But, more important than even that, if he knew of Lord Kingston’s amorous pursuitswhyhad he warned him away. For wasn’t he cut from the same cloth? He would applaud such a way of thinking, not condemn it.
Wouldn’t he?
“But,” she said, frustration making her voice sharper than she intended, “I thought you cared for her. I had thought perhaps you might eventually offer for her.”
Again that sigh, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “You recall me telling you, Miss Merriweather, that at one time many years ago I was in love?”
Well, she certainly hadn’t expected that to come out of his mouth. She gave him a slow nod.
He frowned. It was the most troubled expression she had ever seen on his face. “What I failed to tell you at the time,” he said haltingly, as if each word were causing him pain, “was the lady I loved was your sister.”
The breath left Rosalind in a rush. She slumped back in her seat. “You loved Guinevere?”
A sad smile briefly lifted his lips. “With all my heart. How could I not? She was beautiful, and kind, and vivacious.”
“I see.” But she didn’t, really. Why had he not spoken of this before now?
“I have so enjoyed our time together since your arrival,” he continued. “Though learning of her passing has given me incredible grief, it has been such a pleasure reminiscing about her, remembering the times we shared. It was almost as if I got a piece of her back.”
Despite her confusion, she could not help but smile at that. “I admit, I feel the same way. I have not been able to talk of her in so long, I feared for a time I had dreamed her up.”
“Yes,” he replied with feeling, sitting forward. “That is it exactly. I would that things had been different. I had thought, once, that I might have a chance with her, that she might be mine.” His expression fell, and he seemed to deflate. “But I was mistaken. And then she left.”
Rosalind thought then how different life would be if her sister had fallen in love with this man instead of with Mr. Lester. Guinevere’s death had changed everything for them all. But if she had loved differently she would even now be with them. Their father would still live, ensconced in his country seat. Rosalind would not have been forced into service. She might have had a Season of her own, may have even married, had a child or two.
She tried mightily to imagine that never-to-be husband, those children that would never be born. Perhaps he might have been tall and thin, bookish and gentle. Their children would have been happy little things with dark hair and eyes.
Yet those images would not manifest. For all she could picture was Tristan by her side, a passel of rambunctious blond imps at her feet. And her heart ached for this thing she wanted so desperately.
She cleared her throat, overcome. “If only she had returned your feelings,” she said, her voice gruff with unshed tears. “If only she had not chosen Mr. Lester as the recipient of her heart. You could have taken better care of her than he ever did.”
Mr. Carlisle appeared stunned by her vehemence. Too late she forgot that he had considered Mr. Lester a friend. But even knowing this, she was astonished by his response.
“But Lester never meant to break her heart. It was beyond his control.”
“Beyond his control?” Fury burned hot. For if Mr. Carlisle had loved Guinevere as he claimed he did, he should be outraged at his friend’s treatment of her. “How can you say that, you who claims to have loved her so? Was it beyond his control to bed her, to ruin her?”
The words slipped out, fueled by outrage. In the next instant she wished she could recall them. For it was plain to see that Mr. Carlisle hadn’t an inkling of the horrible thing Mr. Lester had done to Guinevere, the extent he had destroyed her.
“But Lester never took her to his bed,” he said.
The man looked as if she had struck him. Regret washed over her, not only because she had revealed Guinevere’s shame, but that she had hurt this man who had loved her sister and given Rosalind a much-needed friend. “I am sorry, I know Mr. Lester was your friend. And he is gone and cannot defend himself against my accusations. But I swear to you that what I say is true. Mr. Lester seduced her then abandoned her to the cruelties of fate.”
“But Lester could not have done that to her.” He was growing more agitated by the second.
It must be such a shock to him, to learn of what his friend did to the woman he loved. He could not comprehend it, it was so horrifying to him. She leaned forward and placed a comforting hand on his. “Mr. Carlisle I assure you, he did. She told me herself that she loved him. I heard it from her dearest friend, who she stayed with during her time in London, that she was seen going off alone with him, that later she reappeared quite distraught.”
But Mr. Carlisle was shaking his head. “He could not have done it, I tell you.”
Rosalind felt fury boil up again at his insistence in his friend’s innocence. “And why not?”
He threw up his hands. “Because Lester preferred men,” he blurted.
Silence fell over the room, so thick Rosalind thought she would drown in it.
It was that moment that a maid came in with the tea tray. She faltered as she came closer, sensing the tension. Depositing the tray on the low table between Rosalind and Mr. Carlisle, she bobbed a quick curtsy before rushing out.
“You are lying,” Rosalind managed, her voice a hushed rasp. “You are protecting his memory.”
