Nathan loved her just as she was, but then he’d said he’d never really known her. That he couldn’t marry her. That they weren’t the same people who’d fallen in love with each other in their youth.
Was he right? Was it too late?
She shut her eyes and bowed her head.
Had they only imagined they’d fallen in love again, in Paris, because they’d both been pretending to be something they were not?
No...no! It was real. She’d had all these long, lonely weeks to ponder it all and she knew it was real. Nathan hadn’t had time to think it through, that was all. She dashed a tear from her eye. He’d lashed out—the way she’d done when he’d shocked her with that confession about why they’d broken up the first time.
She leapt to her feet. He’d come after her when she’d lost her temper with him. When her habit of being suspicious had made her afraid to believe in their love. Now it was her turn to go after him and talk some sense into him.
She was halfway across the room to ring for a maid to fetch her coat and bonnet, when she decided she hadn’t the patience to wait that long. Far quicker to run upstairs and plunge her arms into her coat herself. Stuff her bonnet on her head as she hurried down the stairs and tie the ribbons as she trotted down the garden path.
She was in such a hurry to catch Nathan and tell him that he was wrong that she didn’t see Mrs Podmore coming up the front path until she almost barrelled into her.
‘Oh, good. I have just caught you,’ said Mrs Podmore, tilting her umbrella to one side to make room for Amethyst. ‘I can see you are in a hurry, but this won’t take a moment—’
‘I’m so sorry, but I haven’t time to stop and talk today.’
She tried to step round Mrs Podmore, but the path was narrow, and her visitor determined.
‘Wherever you are going, it cannot be so urgent that you have forgotten your umbrella.’
‘It is that urgent,’ she countered. ‘And I hadn’t even noticed it was snowing.’ Only tiny specks of it, but the first real snow of the winter, nevertheless.
As she looked up in wonder, she had a brilliant idea. She stopped trying to sidestep Mrs Podmore’s substantial bulk and looked her straight in the face with what she hoped was a confiding air.
‘You see, everything you have ever warned me about has come to pass.’
‘Oh?’ For once Mrs Podmore didn’t seen to know what to say.
‘You have been right to warn me, so many times, just how dangerous it is to be without adequate chaperonage.’
‘Was I? I mean, of course I was. But—’
‘Yes. You see, while Fenella was preoccupied with her own courtship, and there was nobody to make me behave...’ she lowered her voice ‘...I did something quite scandalous.’
Mrs Podmore instinctively leaned closer to hear the whispered confidence, her eyes wide with curiosity.
‘I went to Mr Brown’s studio, the one he had in Paris, quite alone, to have my portrait painted.’
‘No!’ Her eyebrows shot up and disappeared into the ruffles under her bonnet.
‘Oh, yes. We were alone in his studio for hours at a time. And worse, he persuaded me to pose for him...naked.’
‘Naked?’ Mrs Podmore screeched the word, her shock temporarily robbing her of discretion. The baker’s boy, who’d been walking past, jumped and dropped his tray of rolls, which went tumbling all over the street.
‘And, of course, you must know what inevitably followed.’
Mrs Podmore’s eyes grew rounder still. Amethyst could see her mind racing.
‘I cannot bring myself to say what I fear you are alluding to.’
‘Well, I can,’ said Amethyst cheerfully. ‘We embarked upon a wildly passionate affair.’
‘A what?’
The baker’s boy’s head popped up over the hedge, his eyes wide with glee.
‘And now he’s pursued me all the way to England. Don’t you think that’s romantic?’ She pressed one hand to her chest. ‘I do.’ She sighed theatrically. ‘And so I’ve decided to run off with him.’
‘Run off with Mr Brown?’
If he’d have her. And if not, she already had plans to move to Southampton, so nobody would know any different when she disappeared.
‘Yes. I enjoyed travelling so much that I can’t wait to set off again. We might return to Paris, where we were so happy. Or we might go and see what Italy is like. He’s always wanted to go to Italy. And,’ she put in before Mrs Podmore could accuse Nathan of latching on to her because of her money, ‘I can afford to take him there.’
‘No! You must not. Only think what people will say...’
That was exactly what she was doing. Between her and the baker’s boy, the news would be all over town within minutes.
‘I don’t care what anyone says,’ she declared. ‘I cannot live without him.’
She beamed at Mrs Podmore, who was opening and closing her mouth like a landed trout.
‘Good day,’ said Amethyst and managed to nip past Mrs Podmore while she was trying to untangle her umbrella from the overhanging branches of her cherry trees. Past the gaping baker’s boy, who’d abandoned any pretence at retrieving the spoiled rolls. Up the hill and through the market square she sincerely hoped she’d never have to set eyes on again, before much longer, and along the lane that led to the Murdoch place.
* * *
It wasn’t long before she caught sight of Nathan in the lane ahead of her, because he was walking really slowly, his head bowed. Impervious to the snow, which was settling on his shoulders and the crown of his hat.
Hope surged. He couldn’t look so sad if he didn’t still love her. Didn’t regret having left her the way he had.
‘I have just one thing to say,’ she said as he reached his front door.
He spun round. For a moment she caught a glimpse of the carefree young man who’d argued with her about the Rights of Man over a bottle of beer in a Parisian dance hall. But then his face changed. And the cynical, embittered, disgraced politician stood in his place.
‘I have nothing further to say to you, madam,’ he said coldly.
‘Well, you can just listen then,’ she said, pushing past him into the house as an unsuspecting butler opened the door.
‘I have had longer to think about...us. Knowing all about the discrepancy in our wealth. And do you know what I have realised?’
‘You clearly mean to tell me,’ he said wearily. ‘You had better come in here.’ He pushed open the door to a sparsely furnished
