The Secret Pearl(57)

And who was she to say he did not? It was all very well now, in the relief of knowing that it was not to be today, to tell herself that she would throw his offer in his face when he told her finally that it was time for them to leave. It was well now to imagine herself telling him, her head thrown back, contempt in her eyes, that she would take the noose rather than him.

But would she when the time came?

And it was quite like Matthew, of course. It amazed her that she had not thought of it as a possibility before. He had wanted her badly enough. Was it likely that he would give her up to the gallows any more willingly than he would have given her up to Daniel?

Of course. She was foolish not to have thought of it.

She unbuttoned the cloak absently as she climbed the stairs inside the house. And then she looked down at it with awareness. It was her own cloak. It had been hanging in her wardrobe.

He must have sent a maid upstairs for it. He had brought it out to her and wrapped it about her shoulders.

And he had ordered her to bring Lady Pamela out to the stables to him after breakfast.

There was to be another day, then. Not chains and a long carriage ride and a dark prison cell at the end of it. Not yet, anyway.

Her step lightened and quickened. There was to be another day.


IT WAS STILL TOO EARLY for breakfast when the Duke of Ridgeway came inside with Lord Brocklehurst. There was still time to accomplish one more thing before eating and going back outside with Pamela.

He sent a servant to summon Lord Thomas Kent to the library if he was up. He must talk to his brother. Somehow, he could not take the coward’s way out and just say nothing.

He thought grimly of the night before. Unable to sleep himself, he had done something he rarely did. He had gone into his wife’s room very late. He had half-expected to find the room empty and the bed unslept in.

But she had been both there and awake. And feverish and coughing. She had watched him listlessly as he approached the bed.

“You are not well?” he had asked, touching his fingers to her cheek and finding it dry and burning. He brought her a cool cloth from the washstand, folded it, and laid it over her forehead.

“It is nothing,” she had said, turning her face from him.

He had stood looking down at her for a long silent moment. “Sybil,” he had asked quietly, “shall I send him away? Will it be less painful for you if he is gone?”

Her eyes had been open. She had been staring away from him. And he had watched one tear roll diagonally across her cheek and nose and drip onto the sheet. “No,” she had said.

Nothing more. Just the one word. He had turned away after a while and left the room.

Her maid had reported to him that morning that her grace had recovered from her fever.

He fully expected that after a journey of a few days his brother would be still asleep. But he came wandering into the library fifteen minutes after being summoned, his customary half-smile on his lips.

“This brings back memories,” he said, looking about him. “Many was the time we were summoned here, Adam, for a thrashing.” He laughed. “I more than you, I must confess. Is that why I have been summoned here this morning?”

“Why did you return?” the duke asked.

“The fatted calf is supposed to be killed for the prodigal’s return,” Lord Thomas said with a laugh. “You have not learned your Bible lessons well enough, Adam.”

“Why did you return?”

Lord Thomas shrugged. “It is home, I suppose,” he said. “When I was in India, England was home. And when I returned to England, then Willoughby was home—even if I am not welcome here. Sometimes it is not a good thing to be just a half-brother.”

“You know that has nothing to do with anything,” his grace said harshly. “We were scarcely aware of the half-relationship when we were growing up, Thomas. We were simply brothers.”

“But at that time one of us was not duke and afraid the other might waste some of his vast substance,” the other said.

“And you know that that was never my concern either,” the duke said. “I tried to persuade you to stay. I wanted you to stay. I wanted to share Willoughby with you. You belonged here. You were my brother. But when you insisted on leaving, then I told you you must not return. I meant ever.”

“Ever is a long time,” Lord Thomas said, strolling to the fireplace and examining the mosaic lion on the overmantel. “It’s strange how I could not even picture this room clearly in my mind when I was in India. But it all comes back now. Nothing ever changes at Willoughby, does it?”

“You couldn’t leave her in peace, could you?” the duke said.

“In peace?” Lord Thomas turned around with a laugh. “You mean she has been in peace married to you for the past five and a half years? She does not appear to me like a woman living in wedded bliss, Adam. Haven’t you seen that? Are you still besotted with her?”