“I would disabuse you of any notion that I put Harry up to that,” he said stiffly. “And I apologize for any embarrassment you may have suffered. The embarrassment Iknowyou suffered, in fact. And for the insult. You must have been outraged and justifiably so.”
“It must be wet among the trees,” she said. “And there is no real shelter in that direction. The rain is going to come down again at any moment, I believe. There is a summerhouse the other way.” She pointed to the east. “Have you seen it? It is lovely in midsummer, for it is shaded by trees on three sides and affords a lovely view over the village and the countryside beyond on the fourth side. It is also dry inside on a rainy day. There is a good path leading to it.”
“I have seen it,” he said. “I have even sat inside it a time or two. Are you wanting a word with me, Miss Westcott? I would have expected it to be the last thing you would desire.”
“I thought perhaps we ought to talk,” she said, “rather than tiptoe about each other for the next few days, either pretending that the other does not exist or else pretending that Harry did not say what he said. I could wring his neck.”
“You would have to stand in line,” he said grimly. “I was prepared to do the tiptoeing. But you are probably right. Let us go and talk, then. Good God!”
The exclamation was occasioned by Beauty’s decision at the very moment when Abigail had started down the steps to shake herself dry. There was a considerable amount of her to shake.
“I was beyond range,” she assured him not quite truthfully, laughing just a bit, when the dog had finished.
She led the way east along the terrace and around to the back of the house, where a graveled path had been made across the east lawn and through a grove of trees to the clearing beyond where the round wood and glass summerhouse stood. It was at the top of a gradual slope so that there was indeed a panoramic view to the south.
A low-backed, leather-cushioned bench was built around the inside wall. It was a private place to come with a book—or a companion with whom one wished to have an uninterrupted conversation. Although perhaps they would say no more to each other here than they could have said on the steps outside the house.
“It was unpardonable of Harry to say what he did,” Abigail began when they had seated themselves, some distance between them. Beauty had settled on the floor for a nap in a shaft of what was bound to be very temporary sunshine. “Buthaveyou considered marrying again as a way of convincing a court to return your daughter to you?”
There was a lengthy silence. What he had or had not considered was, of course, none of her business. But hehadconfided in her this morning, quite unbidden, and he had repeated that confidence to Harry this afternoon. He could not expect them to remain mute and unconcerned.
“I did not have a happy marriage,” he said curtly at last. “I am not likely to wish to repeat the experience.”
Frankly, she was not surprised. He was a hard and dour man. And a very silent man most of the time. She did not envy any woman who chose to marry him. She knew nothing about his late wife, but... Well, just that. She knew nothing.
“Is that perhaps an unreasonable attitude?” she asked. “My mother had a long and unhappy marriage—or supposed marriage—to my father, but she is extremely happynow with Marcel. My cousin Elizabeth had a miserable first marriage but is very happy in her second. Why would you assume that if you married again you would be as unhappy as you were the first time?”
Perhaps because it had been his fault. Perhaps because...Hadhe been rough or violent with his wife? Such men surely did not change.
“Why even talk of happiness or unhappiness,” he asked her, “when, if I followed Harry’s suggestion, my sole purpose in marrying a second time would be to get my daughter back? It would be insulting to the woman.”
“Why?” she asked. “You would be choosing a mother for your daughter as well as a wife for yourself. Presumably just anyone would not do. You would choose with care. Where is the insult in that?”
“You are wrong in one assumption,” he said. “I would be choosingonlya mother for Katy. Or, rather, a woman upon whom a judge might look favorably as a mother. And what would happen if it did not work and I still lost custody of my child? I would be stuck with the wife and she would be stuck with me with no reason for being together except a nuptial service and a signature in a register that would bind us for life.”
“That is a very despairing attitude,” she told him.
“Or a realistic one,” he said. “I have little to recommend me to a judge, Miss Westcott. I am fully aware of that.”
He was right, she thought. However had he come to marry the daughter of a general, who also apparently had a title if his wife wasLadyPascoe? If it came to a matter of power and influence, as it well might, his position would be very weak indeed.
“What is your home like?” she asked.
He turned his head and looked narrow eyed at her. “It iscalled a cottage,” he said. “Actually it is larger than the sort of home that description calls to mind. Yet it is not quite a manor, I suppose.”
She was surprised. However had he acquired it? Had it come with his marriage? A wedding gift, perhaps, from her parents? It seemed unlikely. How did he maintain it? She waded all the way into impolite inquisitiveness.
“Do you have money?” she asked him.
The narrow-eyed look lasted longer this time, and she was very aware of his size, of his facial scar, of his masculinity. She was close to being suffocated by it, in fact. She ought to have opened a few of the windows before sitting down. She fully expected that he would rip up at her.
“I have money,” he said softly. “Did you imagine I was still a penniless urchin?”
“I did notimagineanything,” she said, feeling the heat in her cheeks. “I did not know. It is why I asked.”
And then the ripping up came after all—in a quiet voice that was somehow worse than a bellow would have been.
“You did not explain,” he said, “that you were inviting me here to interrogate me, Miss Westcott. I thought it was to clear the air after Harry invited us to marry each other. I feel as though I am being interviewed for employment. As your husband, perhaps.”
