-CHAPTER 20-
Not needing to say more, Félix kicked back his tongue, pushing it hard up the roof of his palate and turning on his heel. He began to leave, turning over her words in his mind. Everything about what she'd just said—paired with the pool of tears he'd caught welling behind her sapphire-green eyes—did nothing short of painting him in a very bad light.
The Duke walked out the door, closing it gently behind him, but letting his hand linger around the knot as he sucked in a deep breath, welcoming the strain on his neck. His body flaring a warning sign of how soon he'd be out of breath. He ignored it and let her words stew in his mind for much longer, the oppressive weight of guilt dragging an anchor through his chest, down his gut, and into his legs, freezing him in place.
How terrible was he for wanting to push forward with a marriage he could already tell from the start was doomed to fail? They each had their expectations for the union, and he was only now learning how very different those expectations were. It was that daylight versus nightfall kind of difference. There was no middle ground to search for, nor did he care to try.
Was a marriage with her even one that should happen at all, especially with all the revelations of her harboring feelings for him since she was eight?
Once in his study, Félix moved over to the broad square window that took up half the wall, noting how Bach had been there earlier to adjust the curtains for the early morning sun to filter in. His jaw tightened into a snooty set as he stood there, pensively gazing out, hands in his pockets.
The crack of dawn was only just breaking, yet he already had more than enough matters to ponder so early in the day. Estella's still came first. She was the one presently in a live-or-die situation, as that woman had reported. Coralie's could wait, he decided. He would revisit the talk with her when she was more level-headed than the trembling state he'd left her in.
For now, though, he also needed to get to work and revisit Earl Vincent's report regarding the king's plot.
With his meeting tomorrow with both the earl and the baron, he needed to make sure he'd carried out his due diligence. He had to turn over every stone that could become a potential cutting tool in making a case with both men.
The baron especially could not be trusted. Félix swore the man had to have some hidden motive for letting go of a whopping five hundred workers, five hundred and one to be exact, crashing the number down to only a hundred and two workers still remaining on the king's plot.
This was what Félix thought about as he put on his glasses and sat behind his desk that morning, pushing every other thought to the deep trenches of his mind.
But something else bothered the duke as he began to work. It was a situation he had witnessed the day before when he had seen some of the men working on the plot.
It had happened when Bach excused himself for a few minutes to go somewhere, and when he returned, he carried with him several baskets of food and drinks, including water. Félix noted how the men, who had been looking serious and drained before, now happily rushed over to his butler, who encouraged them to take whatever they wanted in "honor of the Duke of Chateubriant's name!"
Félix's brows tightened into a scowl. He waited until Bach resurfaced near him before roasting him outright with his words.
"You seem to have a penchant for doing the wrong things, Bach. Just because you have access to my private treasury doesn't give you the right to dip into my funds however you like. Try this again and I will have a new butler standing over your bed by the time you open your eyes the next morning."
"My apologies, Your Grace." Félix turned at that exact moment, his gaze falling on the wrinkles around Bach's eyes, and his irritation deepened. What was he smiling for?
"I can assure you of one thing," Bach continued in an almost breathy air. "They will be chanting your name and singing your praises from here all the way home for this kind gesture, and it is a good thing, Your Grace."
Félix had wanted to ask his butler why such matters—peoplesinginghispraises—should even remotely concern him when people's motivations could easily flip like a switch and loyalty was a hard currency to find nowadays. But then it had hit the hour they needed to begin their return journey to Chateaubriant. As such, he had failed to make Bach speak on the topic for much longer and to answer a few probing questions.
Now, however, he thought differently. As his butler gave a soft knock on his study door and glided in with his infamous wine brand and a short glass upon a round tray, Félix sat up in his chair, watching Bach continue with his task.
"Something light for your mood this morning, Your Grace." Bach poured a measured amount into the wine glass. Félix eyed him, noting his dedication to his job, seeing his commitment to maintaining the exact drink level. His liquor never went overboard, nor did it decrease.
"After the little commotion in the sitting room this morning, I figured wine would serve you better than tea." Bach straightened, hands clasped in front of him. "Consider this an apology for being the root cause of it."
Hm. Félix hummed a sigh before sinking back in his chair, hands lifted to his bearded chin. He let his thumb and forefinger marry each other, his expression thoughtful.
"What do you need me to do for you?" Félix asked bluntly, his voice never rising.
His butler blinked, then narrowed his brows. "Your Grace, why would you think my serving you this way has a hidden motive behind it?"
"Because there is." Had Bach forgotten how well Félix knew him? "Whatever it is you're itching to say, spit it out."