Laura echoed, almost to herself. When she stood she seemed paler than normal, frailer somehow, as though she was in pain. ‘I cannot speak of this any more now. It is too... Excuse me.’
Avery was still standing on the same spot when little Annie, the downstairs maid, came in, her hands full of feather dusters and polishing cloths.
‘Oh! I’m sorry, my lord. I thought the room was empty when I saw her ladyship come out. I’ll come back later.’ She bobbed a curtsy.
‘No, I am just leaving.’ Avery folded the bloodstained letter into a piece of fresh paper and took it with him. He would lock it in the desk in his bedchamber where there was no risk of Laura finding it and being upset all over again.
Who am I trying to deceive? I was the one who upset her, not the letter. She was weeping, yes, but that was simply normal grief. The pain came later when she realised what I had thought, how little I valued her. I thought all I was risking with this marriage was my place in Alice’s heart. He had glimpsed something more than he had ever hoped for. A wife he loved and who might love him, a family built on truth and trust and not lies and secrets. And he had thrown it away.
* * *
Laura did not appear at luncheon, although it was not unusual for them to miss each other for that informal meal. Perhaps she had gone to collect Alice early so she could enjoy the company of someone who trusted her, he thought, spearing a slice of ham with unnecessary force. But how could he tell what she thought or what she wanted? He was coming to realise he did not understand her at all and that she might never trust him enough to let him try.
* * *
Laura had been still pale and quiet during dinner. She had left him to his port and was sitting with a book open on her lap when Avery joined her in the drawing room. After ten minutes of stilted conversation she announced she was going to her room, said goodnight and left him standing on the hearthrug with no idea of how to reach her.
After half an hour spent brooding Avery came to the conclusion that they had only two things in common. Alice could not be involved in this, but perhaps they could talk honestly in bed. He felt a glimmering of optimism as he shed his clothes and donned his banyan.
Laura was sitting up in bed, pale against the white pillows. When she heard him she opened her eyes and said, quite simply, ‘No.’ Then she closed them again and lay back.
Avery found himself out on the landing with no very clear memory of how he had got there, only the knowledge that he had never been with an unwilling woman in his life and he was not going to start now with his wife. Even persuasion was unacceptable.
He thought about the library and its decanters, only to be jolted out of his inertia by a snort right behind him. When he turned Laura’s woman Mab stood there regarding him with disapproval over an armful of clean linens.
‘Yes?’ he enquired in the tone that normally had staff scuttling for cover.
‘Have you been bothering my lady?’ Before he could tear her off a strip for impertinence she added, ‘You men! And now of all times.’
‘What do you mean?’ Was Laura sick? ‘Come in here.’ He steered her into his bedchamber where Laura would not be able to hear them.
‘I mean, she’ll be feeling poorly for a couple of days, bless her. Always has taken her badly. And it’s no good you glowering at me. You might be upset she’s not going to give you your dratted heir this time, but I expect she’s not too pleased either.’
‘Poorly? Heir?’ Light dawned. ‘You mean it is that time of the month?’ No wonder the poor woman had looked so drained. He could not have found a worse time to distress her if he had tried for a year.
‘Yes,’ Mab said baldly. Her face softened a trifle. ‘I’m sorry if I spoke out of order, my lord, but I worry about her. She might seem as if she’s hard sometimes, but she’s not. Not as sophisticated as her reputation makes out and not as strong either.’
‘I cannot fault you for caring for your mistress.’ He should not be gossiping with servants, let alone taking one into his confidence, but he had to ask. ‘You’ve known her for years. She loved my cousin, didn’t she?’
‘Aye,’ Mab agreed. She shifted the laundry onto her hip and scratched her ear as if deep in thought. ‘Doubt it would have lasted though. Calf love.’ She eyed him up and down, a purely feminine appraisal that brought the colour to his cheeks. ‘He wasn’t the man you are, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘It is not. Thank you, Mab.’ He opened the door for her. ‘Is there anything I can do for her?’
‘Stay in your own bed for a few nights.’ He heard the wretched woman laugh softly as she padded off down the corridor.
Avery abandoned thoughts of the brandy, went to bed and lay awake, brooding on the enigma that was his wife. He had misjudged her badly over Piers, but why had she rejected the baby? Perhaps her grief for Piers was the cause. Or she simply could not face the scandal and then, if she feared she was never going to marry and have children, a belated maternal instinct had driven her to seek out her daughter. But if scandal worried her, why had she returned to society and behaved in a manner that was certain to brand her as fast, to put it mildly?
But he could hardly demand an explanation now, not when he had so obviously destroyed whatever shreds of trust she had in him. He shifted uncomfortably, going back in his head over her shock and hurt that he had so misread her letter. It seemed that she was right not to trust him and yet he dare not risk trusting her utterly either, not when he loved her like this. It felt like baring his throat to a sword.
Alice had been his only vulnerability, his only weak spot. In everything else his life was his to command and he could rely on his determination, his intellect, his ambition, to achieve what he wanted. He was not used to failure. Somehow he had to turn this around for all their futures.
Laura took breakfast in bed the next morning. It was easier to yield to Mab’s bullying than face Avery over bacon and eggs that would simply make her queasy. She was uncomfortably aware that he was probably very angry with her. No man would take a monosyllabic refusal with equanimity, she was certain. She should have explained, however embarrassing it was and however hurt she was by his interpretation of her letter to Piers.
And that did hurt, deeply. No wonder Avery had thought so little of her if he could believe she was fickle enough to send a letter full of accusations and recrimination to a man facing danger and death. He was a hypocrite, too, she told herself, stoking her anger. He had virtually forced Piers to go back to Spain when, who knows, if he had sold out to marry her and be a father to their child, he would be alive now.
What if, what if... No, it was a futile game to play. Piers might have walked out of his house and been run over by a cart, or have been struck down by typhoid. Every second of every day everyone made choices that could result in life or death. If Avery felt guilty, then that was his burden to carry and she had to learn to forgive him.
It was curiously difficult to do, even when she loved him. Perhaps that was the penalty of becoming older, one saw the shades of grey in everything, in everyone.
‘Mama?’ Alice peeped around the door. ‘Blackie and Mab say you are poorly and I mustn’t come and
