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Rhys cleared his throat. Because I yelled at her, frightened her, quite unjustly, might I add. “She had a very important appointment to keep. But I promise you, she wanted nothing more than to spend this time with you instead.”

“Will she always be with us?” Millicent asked cautiously.

Rhys looked at his daughter, trying to gauge her mood. “Do you want her to?”

Millie nodded. “Yes. I like her very much.”

Rhys’s heart filled with joy. I like her very much, too.

They entered the house, and Rhys instantly felt that something was wrong. It was colder than usual, darker. And it was not due to the storm brewing outside.

He looked at the butler. “Is Lady Isabel in her room?”

“No, my lord. She left a few hours ago.”

A few hours. His heart sank.

Millie looked at him, sensing the change in his mood, and Rhys forced out a smile. “I told you, she has business to attend to. But let us go and have some supper together.”

Her eyes lit up instantly.

Rhys dined with his daughter, exchanging stories and anecdotes as if nothing had happened. There was no sign of Millie’s trauma. Or perhaps it wasn’t as big of a trauma as Rhys made it out in his head.

Children were resilient. And one incident was not going to break Millie’s spirit. One more incident; his treacherous mind reminded him.

Rhys tucked Millicent into bed after dinner, and she looked at him with pleading eyes. “Will Lady Isabel come sing me a song?”

Rhys blinked. “You don’t want me to sing?”

“I want Lady Isabel. I like her song.”

“Lady Isabel is still not home, moppet,” Rhys croaked.

“When will she be home?”

Rhys swallowed. “I do not know. I hope soon.”

So Rhys sang a lullaby, watching the rain drizzle out the window and hoping that his wayward wife had returned home and just didn’t ascend the steps to Millicent’s room. Or perhaps she’d seen him with Millie and refused to occupy the same room with him.

Yes, that was better. Because as long as she was home, he could reason with her and beg her forgiveness. As long as she hadn’t left him, there was still a chance to make her stay.

After Millicent fell asleep, Rhys slowly left her room and padded toward Isabel’s room. She must have returned. It was way too late, and the storm was blazing in earnest.

But as Rhys walked through the dark corridor leading to her chamber, somehow he knew.

She was gone.

He didn’t know whether it was the wilted flowers on the tables in the hall that alerted him to the fact. It might have been the change in the air that made him suffocate. The walls seemed duller, and the entire house was shrouded in darkness.

Perhaps all the beauty that Isabel brought with her to the house was not in the little silly things like paintings and accessories. Perhaps it was just her and her spirit.

He hurried down the corridor with a dim hope still present that all of that was just in his imagination. She might have just been sitting in her room, angrily stabbing at her embroidery.

The thought gave Rhys wings, and he fairly flew into her chamber. But the same dullness greeted him in her room as well.

She left me. The damned voice didn’t give him a moment of peace.

She left me. And he didn’t even blame her because he’d been treating her like a total arse since the moment they ran into each other outside the Duchess of Somerset’s ballroom.