Page 110 of The Hollow of Fear

“About me?”

“And him. Yes.”

Livia didn’t know whether to blush in delight or tremble with fear. “This is—this is—”

“I know,” said Charlotte, handing her a plate of sandwiches. “Life never takes a gentle turn; it always swerves.”

Livia ate two sandwiches without knowing what they had for fillings. “What should I do?”

“What you would like to do, I hope.”

Livia set down her plate to throw her hands in the air. “But I don’t even have any means of contacting him, to tell him that I don’t want any more notes or presents.”

Charlotte popped a fancy-looking tartlet into her mouth. “You can tell me. I’ll pass the message along.”

Livia had been gathering herself up to launch into a tirade about how the young man had never requested permission to write her, how he had never even apologized for misrepresenting himself, and how she really couldn’t care at all if he disappeared off the face of the earth.

Charlotte’s answer punctured all that blather.

“Oh,” said Livia—and couldn’t think of another word.

Charlotte poured Livia a fresh cup of tea. “You don’t need to make up your mind until you are ready. And you don’t need to consult me on the matter, unless you wish to. And if you have any more questions, I’ll be happy to answer them, but I’m almost sure you’d prefer to pose them to Mrs. Watson instead.”

Livia took a sip of tea and shook her head to clear it. “When—ah—when do I need to arrive at Stern Hollow? Mrs. Newell must be expecting me.”

“If you start from here in half an hour, you should be in good time,” Charlotte said, picking up another tartlet. “And by the way, I know him as Mr. Marbleton. Mr. Stephen Marbleton.”

She bit into the pastry with relish.

Lord Ingram calledupon Rampling Cottage the next afternoon, during Mrs. Watson’s nap time.

“My, the prodigal lover returns,” murmured Charlotte as she offered him a seat.

He gave her a look.

“Very well,” she said with a sigh. “The constant friend returns.”

She had severely underestimated his unwillingness to give up his virtue, even after she had explained that to misdirect Lord Bancroft’s attention, they must become lovers in truth.He would check the sheets. You know he would.

I can contribute to the sheets by myself, he’d said stubbornly.

And you think he wouldn’t be able to tell the difference?

Frankly she’d had no idea whether that was a valid argument, her experience having been too scant on that front. Lord Ingram had, however, grimaced—and, finally, yielded. But not without further conditions.

It will be only for the sake of keeping us safe from Bancroft. It ends the moment I am arrested. And it doesn’t count: I have not agreed to become your lover, either for now or for the future.

Goodness gracious, you are a stick-in-the-mud.

And you clearly have a weakness for sticks-in-the-mud, since I’m constantly fending off your advances.

She’d sighed.I am no longer a woman anyone can compromise. You are no longer a married man. Not to mention I have at my disposal every manner of contraceptive known to woman. Why do you still object so?

Perhaps my body in bed is enough for you. But the reverse isn’t enough for me. I have already endured years of unhappiness because I wanted more than what a woman could give. I will not put myself through that again—especially not with you.

And what could she have said to that?

Present day Lord Ingram accepted a cup of tea from Charlotte. They chatted about his guests, Bernadine’s progress, and his plans to host another house party at Christmas, this time for his fellow devotees of archaeology, including Inspector and Mrs. Treadles.