Remington shrugged, trying not to appear too involved. “He does not speak of her, and I did not press him. I have no idea why he hates his wife.”
Rory watched her sister a moment. “Are you upset with this? I mean, the woman suddenly showing up?”
Remington focused on the material in front of her. “It matters not to me.”
Rory snorted. “Remi, we know you and the Dark Knight have eyes for each other. It’s no secret.”
Remington’s head came up and she looked at her sisters in surprise. “What…what are you talking about? He’s married, and so am I.”
“Aye, you are both married– so what?” Rory said. “You hate Guy, and he hates his wife, too. Isn’t it natural for you two to come together since each finds the other attractive?”
Remington did not know what to say. She lowered her head to her sewing. To her surprise, Rory reached out and gently touched her hand. “We do not blame you, Remi, nor do we think you are wrong. God knows you deserve some happiness.”
Remington kept her head lowered and tears sprang to her eyes. Her emotions were running so wild that she was having difficulty controlling them of late. Rarely, if ever, had she cried in front of her sisters simply because she always forced herself to be the strong one. If the entire world was coming down around them, she wanted her sisters to look up to her and see just how unaffected she was by everything.
Skye crept forward on her knees and put her hands on her sister’s legs. “You are crying,” she accused softly. “Why, Remi? What’s wrong?”
Remington’s sewing plopped into her lap. “Nothing is wrong. It’s just that….oh, nothing is wrong. Go back to work.”
“It’s that bitch, isn’t it?” Rory bristled. “She’s upsetting you simply by being here.”
“It’s not her,” Remington retorted, sniffing loudly. “It’s everything.”
“Whateverything?” Jasmine asked softly. “Do you love him, Remi?”
Remington looked stumped. She gazed back at her blue-eyed sister a moment, thinking of a thousand denials but not one would come forth. “Aye.”
She could hear the collective sighs. Even Dane sat up from where he was playing on the stone hearth, his eyes wide at his mother.
“Truly? You love him?” Skye gasped.
Remington almost contradicted her statement simply to protect herself. She did not know why she had even confessed, but she had. Her shoulders slumped in resignation of what she had done, of what was yet to come.
“He’s the most wonderful, caring, sensitive man I have ever known and I cannot help but love him,” she said softly. “He’s the man dreams are made of.”
“But…he’s so big. And frightening,” Skye protested. “God, Remi, he’s the Dark Knight. All of England fears the man.”
“Not me,” she said simply. “He calls me his angel.”
They were all silent a moment, realizing Remington’s admission began to open the way for a whole new world. If she wasn’t afraid to allow herself feelings after what she had been through, then mayhap they should not be afraid, either. Each one of the sisters had her eye on a prospective knight, but they had been hesitant to move beyond simple looks and casual words.
“But what of his wife?” Rory wanted to know.
“He promised me he would send her away,” Remington said, picking up her sewing. “I am not worried.”
The sisters looked at each other doubtfully, but Remington seemed confident enough. Since the subject was apparently closed for the moment, they resumed their sewing.
Dane approached his mother solicitously, leaning against her arm. “Is Sir Gaston going to be my new father?”
Remington gazed into her son’s eyes. “Nay, Dane, I am afraid not. I realize it is difficult for you to understand, but he will never be your father. Yet he will always care for you a great deal.”
Dane looked puzzled and thoughtful. He turned away from Remington and went back to his toys.
Remington sighed heavily and picked up her sewing again. She was glad he had not asked any more questions because, truthfully, she wasn’t sure how to answer him. How could she explain it to him when she herself did not understand it?
Someone rapped heavily on the door and Skye opened it to find Oleg standing in the archway. His old face was lined and haggard as he eyed the four women.
“The Mistress of Mt. Holyoak requests your presence at the nooning meal, ladies,” he said.
