Page 108 of Marry in Scandal

Her face crumpled as she whispered, “With all my heart.”

“Does he know how you feel?”

She shook her head. “He doesn’t want my love. He made it very clear before we were married.”

“And since then?”

“He made it even clearer.”

“Young idiot.” After a moment the old man tapped his fingers decisively on the table. “I’m not so sure. I think he’s fonder of you than you realize. Let me show you some of those letters I mentioned before.”

It was the last thing she wanted. Lily thought briefly about claiming to be tired after the long day, but it would only put off the moment. The old man was determined to show them to her. She might as well get it over with.

Again they retreated to the library; it was clearly Lord Galbraith’s favorite room in the house. Something of an irony in that, Lily thought. A room filled from floor to ceiling with books.

He seated her close to the fire, poured her a glass of some pinky-gold liquid and set it on a table at her elbow. Then he brought out a large wooden inlaid box. “Now”—he shuffled through the stack of letters inside—“ah, here it is. The first letter he wrote from your honeymoon—or would you rather read some of his wartime ones first? I promise you, they’re very sparse and uninformative.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.” And that was the truth. Feeling in need of a little liquid courage, she tooka large sip from the glass he’d given her and choked. “Wh—what is that?”

“Eh? Oh, peach brandy. Gift from a tenant. Don’t you like it? I can get you something else.”

“No, it’s just—I didn’t expect it to be so...”

“Sweet? Yes, horrible, but ladies usually like sweet drinks. Can I get you something else?” He hovered.

The word Lily had been thinking of wasstrong, but she didn’t say so. “No, it’s fine, thank you. I was just surprised.” Now that it was down, it left a lovely warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“Good. Now, here’s the first letter.” He handed it to her and sat back, watching her eagerly. “See what he says about you?”

Lily unfolded the letter and pretended to read it.

“What do you think about that, eh?” he asked when, after what she judged would be a suitable interval, she handed it back.

“Very nice.”

He blinked and the eager look faded. “Try this one.” He passed her another, and sat there watching her as again she pretended to read it.

The fire crackled and hissed gently in the hearth. The silence of the great walls of books pressed heavily on her. Her throat burned from the drink she’d just swallowed; it threatened to come back up.

It was always unbearable when she tried to read, especially with someone watching, but this was somehow worse. Deceiving this dear old man after the lovely day they’d just had.

Just tell him. Confess. Get it over with.But she couldn’t.

“Very interesting.” She refolded the letter and handed it back, hating herself for being such a coward.

He didn’t comment, just handed her another, saying, “You’ll like this one.”

She wanted to throw it in the fire. Smiling, she unfolded it and stared blindly at the unintelligible writing for as long as she could bear it.

She passed it back to him and said, “Lord Galbraith, Ithink I’d like to retire now. I have a headache starting, and—”

“You didn’t read a single one of those letters, did you?”

The silence in the room stretched. Lily said nothing. She simply hung her head, drowning in waves of shame.

“You can’t read, can you?”

She forced herself to admit it. “No,” she whispered.