The Secret Pearl(115)

He said nothing for a long while.

“So you see,” she said, “I cannot marry you or anyone else, Daniel. For though I am not sorry for what I did, I do know that I am a fallen woman, and I am prepared to live with the consequences of that fact. I am going to Wroxford. By the time I return, you will doubtless have decided whether I am worthy to work with Miriam in the school.” She crossed the room quietly to the door.

His voice stopped her. “Isabella,” he said, “don’t go there. It is not fitting, a lady alone.”

“But I am no real lady, am I?” she said. “Don’t worry about me, Daniel. I will be back within a couple of days.”

She let herself quietly out of the room and out of the house. She did not, as she had planned to do, walk along the village street to the school to call upon Miriam and the children. She untethered the horse that she had ridden from the house, mounted unassisted into the sidesaddle, and turned in the direction of home.

And she remembered her love for Daniel as if it were a thing of the distant past. A sweet memory that lingered in the mind but was incapable of being rekindled.


THE DUKE OF RIDGEWAY had left his carriage at the village inn and ridden over to Heron House. He did not have anything of value to report. The landlord of the inn and his customers had all known Hobson. None of them knew where he was from or where he had been taken for burial. One man had declared that he was from London, but a chorus of voices disagreed with some scorn. Hobson, it seemed, had not had a cockney accent.

The talk about the valet had led inevitably to talk about Fleur and her strange and unexpected return. No one, it seemed, believed her to be guilty. Hobson, his grace gathered, had been known as a nasty customer, and Brocklehurst himself was not highly regarded.

The announcement that would soon be made and the dropping of all charges against her would clearly only confirm what people already knew.

He wished he could have found the information Fleur wanted. He would have liked to do that, to know that she could go and see the grave and finally put behind her the nightmare of the past months. He would like to think back on her and know that she was at least at peace with herself and the world.

She was not at home, the butler at Heron House told him. And he did not know if she really was from home or if she had denied him. Either way, there was no real point in pressing the issue, he supposed. He had nothing to tell her and therefore no business seeing her. He should leave without further ado.

“Kindly tell Miss Bradshaw that I was unable to find the information she wanted,” he told the butler, deciding that he would not wait.

He would go to London. That was probably where Brocklehurst had gone. It should be an easy matter to track him down and make sure that he had not delayed in putting everything right. And he would try to see to it that some settlement was made on Fleur until her twenty-fifth birthday. He would also see Brocklehurst’s coachman so that he could send back to her details of the location of Hobson’s grave.

And then it would be home to Willoughby, Fleur Bradshaw set firmly out of his mind and out of his life. He would devote his energies to being a good father. And perhaps some sort of peaceful relationship could be established with Sybil. He would try, anyway.

His mind was made up. But all his resolutions wavered as he was riding away from the house and met Fleur at a bend in the driveway. She was wearing a black velvet riding habit and hat, a color which looked quite stunning against the vivid redgold of her hair.

“Oh,” she said, “you startled me.”

“Good morning, Fleur,” he said. “I have just been to call on you. I’m afraid I have no good news, but I hope to be able to send some to you. I am going to London and plan to talk with your cousin’s coachman.”

“It is Wroxford,” she said. “My maid let it slip last night. Apparently all the servants have been instructed to keep their mouths shut around me.”

“Wroxford?” he said. “Where is that?”

“About thirty miles away,” she said. “Daniel says I am foolish to want to go there, and I suppose he is right. But I must go.”

“Yes,” he said, “I can understand that.” He watched the skill with which she restrained her frisky horse and watched the animation in her face. So vivid and so beautiful—and so unlike the way she had looked when he first saw her. “He and Miss Booth are to go with you?”

“Oh, no,” she said. “Miriam has her school. She already took a day off yesterday for me. And Daniel cannot come. It would be improper.”

“But he would let you go alone?” he said. “Is not that far more improper?”