stopped before a small portrait in the corner. It was a picture of a seated woman and might have been painted some fifteen years before. The subject was young, a girl of about eighteen or nineteen, exquisitely pretty, curvaceous, with dark hair curling softly about her face, limpid black eyes and a little smile just starting to dimple the corners of her mouth. A small dog sat a few feet away, gazing adoringly at the woman who looked as though she took such adoration for granted from animals and people alike.
Merryn caught her breath on a little gasp and the Duchess looked sharply at her.
“You recognize my nephew’s wife, Kitty Scott? This was painted just before their marriage.”
Merryn’s heart was beating fast in her throat. “I … Yes, I do. We … met once or twice,” she stammered. “I was only a child …”
The Duchess nodded. “Kitty was a pretty little chit. I liked her spirit but she had the most vicious temper when she was thwarted.”
Merryn was shocked. She frowned, trying to match the memory of the Kitty she had known with the woman of the Dowager’s description. The Kitty Farne of her recollection had been the sweetest, kindest creature in the world, always giving her sweetmeats and little gifts, ribbons and thread, asking her what she had been reading, showing an interest in all the ordinary aspects of Merryn’s life that Joanna and Tess had been too wrapped up in themselves to care about. It was one of the reasons that Merryn had loved Kitty. And because Kitty had loved Stephen, of course …
The Dowager Duchess was looking at her very directly. “My nephew has suffered a gross betrayal in his life and experienced a great deal of misery and loneliness,” she said. “I trust, Lady Merryn, that you will not add to his unhappiness.”
I would not dare, Merryn thought. Pinned under the Dowager’s cold, dark stare she felt like a specimen on a slab.
“I would never willfully cause anyone unhappiness,” she said.
The Duchess nodded briskly. “I believe that. You seem a straightforward sort of gal, not in the common style.” Once again that faint smile touched her lips. “Garrick says you are a bluestocking. That is all to the good since he is a notable scholar. And being a Duke is a lonely business. One needs a helpmeet.”
“Yes,” Merryn said. She thought of Farne House with its long, empty echoing corridors, devoid of life, of love. “Yes, I do understand that.”
She looked back at the portrait, at Kitty Scott painted on that verdant summer day so many years ago, so soon before tragedy. Kitty had not been much of a helpmeet to her husband, that was for sure.
“I am sorry,” she said. “I did not realize that Garrick loved her.”
The Dowager gave a dry laugh. “Oh, he did not. My brother sold Garrick into marriage to further his political ambitions. He was a blackguard, Claudius. It was a fine dynastic match and Garrick would have done his duty. A pity that Miss Scott’s heart and much else was already given elsewhere.” The Duchess’s voice was very dry.
“Yes,” Merryn said. She felt a dull ache in the region of her own heart.
Garrick would have done his duty …
Merryn did not doubt it. It was the reason that she now found herself betrothed to Garrick, because he was a man who held honor and obligation above all things.
She thought of what she knew of Garrick, the young rakehell who had been sold into marriage by his father for gain, who had been prepared to make the match work out of duty. She felt an enormous sadness. She looked up to see the Dowager Duchess watching her keenly, and with some other emotion in her eyes, something softer.
“I am sorry,” she said again and she was not really sure what she was apologizing for. The Dowager Duchess actually patted her hand.
“It was not your fault, child.” She paused. “But now you bear a huge responsibility. If you cannot love Garrick, you will, I am sure, do your best to honor and respect him.”
If you cannot love him …
Merryn jolted to a stop, staring blindly in front of her. Garrick had taken her body and left her heart shattered, torn with doubt and confusion. She had thought that it was because of guilt and grief and the impossible choices she had to make. But that was not the whole truth. She felt breathless, frozen with shock. How had she not realized that her feelings were involved? Perhaps it was because she had never loved before. Perhaps it was because Garrick was the last man on earth that she had wanted to love. Yet she knew she did. The truth beat through her mind until she wanted to cry out to try to drown the words. It was impossible but it was undeniable. She loved Garrick Farne.
She had known it, in her heart. She had known there in terrifying dark when they had been trapped together and she had turned to him with absolute trust to hold her and protect her and keep her safe. She had known but she had turned the feelings away, reaching instead for her hatred and her grief to build a barrier and defend herself against him. Now, though, she could deny it no longer. And the thought brought a new wave of terror. Garrick had not wanted to wed her. He had been honest enough to admit that he had never wanted to wed again and without love those burdens of duty and honor and obligation that tied him to her could become the heaviest of shackles. She loved him but in return he could give nothing of his heart.
“Lady Merryn?” The Dowager Duchess sounded impatient. “You are woolgathering, my dear.”
“I beg your pardon,” Merryn said, blinking, pushing away the tumble of thoughts and emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. “I was thinking …” She realized that she was still staring at Kitty’s pretty painted face and that the Dowager had misunderstood her.
“It was all a long time ago,” the Dowager said, “and nothing to do with you, child that you were. Don’t let it taint you.”
Too late. She had let it taint her life for twelve long years.
Merryn shuddered. She had made so many mistakes, taken so many false steps. What if she had been wrong about Garrick from the start? What if …
What if it was not Garrick who had shot Stephen at all? What if there had been a terrible accident and Kitty had shot her lover and Garrick had taken the blame?
Merryn’s heart started to hammer in long, slow strokes. She thought of the instinct that persistently told her that Garrick was an honorable man. She thought of his life raised in duty and service. She trembled at the enormity of what must have happened.
Suddenly she was possessed with the most monstrous impatience. She had to speak to Garrick, to ask him to tell her the truth. She had to get him alone. Not even she could be so direct as to ask him in front of the assembled crowd at the Royal Academy whether his wife had shot her lover by accident and he had taken the blame.
She looked across at Garrick. He was standing with Alex and Joanna, admiring a William Collins engraving, The Fishing Boys. His head was bent, his expression grave and thoughtful. He turned slightly to answer some remark of Joanna’s and for a second a smile lighted his eyes and Merryn felt a rush of emotion so strong and turbulent that it stole her breath.
He had to be innocent of the heinous crime of which she had accused him. She was sure that she was right. She had to be right. Kitty had shot Stephen and Garrick, out of duty and honor, had protected her.
Something
