The Secret Pearl(90)

“Well, then.” He smiled, lowered his hands to her arms, and leaned forward to kiss her firmly once more. He patted her arms. “Enough of that. This arbor was my wife’s pride and joy. Did Emily tell you that? I love to sit here to read—when the children are safely indoors at their lessons or games, that is. Shall we wander indoors for tea?”

“Yes. Thank you,” Fleur said.

All her delight in the afternoon was gone. She had not realized that he was quite so close to a declaration, but she had sensed it coming there in the rose arbor. And she felt that she had hurt him and feared that despite what she had said, he would think that it was some lack in himself that had made her draw back from him.

It was almost no surprise when they came from the arbor onto the back lawn again to see the Duke of Ridgeway, his daughter sitting up on one of his shoulders, talking with Miss Chamberlain.

“Ah,” he said, turning and smiling and looking at them both with keen eyes. “Duncan? Miss Hamilton?”

“I might have known you would be wise enough to avoid the games and clever enough to arrive just in time for tea,” Mr. Chamberlain said. He extended his right hand. “Welcome to Timmy’s birthday party, Adam.”

“I won second in the girls’ race, Papa,” Lady Pamela was shrieking, “and we would have won the three-legged race if William had not fallen down.”

Fleur turned away with Miss Chamberlain to shepherd the children back to the house for tea.


THE DUKE OF RIDGEWAY rode back to Willoughby Hall sometime later, one arm about his daughter, who rode before him, and listened with half an ear to her excited chatter. He wished that Fleur were riding beside them, but pushed the thought from his mind. It was as well that she was returning home in his carriage.

She really was good for Pamela. He always had been capable of arousing these moods of childhood excitement in her and he had always tried, when he was at home, to take her to visit other children as often as possible. But of course he was away from home for long stretches and always felt guilty about abandoning her. He could not possibly love her more if she really were his, he thought.

Fleur was giving Pamela extended opportunities to be a child. Sybil and Mrs. Clement between them overprotected her. And on the rare occasion when Sybil did take her out, it was to visit adults so that she might sit quietly and Sybil might be complimented on her well-behaved daughter.

Fleur was good for her. She should have children of her own.

Pamela was tracing the line of his scar with one soft finger and singing under her breath. “How did it miss your eye, Papa?” she asked.

“Someone must have been looking after me,” he said.

“God?”

“Yes, God.”

“Did it hurt?”

“Yes, I suppose it must have,” he said. “I don’t remember much.”

She resumed her quiet singing as she ran her finger along the scar again.

He was feeling guilty. Duncan had spoken very briefly with him as he was leaving.

“It seems you are not in imminent danger of losing your governess after all, Adam,” he had said.

His grace had been looking ever since his arrival for some sign of what had happened. They had been alone together somewhere just before his arrival, but their expressions and behavior had given nothing away during tea.

“You changed your mind?” he had asked.

His friend had grimaced. “Rejected,” he had said.

Duncan Chamberlain was his friend. He wished for his happiness. Four years before, he had lost a wife of whom he had been very fond. Fleur would be the perfect second wife for him and stepmother for his children. He should have been sorry to hear that she had rejected Duncan.

But he was feeling guilty. He had felt a surge of elation. And then more guilt. Had she felt forced to refuse because of what he had done to her and made her into? Of course she would have felt forced.

But there was that other, too. He must talk with her. He would have done it that morning, but had not wanted to risk doing anything to spoil the day Pamela had been so looking forward to. He must talk with her the next day.

“Did you kill anyone, Papa?” Pamela asked.

“In the wars?” he said. “Yes, I’m afraid so. But I’m not proud of it. I cannot help thinking that those men had mamas and perhaps wives and children. War is a terrible thing, Pamela.”

She nestled her head against his chest. “I’m glad no one killed you, Papa,” she said.

He hugged her to him with one arm.

The carriage was drawing to a halt on the terrace as he and Pamela walked from the stables.

“Miss Hamilton,” he called as she was about to disappear through the servants’ doors.