room. Then he turned back suddenly and said, ‘And for the love of God, woman, choose someone other than Hendricks to carry your messages. Allow me that, at least.’ Then he turned again and disappeared behind the slammed door.
Emily reached for her brother’s arm before the trembling began, for the outpouring of emotion had made her almost physically weak. ‘Take me home, David. I wish to go home.’
She did not have the heart to tell him that his obvious rage at her husband was totally lost on the man, who had not seen the dark scowls he was receiving from his own friend. He was helping her through the front door now, to his carriage.
And for a moment she thought she heard the sound she longed for. A call from the open door behind her, the sound of contrite footsteps hurrying down the tiles of the entry hall. A sign that her husband wanted her, now that he knew who she was.
But there was nothing. Only Hendricks, standing framed in the open doorway.
She turned away from him, far too confused to seek his comfort. Instead, she leaned upon her brother’s arm with her whole weight, letting him lead her the rest of the way to her seat. When they were safely inside the carriage, she thought about allowing herself the luxury of tears. But they would only reveal what she suspected her brother already knew: how deeply Adrian’s latest rejection had hurt her.
David was staring out of the back window in the direction of Adrian’s flat, as though he could not quite believe how suddenly and totally wrong the evening had been. Then, he turned to her, accusing her with his eyes. ‘You could at least have told me about the child.’
‘There is no child,’ she snapped.
‘Then why did he think there was?’
‘Possibly because my own brother came to warn him about my affair.’ She hoped he did not expect some sort of absolution for all the trouble his meddling had caused her.
‘I am sorry. I did not know.’
She said, ‘You could not be expected to. The circumstances were … unusual. But in future, when I request you not to intervene, I would appreciate your co-operation.’ Then she remembered the comment about his afternoon at his club. ‘And I think it was Rupert who misled him about my supposed pregnancy. You only added fuel to the fire.’
Her brother fell silent for a time, and then said, ‘Perhaps, once he has had time to think, he will relent and come to you.’
‘Or perhaps not. He is a very proud man. And I have hurt him.’
‘He is afraid of exposure.’
‘He is no coward,’ she argued.
‘Of course not,’ her brother said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘He merely hid a problem from us, for our own good. He feared the family would remove the title from him.’ And then he added more thoughtfully, ‘There is a chance we could do it, you know. He has been behaving little better than a madman, shirking his responsibilities, risking life and limb. Perhaps we could arrange an annulment, if this is a family condition. If you had been together, then the children—’
‘No,’ she snapped back. ‘There is nothing wrong with his mind. It is only his eyes.’ She glared at her brother, daring him to oppose her. ‘You were quick enough to marry me off to him when he was your friend. And still content when he left me. You cannot just grab me back, three years down the road, because you fear that he is likely to leave me childless and lose the entail.’
‘It is not that at all, Emily.’ David groaned in frustration. ‘Why must everyone expect the worst from me? Can you truly be happy with him, in his condition? He will be helpless, and you will need to care for him, just as you would a child.’
‘You know nothing of him, and what he can do,’ she said hotly. ‘He is quite capable, when he has a mind to be. As sharp as he ever was. And if he needs my help?’ She lifted her chin. ‘I have been waiting for the chance to be his helpmeet for some time. And if there is to be a baby, there can be no question of it being anyone’s but his.’
Her brother raised his hands in front of him, in a gesture of helplessness, as though afraid to ask for further explanation. ‘I swear, it all grows more confusing, the longer you explain it to me.’
‘It is very simple. All that I have done, I’ve done out of love for Adrian. And I think, given the time, he will realise that he feels the same for me.’
David looked at her doubtfully. ‘Very well. If a reconciliation with him is what you wish, then I hope you succeed in it. But after today’s interview, it appears that Adrian is just as stubborn as he ever was at avoiding his marriage to you.’
And remembering what she had told herself on coming to London, she should be satisfied with the results of the visit. She had been with him, in the way a wife should be with a husband. She had assured herself that he was indeed alive, and Rupert had been assured of his well-being. She had ascertained the reason for his absence. If he continued to remain apart from her, she would at least know why. And in the end she had managed to speak clearly to him and to make him well aware of her displeasure at the separation.
She had succeeded in all the things she’d set out to do.
And done the one thing she had never meant to. She had fallen truly in love with her husband.
When his guests had left him, Adrian stormed back to his sitting room, still furious with the way he had been tricked. Emily had known him from the first moment. And had taunted him with the knowledge the whole time they had been together. How she must have laughed, to hold that from him, just out of reach.
The servants had known as well, for they had known her when she’d brought him home from the tavern. And Hendricks had been complicit in the elaborate scheme, for she could not have managed it without his help. Everyone surrounding him had kept mum on the truth, smirking as he mooned over his own wife, pitying him for the poor blind fool he was.
If they had the time to laugh, then perhaps they did not have enough to occupy their time. He swept a hand across his desk in the corner, sending pen, inkwell and writing frame all to the floor in a heap. He pulled down the books on the shelves as well, useless things that they were now that he could not see them. He upended the piano stool, and wishing he had discovered enough about the instrument to destroy the thing so that it would never trouble him with memories again. He slammed the lid down over the keys, and his fingers touched the decanter of brandy that had been set on top of it. To a man who did not play, such a thing was little better than a makeshift table.
His fingers closed around the neck of the bottle and he imagined the sound of shattering crystal, and the sight of the brandy, running in fine rivulets down the wall, or dripping amongst the piano strings, and the pungent scent of the spilled liquor …
Then he stopped. It would be better to drink the stuff than to waste a chance at oblivion. No need for a glass …
His arm froze with the bottle halfway to his mouth, and he held it there. How much of the last year had he spent just that way? Blundering about, breaking things and drinking. Time drifting by, and him neither knowing nor caring how it passed. How long had it been since he had given up even trying to care?
His
