From the Baroness’s Diary III

Chapter 1

Chapter One

A great deal has happened since I last wrote in my journal. I didn’t leave it on a whim, but because life called, and called greatly.

I decided that I should go after my true love, my Salvatore, to Italy, since my husband of almost seven-years, the eleventh Baron Beardley, Joseph Georges Charles Fitzroy Von Tussen Beardley, with all his pomp and circumstance, has yet to come home to me after eight months of traveling for business.

I am not certain, but I am guessing he is not coming home any time soon.

I wonder if he has fallen in love—and if it was with his partner, Carl Wainsteam—and finally decided to follow his natural s****l impulses. Now that I know he has a male lover, I suspect that is what keeps him away from here.

Not that I can blame him.

Honestly, I envy his freedom. He can leave under the guise of business and live his life as he wishes to do so. And I wish him well.

Me, on the other hand, I have too many eyes watching my every move, expecting me to be their baroness, a lady, and to never step outside this pretty little box I have been forced into.

But that is not going to stop me from going after Salvatore. I am going to find him and live the life I wish to live—Non. That I deserve to live.

After a small stint in London with my dearest friend Collette, and her husband, Jean, I have returned to the manor, to the empty halls and memories of what has transpired in this house since I have become its lady.

Collette begged me not to come back, but I had a subject to discuss with my husband: our divorce. Plus, London had become a bore, the endless parties and leering men no longer capturing my attention as they once did.

“Milady, he has arrived.”

I scramble off the settee and straighten my shirt, undoing another button to give the barest hint of my breasts when I move.

Is it shameful? I do not care.

No one in this dreadful house has made me feel special or even looked at me in months. Not even my flourishing garden brings the joy it once did. I wish to leave this place for a while, spread my wings as my husband has.

“Send him in.”

Mr. Longman, our butler, nods and a fissure of excitement shoots through my veins. It was Collette’s suggestion to hire a private investigator to find my dear Salvatore, citing that the country was too vast for me to go traipsing on my own. I have done exactly what she suggested—discreetly, of course—and he is coming to visit today.

The door opens and a tall man steps in the room, his eyes landing on me. He is younger than I had anticipated, his lean frame encased in a somber grey suit that matches the color of his eyes. There is a spark of interest in their depths as he walks toward me, bowing. “Lady Beardley, a pleasure.”

“Monsieur Brown,” I reply, clasping my hands tightly to steady my nerves. “The pleasure is all mine. Shall we sit?”

He straightens and I feel the thrum of my pulse against my neck, a sign that is vaguely familiar to me.

I move us to the wingback chairs before the roaring fire, where Longman has already placed the tea cart.

“You stated in your call that you are looking for someone?” he asks, watching me pour each of us a cup of tea. “Have you lost him?”

I chuckle lightly, handing him a cup and saucer. “That, Monsieur, remains to be seen. You see, he left no forwarding address when he departed and I desperately need to speak to him.”

“Interesting,” he answers, eyeing me speculatively. “Not even the baron knows?”

I clear my throat. “The baron is away on business, which is why I cannot ask for his help. He would want me to handle this matter on my own and you will be adequately compensated, Monsieur Brown.”

His eyes slide over me, pausing at the gap in my shirt before a slow smile passes over his lips. I close it quickly. “I have no doubt that I will be successful, milady. No doubt at all.”

“How long will this take, Monsieur?” I ask after a moment.

“A few weeks,” he answers, setting his cup on the cart between us. “I trust you have a name for me?”

I nod. After all this time of being separated from Salvatore, I am finally going to find him. Though he has never written or called, I know Salvatore loves me. Our…relationship was so much more than just whetting our s****l appetites for each other.

Gone is the girl that had come into this marriage with stars in her eyes. Now I am a woman who demands more from this world.

“His name is Salvatore di Luca,” I say quickly before I lose my nerve. “He was our most treasured gardener and my husband would like for him to come back to the manor.”

“Your husband?” Monsieur Brown arched a brow. “What about you, milady? Do you wish for him to come back as well?”

I do, more than I can put into words. When Salvatore departed for Italy, I felt as if he had taken a piece of my heart with him. I hadn’t known how much you could love another like the very air you breathe, and while I had been upset about his departure, I hadn’t known.

Not until he was no longer within arm’s reach.

“Bien sûr, Monsieur,” I finally answer. “I do wish for my gardener to return.”

“Well then,” the investigator says with a short nod. “We’ll get your gardener back where he belongs.”

I listen as he speaks of his fees but I breathe, relieved. Joseph has money enough but I don’t. I am entirely dependent on him and the few cents I scrape from the monthly house budget. I have to save whatever I can.

“I’ll be on my way,” he says after a few more questions on details and information he thinks might be helpful for his quest, like why Salvatore left, the death of his father, and how long ago—almost four years.

We stand and I place my hand in his outstretched one. “I will be looking forward to your next visit, Monsieur Brown.”

“I hope to bring you the news you wish to hear.”

I give him a smile and he walks out of the library, leaving me to think about what I am about to embark on. I already have money to purchase my ticket to Italy, but I hadn’t been able to find him.

That and a sudden illness had struck me down, confining me to my bed for the better part of a month. Nerves, I believe.

But now I am ready to seek my happiness.

Pressing my fingers to my forehead, I think about Collette’s conversation with me before I departed London.

Divorce is such an ugly word, with ugly implications, but the baron and I were well on our way to doing so. Why would either of us wish to stay where we are unhappy?

But Joseph is traveling from one place to another and can’t be bothered to come back to discuss it with me. I sent him a letter via his secretary explaining the reasons I didn’t want to continue with our marriage. Not that I needed to. He has been separated from me for the same reasons for a long time already.

To which he responded with another letter.

Dear Chloé,

I hope this message finds you well.

No one in the Beardley family has ever sought a divorce and it will not be me—or you—who is going to break the tradition.

It would do you well to remember your parents owe me a lot of money and even now their financial situation is not very comfortable. You would also be well served to remember that not only are you completely dependent on me, but you have no qualifications with which to get a job.

Plus, Catholics don’t divorce. Never. So, wipe these ideas from your mind.

Your husband,

~ Joseph

P.S. - I am still very busy with my new company and I will not be home for the next three months.

Oh, well. I believe in God and I am religious—kind of, since I spent seven years of my life in a convent—but not so much as to endure a lifetime of abuse. And, let’s be frank, if God ever looks at our messy issues down here, He must be horrified and disgusted with His children.

But my parents’ financial situation, now that is something more palpable.

This is the real issue that has kept me locked in this gilded prison. Now, years later, I see that what they did was very reproachful. They sold their only daughter to a rich, old man in exchange for settling their debts. But I was only seventeen at that time and fresh out of the convent. I did not know the true reasons why they were so quick to approve of not only my crush on an older man, but marrying me off to him as well.

I could always threaten Joseph’s reputation, knowing his business depends on it, and make him give me the divorce while maintaining his agreement with my parents.

But I don’t have the heart to do so.

The baron, with all his secrets and strange behavior, has never harmed me in any way. Well, not physically at least. He has entrapped me in this mausoleum for almost seven years already, but he is not an evil man, and I don’t have it in me to ruin him to satisfy my own desires. Besides that, this is more my parents’ fault than his.

I remember one of the important things I learned during all those years I lived in the convent is that one should never justify one’s bad choices on others’ bad judgements.

So, non, I won’t be his downfall, it could send him to prison or make him undergo a chemical treatment.

I already made one huge stupid mistake—letting my parents convince me to accept Joseph’s proposal—and it ruined my life. And I already let too many people make the important decisions in my life, so if he is not coming home in the next three months, well, it means I can live a bit, right?

I sigh deeply, seeing no light at the end of the tunnel, but to take an easy way out of the marriage. And no, suicide is not an option. Ha! I am going to flee to Italy into the arms of my long lost love: Salvatore Di Luca.

Maybe when my husband arrives home, he will not even bother to look for me. Maybe he will feel relieved I was the one who took the first step.

With another deep sigh, I walk out of the library toward my bedroom, hoping the private investigator will be successful in his attempts to find my love.

For if he is not, I am likely to wither and fade away in this manor like a rose without sun, water, and air.