"A more accurate statement would be that she found's," Rand murmured. Rosalie shrugged impatiently.
"This is not a time to examine rhetoric, Rand."
"And hardly the place, my love. I dislike standing in le middle of the drive and airing our private life for le amusement of Sackville's guests. Wouldn't we be more comfortable if we moved this conversation into a quiet sitting room in the manor?"
"Not just yet," Rosalie replied, slipping her arm through his and looking up at him worriedly. "Everything is a little confused. I'm a little confused by all that has happened in the last half-hour. It is so very odd to look into that young woman's face and see Mireille's eyes. Do you realize that she is the age that I was when you and I met?"
Berkeley shook his head absently. "Somehow I kept picturing her as a child."
"You'll never know how many times during the past years I have stopped in the middle of something to think about her and wonder where she was."
"I've done much the same concerning her brother," Berkeley informed his wife grimly. "Where did she say he—?"
"Darling, we did not talk about Guillaume. She is so overwrought that I could hardly understand any of what she said." Rosalie held his arm more tightly, and he slipped his free hand around her back in an automatic gesture. "I don't know quite what has happened to her, but she did say that she spent some time in east London when she first arrived in England." She shivered before continuing. "It hardly bears thinking, my Mireille in that… that…"
"Hellhole," Berkeley supplied, temporarily discarding his usual fondness for well-turned phrases."Exactly. But, Rand… the situation is even more difficult, in light of what I'm about to tell you."
"I can scarecly wait to hear it."
"I think… that is, to all appearances… she has been Lord Sackville's mistress for the past two years. She hasn't exactly admitted to it, but—"
"Oh God," he muttered.
Rosalie drew herself up like a mother hen protecting her chick. "Rand Berkeley, I hope you're not about to offer a word of criticism!" she whispered rapidly. "She's only done what she's had to do. And you know very well that once upon a time you put me in that same position—don't forget that I was your mistress for three months before we were married!"
Rand winced, his hand rising as if to cover her mouth.
"It wasn't at all comparable with this," he said. "For one thing, I wasn't twice your age—"
"I don't see what age has to do with it."
"There are times, Rose, when your moral code is conveniently ambiguous.''
"Please, my lord," Rosalie said with a frown, "—just | for a minute try to understand what it might be like to be ] a woman, alone, without protection. I once had to con- | template such a prospect and it frightened me to death. Somehow Mireille has managed to survive it, but she has been hurt—"
"Hurt? How?" Despite his worldly demeanor, Berkeley was a compassionate man, and his voice softened with what Berkeley knew was concern.
"I don't really know yet. But it is clear that Mireille needs rest and attention. She was such a confident child—now she can hardly bear to meet my eyes. She seems so dispirited and hopeless that it disturbs me dreadfully. In fact, she is so upset that she refuses to go back into the manor. I don't know how we're going to get her things out of there—""Wait. Slow down. What do you mean, 'get her things out of there'?"
"Rand," she said, looking at him with pleading blue eyes, "she meant so much to me in France. She was my only friend at a time when I needed one. She took care of me when I was ill… I would like to return the favor now."
"You're asking if we can take her back to Warwickshire with us," he stated resignedly.
"You had no objection to the idea five years ago," Rosalie reminded him. "Remember when you said then that she could live with us?"
Berkeley lifted his eyes heavenward. "Dammit, you never forget anything… yes, the offer still stands."
She squeezed his hand tightly. "Oh, how I adore you—"
"Before you smother me with words of affection, be forewarned that I fully intend to question her about Guillaume."
"Of course, my dearest husband."
"I've been altogether too lenient with you lately," he grumbled, basking in the glowing smile she bestowed on him. "I wonder that you asked my permission at all."
"I must ask you one more favor: would you allow me to take her to Warwickshire now?"