belington?” Camden frowned. “Sit.” Bianca collapsed on the seat. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
She shook her head violently.
“Perhaps water? Tea? Coffee?” He remained standing before her.
“N—no, my lord,” She forced the words out of her trembling lips, shaking her head some more. “I am afraid something terrible might have happened to R—ace.” She choked out, sobbing some more into her hands.
She imagined the second Race left her by herself that evening, that he was on his way to do something terrible —perhaps arresting Lord Wilson, would suffice? She didn't dare blame Race for wanting to get justice for what was done to his wife. She didn't support his decision for she knew it would undoubtedly bring shameful rumors her way, but she also knew she couldn't stop him —no matter how much she yelled and begged him to let sleeping dogs lie.
Anxious and terrified of what she knew was coming, Bianca had laid in bed all evening, fully expecting Race to return after a few hours —he didn't. Neither did he return the next morning. For all she knew, her husband was missing.
Her first instinct had been to go over to Lord Wilson's home in search of Race, but the mere thought of seeing Lord Wilson repulsed her. Not only that, but there was also the possibility that Race was in some kind of danger...
The thought brought fresh tears to her eyes. Facing Camden, her only resort, “You must help me find him.”
“Missing?” Camden stared blankly at her.
She nodded, a headache coming on. “I haven't seen him since last evening!” She wailed.
Something touched her shoulder. Raising her eyes up to the blurry image of Camden, she sniffed.
“Very well, Mrs. Belington, I shall have the Constable look into it.” It was barely any consolation, but she knew it was all he could do in that moment.
She nodded, even if all she wanted to do was fall to a heap and weep. It was all her fault! If she hadn't been drinking that evening, she would not have gotten raped. If she hadn't gotten raped, Race wouldn't be missing!
“Here,” Something smooth touched her cheek. Raising her eyes up to Camden's concerned eyes, she sat still as he used his handkerchief to wipe her tears. “I must insist you remain here with Beatrice while I go to inform the Constable.” Taking her hands, he helped her to her wobbly feet. “Shall I carry you up to a chamber, my lady?” He didn't wait for her response, before sweeping her into his arms.
Bianca knew how inappropriate they both looked in that moment, but she was certain she didn't care as she settled into his arms and breathed in his strong cologne —it certainly cost a lot of money, but in that moment, all she desired to smell was sand, hay and horses wafting out of a different man; a man she was afraid she might never see again.
*
Lady Beatrice was visibly tired, but she was even more determined to keep that fact hidden. Bianca wished she wouldn't, she wished she would admit to being tired and just leave Bianca alone. But unfortunately, the Marchioness was determined to keep Bianca distracted from the fact that her husband was missing, and that Camden —who had gone to report the case— still hadn't returned.
Bianca picked at her luncheon and barely tasted the tea. When Lady Beatrice suggested they took to knitting a sock for her unborn child, Bianca was suddenly reminded of the loss of her own child, and the disappearance of her husband. Her sadness must have translated to sickness, because she was suddenly throwing her guts up in the tub.
“I have succeeded in doing nothing but wearing you out.” Lady Beatrice mused, holding her hair up while she threw up.
Once she was done, she rinsed her mouth with the glass of water offered to her by Lady Beatrice, getting rid of the vile taste of bile.
“Perhaps it is best if I let you rest for a few hours?”
Bianca nodded, grateful for the marchioness' consideration.
“Very well,” She led her to the bed and helped her settle in it. “Rest for a while, and hopefully, when you awaken, your husband and mine, would have returned.”
Bianca hoped so as well.
It was several minutes before she finally fell asleep, realizing for the first time, how exhausted she was.
She must have been dreaming, she thought, her eyelids flickering apart to the dimly lit room. Sitting upright, she realized she was clutching a pillow, rather than Race like she had been doing in her dream —they had been standing in what appeared to be an open field, and she had her arms around him. For a second, she truly believed she was happy; society was gone with its condescending view of Race, Lord Wilson wasn't there to harm her, her father's debts wasn't there to weigh them down. No one else was there, but the two of them.
Disappointed to find she was alone, she rose to her feet. Someone must have entered the room to light the fire, but because she had been asleep, she hadn't heard them come in. Perhaps it was Race?
Suddenly eager to go down the stairs to Camden's drawing room to find him seated there holding a glass of wine, she ignored her ruffled state and most likely messy hair, before making her way down the stairs.
What sounded like muffled whispers drifted to her as she neared the passage close to the front door. She was about to pass by, when she heard it.
“My goodness, Noah, how are we going to tell Mrs. Belington?!” Bianca recognized Lady Beatrice's voice. “You mustn't tell her, not now!”
“I can't hide it from her, Bea, by tomorrow morning, the news will be all over the papers.” Camden sounded weary.
“She's in a fragile state. Why, I do believe she's with child.”
Confused, Bianca briefly glanced down at her stomach, as if expecting to find a bulge. She wasn't pregnant, was she? Didn't the Physician say she wasn't?!
“What then shall be the explanation once she reads in the papers that Race was shot?”
The air was immediately knocked out of Bianca's lungs. Staggering forward, darkness clouded around her as she tore her lips apart. “What?!” It was soulless whisper, for she was certain —as darkness claimed her body— that her soul had been ripped out as well.
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