Aphrodite and the Duke (Aphrodite and the Duke #1) Read Online J.J. McAvoy

Categories Genre: Historical Fiction, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Aphrodite and the Duke Series by J.J. McAvoy
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Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 539(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
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Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” I muttered as I fixed a knot. Eleanor entered with a tray of food. “I am not hungry.”

“Your Grace, you have not eaten.”

“Yes, as I am not hungry,” I replied as I threaded my needle into the back of the doll. “Has there been word of the duke?”

When she did not answer, I glanced up at her. But she was looking at me, her eyes transfixed, gripping the tray tightly.

“Eleanor, what is it?”

“Nothing. I shall return this to the kitchen then,” she stammered, as she was known to do when she lied, which was why she did her best not to.

“It surely does not seem like nothing,” I said and then quickly rose from my chair. “Has something happened to the duke?”

“No, of course not! I mean, I do not know anything of him.”

“Then why is your expression so? Are you all right?”

“Yes. Pardon me.” She curtsied and turned to leave but then paused and turned back to me.

“Now you have exposed yourself and must tell me,” I said, placing the doll down. “What is it?”

“There is talk,” she whispered.

“Of the papers?” I sighed. “Of course, I expected that.”

“No, Your Grace, of Mrs. Topwells.”

I stilled as nerves filled me, from my ankles and upward. “What of her?”

“They…they are saying she threw herself into the river.”

Oh…oh…

“Your Grace!” Eleanor rushed to me as I collapsed into a pile on the floor, my throat heavy and chest burning.

I shook. This was…this was because of me.

I was wrong. I had done a grave wrong.

And I had helped no one.

All of me felt weak, so much so that Eleanor and a footman had to pick me up from the floor and move me to a chair. I sat there, seeking to understand, seeking to go back just one more day and stop myself from sending those papers.

Dropping my face into my hands, I sought breath to calm myself, but with each passing minute, my heart burned in the worst way. I wished it to all be a lie, but when Eleanor came into the room once more with a forlorn look upon her face, I knew it was true.

“Is that fire?” I rose from my chair and rushed to the window, staring in horror at the orange glow in the distance and the smoke that rose into the sky.

“The townsfolk have set the Topwells’ home on fire, Your Grace,” Eleanor said, coming to bring me from the window. “You ought not to stay close to the windows now.”

“They have set a fire? Upon his home?”

“They are incensed and wish to hunt Mr. Topwells down,” she said.

“A mob,” I whispered.

They were enraged from the words I had written and Marcella’s fate, and as such, had taken to action themselves.

“Where is Evander?” I turned back to her. “Has he returned?”

“No, Your Grace. I believe many are still at the river searching for her body before darkness falls. The duke is said to be among them.”

All of Everely had turned on its head, and regret spread through me as a fire spread through that home.

I watched into the night as orange illuminated the sky in a hellish blaze, and by daybreak, I had not yet slept. Although the fire was now gone, smoke still rose in the distance in the light of the early morning.

“Your Grace, please, you must rest,” Eleanor said, seeking once more to draw me from the windows, but I could not be moved. If these were the consequences of my actions, at the very least, I needed to see it with open eyes. I, more than anyone, should be the greatest witness of the events unraveling before me.

“Has the duke returned yet?” I asked as I hugged the shawl around me tighter.

“No, Your Grace,” she replied.

He had sent word the evening prior for the house to be guarded, and that he had gone to see Mr. Wildingham. I could only believe it was to return her body to that poor, poor man. Evander had spoken of how he had faded with the death of his wife and son. Now he would have to grieve the tragic loss of his daughter. What could be said to him? Who could console such grief? Evander alone?

“Have them prepare my carriage.”

“Where do you seek to go, Your Grace?”

“The home of Mr. Wildingham,” I said, removing the shawl from my shoulders and immediately taking my gloves and hat before stepping into the hall.

“Your Grace, is that wise? Should you not wait here for the duke?” she asked, following after me.

“I do not know what is wise anymore, or if I ever did. All I know now is that I must see with my own two eyes.”

And I must ask for forgiveness as well.

33

Aphrodite

I thought of all I would say, the condition in which I might find the man upon arriving, or Evander’s reaction to me being there. My greatest fear was seeing the broken body of Marcella. I could not bear it. Nevertheless, I soon arrived before a small manor covered in vines. The morning air was stale and heavy, my heart beating faster as we waited for the door to be opened.



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