Page 44

Lanterns, set on poles at intervals, lit up the terrace and the paths that meandered among them, each terrace separated by a hedge. They wandered along one until they found a bench set back a bit from the main path, by a fishpond.

Seating herself, she folded her hands in her lap and watched the fish flitting about in the water, flashes of silver catching the light.

“What troubles you?” she asked, turning to look at her companion.

He was seated with his elbows on his knees his hands clasped loosely, and his head slightly bowed as he contemplated the pavement before him.

She suspected it wasn’t the pavement he was seeing.

He had been so kind to her when she was troubled, and she wanted to return the favor, for he was quite one of her favorite people.

He started as if pulled from his thoughts and said, “My apologies. I was woolgathering. What did you say?”

“I asked you what was wrong. You are not yourself tonight. Is one of the children ill?”

“No, they are all robustly healthy, thank the lord.” He hesitated, as if not sure if he should say more.

She laid a hand on his arm. “You have something on your mind, however. A trouble shared is often a trouble halved, Emrys.”

He swallowed, visibly moved, and said with a husk in his voice, “I doubt that in this case, Sarah, but I thank you for your kindness.”

She waited in silence as he appeared to gather himself.

Finally, he spoke. “I discovered tonight a letter addressed to my wife.” He stopped, swallowing again.

“I wasn’t trying to pry, you understand.

I was looking for a tie pin that I had mislaid, and I opened a drawer.

I found this letter stuffed at the back.

It had my wife’s name on it. Of course I shouldn’t have opened it, but”—he took a breath and expelled it forcefully—“I thought I recognized the handwriting as belonging to a friend of mine. At least someone I thought was a friend.”

She patted his arm comfortingly and waited, her heart wrung by his obvious distress and alarmed by what all this might mean.

“I shall not reveal the name of the individual, but the tenor of the letter made it clear that this person has strong feelings toward my wife. And from what I can gather from the missive, she has done nothing to dissuade him from sharing those feelings with her. She has, I can only conclude, in fact encouraged them.”

“Oh dear! Have you confronted her about it? Or him?”

He shook his head. “I only discovered the letter just before we came down for dinner this evening. I have had no opportunity—I have been trying to decide what to do!” He rubbed his eyes as if they ached.

“I do not want to cause a scene and ruin your ball, nor do I want to create a scandal. If there is the slightest chance that I have misread, misinterpreted what is meant... I—” He stopped and dropped his face in his hands, and his shoulders visibly shook, although he made no sound.

She put a hand on his shoulder awkwardly. She was accustomed to comforting little brothers when they scraped a knee or fell out of a tree, but she didn’t quite know what to do with a grown man in tears. “Indeed, if you are mistaken—”

“Unfortunately, my instinct tells me that I am not.” He lifted his head, and finding a handkerchief, he mopped his face and blew his nose. “Things have been strained between Caro and me for some time. I thought it was just a passing thing, that time would mend it, but—”

“Surely, if you speak with her? It sounds like nothing irrevocable has occurred, that this is perhaps just a warning and that if you take steps to rectify the situation, all may be well.”

He smiled grimly. “Perhaps you are right. I hope so, but I fear...” He sighed heavily.

“We have been married for almost ten years.

We were very young. I was twenty-two and Caro only eighteen when we wed.

But I was quite sure I had met the love of my life, and she seemed equally smitten with me.

You are only newly married and will not know, but two people who live very closely can hurt each other immeasurably without even meaning to.

In fact, it is often far worse where strong emotions are involved.

If one cared less there would be less damage done.

“I love her to distraction and would not hurt her for the world, but I know that actions of mine have hurt her, though I never intended it so. I thought she had forgiven me, but I fear not. It is possible, you know, to live day to day and for everything to appear to be harmonious on the surface, yet for there to be deep undercurrents of resentment building in the shadows. I see now that she has been telling me for some time that she is not happy, but I was oblivious.”

“Then it is not too late!”

“I hope not.” He heaved a sigh and put his handkerchief away. “Thank you for your counsel. You were right, speaking of it has helped me find some perspective and perhaps some hope.”

She smiled, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to give him a hug, as she would a brother. His arms wrapped round her, and she hugged his solid frame, attempting to convey some comfort to this dear man, who didn’t in her view deserve such pain.

“Ashford!” The duke’s thunderous roar made them spring apart as Robert barreled toward them, his face red with rage. “You wolf in sheep’s clothing! How dare you maul my wife?”

Ashford rose to his feet to protest but didn’t have the chance.

“Robert!” shrieked Sarah as her husband pulled back a fist and punched Ashford square in the face. The viscount staggered under the blow, and Sarah caught his arm to steady him, rounding on Robert. What has got into him? Is he drunk? How could he hit his best friend?

“What are you doing? Stop this at once! There is no need—”

“There is every need!” snapped the duke, breathing heavily. He turned his attention back to the viscount. “You will answer for this—name your second!”

Good God, did he mean to duel? He had taken leave of his senses! Her heart thudded furiously. Surely, he could not think there was anything between herself and Emrys? It was absurd. All this for a simple hug? How does he trust me so little?

“I will not! For God’s sake, Layne, see sense! It is not what you think!” Ashford said, nursing his eye which was swelling rapidly.

The altercation was already attracting attention, and Sarah gasped with horror.

So much for her first ball being a success.

It would be a scandal instead, and its hostess at the center of it.

Is this my fault? Had she behaved wrongly?

But no. It was his intemperate behavior that had made a scene, not hers.

Even if she was somehow the motivation for it, he was the one who had lost control of himself.

Could he be so overtaken with unfounded jealousy that he was lost to all propriety? The notion made her heart race.

Just then the dowager duchess appeared, and Sarah got another first-hand lesson in how to be a duchess.

“There you are, my dear,” she said, looping her arm through Sarah’s and drawing her away.

She smiled at the assembling company and said, “The viscount has fallen and bruised his face. There is nothing to see here. Please return to the ballroom.” She transferred her gaze to the duke and said, “You will see him attended to, Robert.” She then sailed off down the path towing a hapless Sarah with her.

“Mama Duchess, I—”

“Never admit to anything, my dear,” said the dowager duchess calmly.

*

Robert, brought to earth abruptly by his mother’s intervention, bottled his fury and escorted the viscount away from the scene to his library. Shutting the door, he rounded on his erstwhile best friend and said, “What the hell were you doing with your arms round my wife?”

Even as he said the words he knew he was being unreasonable.

So much for having buried my fears over Lannister!

It was only insecurity over Sarah’s feelings for Lannister and his unresolved anger toward the absent earl that had boiled up and spilled over at the sight of Sarah in Ashford’s arms, not any true misdeeds on their part—he knew that.

It was Lannister he truly wished to hit, but he’d taken his anger out on Ashford instead and caused the kind of scene he abhorred. I’m a bloody fool.

The viscount cupped his swollen eye and sank into a chair wearily. “Take a damper, Robert. I’ve no designs on your wife as you’d bloody well know if you paid any attention to anything around you!”

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Robert stiffly. He was aware he was being ridiculous, but he couldn’t seem to stop. He stalked to the cabinet and poured out two glasses of whisky. He shoved one at Ashford and tossed off his own.

“You’ve had no eyes for anyone but Sarah for the past month.” Ashford tossed back the whisky and sighed, closing his other eye as well as the one that was all but swollen shut.

“And who gave you leave to call her Sarah?”

“You did, you idiot!”

“Yes, well, I didn’t give you leave to sneak off into the garden and hug her! What the hell were you doing?” That ache in his chest was back.

“Sarah,” said the viscount somewhat belligerently, “was giving me counsel on a marital matter, if you must know!”

“I don’t see how that gives you the right to put your arms round her!”

Ashford sighed. “It was a sisterly hug. Nothing more. I was upset, and she was giving me comfort.”

Robert rounded on him, the image of Sarah in the embrace of another man still far too vivid in his mind’s eye. “Well, I’ll thank you to find comfort in your own wife’s arms!”

The viscount rose at this point and said wearily, “I’m going to bed. I suggest you calm down before you speak to Sarah, for if you rail at her like this, you’ll do more damage than you can undo in a twelvemonth!” He opened the door and with uncharacteristic temper slammed it behind him.

Robert sank down at his desk and put his head in his hands with a groan. W hat was he going to do?

*

It was well over half an hour later that Robert returned to the ball, where Sarah and the dowager duchess were trying to behave as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the evening passed in some species of nightmare for Sarah.

Robert may as well have been an automaton, he was so stiff and proper.

She longed to shake him, but of course she couldn’t, and did her best to behave with all decorum until the last of their guests departed or retired to bed.

The dowager had a few words to say to Robert, but Sarah didn’t hear what they were. Instead, she bade them both goodnight and retired to her room, where she waited in vain for Robert to appear. It was the first night since their wedding he had not come to her.

She wept tears of hurt and frustration into her pillow.

Should she go to him? They needed to speak about what had happened.

She argued with herself for a few minutes then flung back the coverlet and, tying on her robe, went to the door between their rooms. She hesitated, then gathering her courage, she tried the door handle and found the door was locked.

Shocked, she dropped her hand as if stung.

Surely, he couldn’t think there was anything between her and Emrys? But then why was he treating her this way, as if she were an adulteress? She had done nothing wrong except comfort a friend. His friend.

She stepped away from the door and walked on numb legs back to the bed.

Crawling in, she clutched a pillow to herself for comfort.

Was this simple jealousy run amok or something more troubling?

Did he trust her so little that he meant not to allow her any friends of her own?

She recalled his words about Lannister when they were in London and his insistence that he wasn’t a man Robert would tolerate her calling a friend.

But there was a world of difference between the earl and the viscount.

Her heart contracted with apprehension. Even if Robert loved her, and she wasn’t yet sure that he did, this was alarming behavior that she didn’t understand.

It was almost dawn before she finally fell asleep.