decision until after I speak with Glasbury. I will leave you now, if you are sure that you can manage on your own. I have engagements in London that I should not miss, or it may raise curiosity. I will visit you tomorrow, however.”
“That is a lot of riding, Mr. Hampton. You do not need to journey here daily. It will be an inexcusable inconvenience to you. Even on horse, riding cross-country, it will take hours each way.”
“I will return tomorrow afternoon, madame.”
She accompanied him to the kitchen and stepped out into the garden with him. He did not like leaving her here, isolated and alone. He did not mind solitude, and often sought it, but he knew that he was unusual.
She noticed his hesitation. “I will be fine. Thank you for doing this for me. For helping me. I fear that I sounded very ungrateful while we dined. I am not, and I want you to know that.”
“Until tomorrow, then.”
He walked to the curricle with her bold accusation still in his head.
Instead of getting in, he pivoted and returned to where she stood.
“I never thought you were ruined. That day I saw that you were frightened and sad and shocked. To have suggested that you have an affair would have been inappropriate at any time, and especially insensitive and cruel then. But I never thought you were ruined forever.”
She turned to the door. “Well, I thought I was, even if you did not.”
chapter
6
P enelope read a history of the ancient Etruscans in the library after Mr. Hampton left. When the sun moved enough to leave her spot in shadow, she set aside her book and debated how to fill the solitude facing her.
The temptation to seek some evidence in this cottage of Mr. Hampton’s lover kept prodding her.
An odd vexation simmered whenever she contemplated the feminine chamber above. She knew that was stupid. It was foolish to assume his life was a blank in the areas she did not know about. If it were, there would have been months,
years,
when he did nothing but practice law and attend clients’ parties and occasionally provide advice to the Countess of Glasbury.
None of which made the intrusive speculation and peculiar annoyance go away.
She walked over to the library’s writing desk and peered at the drawers that she definitely should not open.
At least if she knew there was no
current
lover, she would not feel so strange here. The notion that an invisible persondined with them had made her peevish in the sitting room. A female person, lovely no doubt, whom Mr. Hampton never saw as ruined for men.
He had lied about that. Or rather he had chosen to hear her words only one way. Perhaps he truly had not thought that she would be incapable of such intimacies again. However, she did not doubt that in his eyes she had indeed been ruined, hopelessly soiled, as far as men were concerned. Of course, every man in the world remained ignorant of those sordid details so it had not mattered much.
Except with Mr. Hampton, who was not ignorant at all. However, since he was just an old friend, it had not really mattered too much with him, either.
She impulsively pulled open a drawer. A stack of papers lay in it. Battling guilt, imagining she heard his step behind her, she lifted the top one and unfolded it.
She read the first two lines and quickly returned it to the drawer and shut it away.
It was a love poem, written in Mr. Hampton’s hand. A draft, full of changes, before the final version was sent.
Well, that was that. There had been lovers. There probably was one in London right now.
She slowly paced through the echoing rooms and forced herself to think about the choice they had discussed today. If she committed adultery and showed no discretion, would the earl divorce her?
Her independence had been contingent upon her never having lovers. Should she ever court scandal, or embarrass Glasbury that way, all support would cease and he would seek her return.
Unsaid, but understood, was that if he had evidence ofadultery her own
“That is a lot of riding, Mr. Hampton. You do not need to journey here daily. It will be an inexcusable inconvenience to you. Even on horse, riding cross-country, it will take hours each way.”
“I will return tomorrow afternoon, madame.”
She accompanied him to the kitchen and stepped out into the garden with him. He did not like leaving her here, isolated and alone. He did not mind solitude, and often sought it, but he knew that he was unusual.
She noticed his hesitation. “I will be fine. Thank you for doing this for me. For helping me. I fear that I sounded very ungrateful while we dined. I am not, and I want you to know that.”
“Until tomorrow, then.”
He walked to the curricle with her bold accusation still in his head.
Instead of getting in, he pivoted and returned to where she stood.
“I never thought you were ruined. That day I saw that you were frightened and sad and shocked. To have suggested that you have an affair would have been inappropriate at any time, and especially insensitive and cruel then. But I never thought you were ruined forever.”
She turned to the door. “Well, I thought I was, even if you did not.”
chapter
6
P enelope read a history of the ancient Etruscans in the library after Mr. Hampton left. When the sun moved enough to leave her spot in shadow, she set aside her book and debated how to fill the solitude facing her.
The temptation to seek some evidence in this cottage of Mr. Hampton’s lover kept prodding her.
An odd vexation simmered whenever she contemplated the feminine chamber above. She knew that was stupid. It was foolish to assume his life was a blank in the areas she did not know about. If it were, there would have been months,
years,
when he did nothing but practice law and attend clients’ parties and occasionally provide advice to the Countess of Glasbury.
None of which made the intrusive speculation and peculiar annoyance go away.
She walked over to the library’s writing desk and peered at the drawers that she definitely should not open.
At least if she knew there was no
current
lover, she would not feel so strange here. The notion that an invisible persondined with them had made her peevish in the sitting room. A female person, lovely no doubt, whom Mr. Hampton never saw as ruined for men.
He had lied about that. Or rather he had chosen to hear her words only one way. Perhaps he truly had not thought that she would be incapable of such intimacies again. However, she did not doubt that in his eyes she had indeed been ruined, hopelessly soiled, as far as men were concerned. Of course, every man in the world remained ignorant of those sordid details so it had not mattered much.
Except with Mr. Hampton, who was not ignorant at all. However, since he was just an old friend, it had not really mattered too much with him, either.
She impulsively pulled open a drawer. A stack of papers lay in it. Battling guilt, imagining she heard his step behind her, she lifted the top one and unfolded it.
She read the first two lines and quickly returned it to the drawer and shut it away.
It was a love poem, written in Mr. Hampton’s hand. A draft, full of changes, before the final version was sent.
Well, that was that. There had been lovers. There probably was one in London right now.
She slowly paced through the echoing rooms and forced herself to think about the choice they had discussed today. If she committed adultery and showed no discretion, would the earl divorce her?
Her independence had been contingent upon her never having lovers. Should she ever court scandal, or embarrass Glasbury that way, all support would cease and he would seek her return.
Unsaid, but understood, was that if he had evidence ofadultery her own
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