“What else?” she asked briskly.
“That’s all for today,” Will said. He shut his notebook and placed it on the desk in front of him. He glanced at her quickly, then away again. He lifted his teacup to his mouth and carefully looked at a painting on the opposite wall over the rim, avoiding her gaze.
A few weeks ago, she’d thought of Will Anderson as a friend. But when she’d come back from London five weeks ago, everything had changed. Their old intimacy was gone, and Rose couldn’t seem to retrieve it. At first, Will had looked at her with the same old warmth, but he had stopped after a while, probably wounded by her swiftly averted gaze. She hadn’t been able to help herself. For some reason, their easy intimacy had made her feel guilty, as though she was betraying Gil, which was ludicrous given how faithless Gil had been and how old this friendship was. Nevertheless, she was helpless to prevent her own withdrawal.
The trouble was, now she knew how it really was between a man and a woman. She remembered the times when she’d caught Will gazing at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Worse, she remembered the times she’d looked at him. The times she’d wondered how it would feel to have his strong male arms around her, what his kiss would be like. It was hardly surprising. He was the handsomest man in the county and the only young man in her vicinity. Of course he had been the focus of her girlish curiosity. But now those innocent musings made her feel wretched, especially if she’d misled Will. And it wasn’t just Will. It was Weartham itself. She’d come back here a changed woman, and suddenly she saw that Weartham was even more limited than she’d realised. Even more devoid of society. Even more remote.
She lived in a house of women, and the only men she knew were married or servants. Little wonder she had managed to live so chastely for the last five years.
“Will you be joining us this evening?” she asked. Will usually dined with her and Harriet on Thursdays.
“Yes, thank you, my lady,” he replied civilly. She winced inwardly at his formal tone and that my lady. It felt like a reproach.
“Good,” she replied heartily. Too heartily. “Seven o’clock, as usual.”
She rose then, anxious to close the interview. She felt so sick, both physically and at heart. Every time she saw Will, she felt sorry and sad.
“Very good, my lady,” Will replied, standing up. With the utmost formality, he executed a bow worthy of a duke and withdrew. Will had the most beautiful manners of any man Rose had ever known, despite his humble origins. And somehow, that made her feel even sadder, witnessing the perfection of his address.
Once he had gone, Rose crossed to the open window and breathed in lungfuls of fresh air until her nausea faded.
Gil must surely have her letter by now.
The first draft had confessed who she really was, and what she had done in great detail. It had been by turns abject and shrill. She had torn it up and tried again. And again. After several more attempts, she had realised that this was not something one could explain in a note.
So she had written another letter. It was nothing more than a bald announcement of her pregnancy and a request that he come to Weartham to discuss matters.
If he didn’t come, she would have to go to London again.
She hoped he would come, even as she dreaded his arrival. She wanted to be on her own territory when she confessed.
Not that she would have to say much. As soon as he saw her—Eve Adams sitting in the drawing room at Weartham—he would know the truth.
She wondered how he would feel when he read her letter. Would he work out the truth on his own? Or would he simply assume she had cuckolded him? Would he be angry? Or relieved at the thought that he might finally be rid of her? A pregnancy caused by another man would give him grounds for divorce, although it would be scandalous and take years.
She had wanted to leave him with his memory of Eve Adams intact and untainted. She had not wanted him to discover that Eve was, in truth, the woman he despised most in the world. In the end, she had not wanted to be found out.
But running away had been stupid. It had been cowardly. This confrontation with Gil had to come. She accepted that now. Still, she dreaded it.
Rose leaned her head against the window frame. She knew she needed to prepare herself for the worst. Gil might try to divorce her over this. If he could find a man who would swear he’d lain with Rose, it could be done.
The trouble was, that was not even the worst possibility. The worst was that he might decide to take the child away from her entirely. To be raised by nursemaids.
She did not think he would do such a thing. She did not think he was wantonly cruel. But he was bound to be angry and humiliated. And perhaps he would not be prepared to believe anything she said. Perhaps he would always wonder if the child was his, even if he accepted it.