Unforgivable(67)

“It is my house,” he said grimly. “I will decide who may and who may not set foot in it.”

Her eyes glittered with sudden anger, and her cheeks flushed. “Yes, this is your house. And I am your wife,” she said, her voice beginning to rise. “I am only too aware that I have nothing of my own anymore! I gave up my life at Weartham, my independence—for, for this! A life of pointless bloody entertainments that bore me tears. And I can’t even invite my own father to stay with me! My God! I must have been mad!”

She was shouting by the end, her voice cracking with emotion. She whirled away from him, dashing tears from her eyes. Within two strides, he had her wrist in his hand and was pulling her round to face him.

“Rose—”

“Let me go, you big brute!” she cried, hitting out at his shoulder with her free hand.

He kept hold of her wrist, his grip firm but careful. “Rose, please, just listen.”

“No! I won’t listen to you anymore!” she cried wildly. “I know you hate him—you don’t have to explain that to me again! I understand why you feel wronged. But he is my father, and despite everything, I love him. And I’ve missed him. I haven’t seen him for five years. God, don’t you know what it is—” She broke off, staring up at him with wet eyes, then looked away and said, “Don’t you know what it is to be lonely?”

He felt like he’d been punched. Like all the air had been knocked out of him.

Slowly, he unfurled the fingers around her wrist, releasing her. He wanted to say, Sorry. Or, Yes, I’m lonely now. But he stayed silent, and she turned away from him, going to the mirror to shakily smooth her coiffure.

“We should go,” she said, and when she turned back, she looked like a fairy queen again. “We are the guests of honour, after all. It would be rude to be late.”





Chapter Nineteen

Thank God she wasn’t sitting with Gil, Rose thought. They couldn’t have been farther apart, in fact. Rose was next to Mr. Drayton at one end of the long table and Gil was at the other, next to Mrs. Drayton.

Mr. Drayton was an attentive host, but he had another lady on his left to entertain while the middle-aged gentleman on Rose’s right had little to say for himself. She had ample opportunity, therefore, to observe her husband talking with Mrs. Drayton. It did not appear that he felt similarly compelled to check on her.

Mrs. Drayton looked ethereally lovely in pale blue silk, her golden hair dressed simply. Gil gave her all his attention, listening to every word she spoke with apparent fascination and laughing aloud several times. As for Mrs. Drayton, she beamed back at Gil, her expression fond.

Rose pushed her resentment determinedly aside. Gil was friends with Mr. Drayton—of course he would be friendly with Mrs. Drayton too. And it was no wonder he was making the most of Mrs. Drayton’s smiling, happy company after their bitter row earlier.

It was no wonder either that he couldn’t bear her father. She knew he had some justification. Even now, though, she felt wronged. Why should she keep paying for the sins of her father? Indeed, why did she have to keep paying for her own sin, that stupid—all right, downright egregious—error she’d made in pretending to be someone else? Yes, it had been wrong, but hadn’t she paid enough? And after all, her stupid, impulsive, egregious decision had been brought about by Gil’s neglect of her for five long years. The sense of being wronged burned within her, side by side with the regret she couldn’t rid herself of in relation to her own behaviour.

Her depressing thoughts were interrupted when the lady across the table caught her eye. Mrs. Hornby, Rose recalled, from the introductions earlier.

The woman flicked her gaze at Gil and back again. “Your husband is a great favourite with the ladies, Lady Stanhope.” The words were very faintly slurred, and she immediately lifted her wineglass and drank deeply.

Rose glanced around self-consciously, but no one else appeared to be listening.

“My husband is an amiable man,” she replied and looked down, giving her plate her close attention.

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Hornby replied. “Lady Cairn certainly found him to be so.”

Rose couldn’t stop herself looking up, the words leaving her lips before she could stop them. “And did you…?” She broke off, but Mrs. Hornby understood her.

“Not I, no. I’ve been as faithful to Captain Hornby as the day is long.” She raised her glass again in a silent toast and drained it, setting it on the table noisily. “More fool me.”

Mrs. Hornby’s voice had begun to rise and become belligerent, seeking out a wider audience. To Rose’s horror, the other guests began to stir. They continued their individual conversations with their neighbors, but there was a discreet watchfulness about them now, an awareness that something was happening at Rose’s end of the table no one wanted to miss. Rose glanced quickly at Gil. He could hear nothing of what had been said by Mrs. Hornby from where he sat, but he looked at her quizzically, clearly realising something was going on. Rose looked away.