A Secret Ambition

XXXI

"If God didn't want men to cry, why did he give them tears?" Angie Corbett-Kuiper

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XXXI.

Callan had only formed one conclusion on the rough journey to Plymouth. That was that the Duke of Ashwood had been ignorant of his daughter working for Callan in the first place.

It was a hard conclusion to make seeing as Callan could not quite believe in the coincidence of the duke going into business with him and it being the duke's daughter who just happened to masquerade herself as a working woman in Callan's office.

But God had a wicked sense of humour, it seemed.

Callan's conclusion was formed in the duke's silence. They sat opposite each other in the otherwise comfortable carriage, but the duke did not attempt to make any sort of conversation, nor any sort of excuse. His mind seemed anywhere but mending his business relationship with Callan.

Callan had not filled the silence with any sort of speculation or insult, either. And that was because his mind, when not briefly drifting to his observations of the frightened duke, was on quite the same thing.

Callan realised that he could be furiously betrayed and extremely terrified simultaneously. Both were incredibly powerful emotions and they consumed one half of his body in its entirety.

He couldn't make sense of them both in his mind, and all that he knew was that he would feel much better about his anger towards Lily when he knew that she was safely back where she belonged. He could not hate the woman as bitterly as his heart wanted to when she was out in the world without protection.

The very idea of Lily alone made him sick. It brought back all too abhorrent memories of walking in on Sir Richard Frogmore accosting her. She was vulnerable on her own, and Callan could not quite bear the thought of anything happening to her.

Callan did not quite know what he would do if something happened to her. The very thought of something befalling her inflicted a sort of foreign pain upon him. It was a pain that violently competed with his own hatred, and Callan knew that it would win. That pain would be the end of him, and he knew that it was because despite everything, despite her breaking his trust and making a complete fool of him, Callan's pathetic, wasted heart was not his own anymore.

Once she was back, safely returned to her father, then Callan would be able to do away with this conflict. He would be able to expel her properly from his mind and take back possession of his withered and ruined heart.

***

Callan had only visited the port town of Plymouth once before, and that had been on the day that he had arrived from Ireland. But the energy amongst the townsfolk was entirely different. There was anxiety on the faces of the people they passed, and everyone seemed to be in a rush.

There was exhaustion and desperation in the air, and the mood settled very uncomfortably in Callan's already nervous stomach.

The duke seemed to notice this as well as he watched out of the opposite window. It took him only mere moments to bang on the roof of the carriage as his driver slowed the horses to a stop. Both he and Callan were quick to exit the carriage, stepping out onto the street in front of a tavern.

The smell of ale and a hot meal emanated from inside the open doors. Men were stood in them, and beside them, some were slumped over in the street. As Callan twisted and turned, he could spy others, sailors by the looks of them, recovering, for want of a better word. The townsfolk gossiped around them, and women, all kinds of them, flocked around the sailors as they offered comfort.