Ashley shrugged. “A candle caught the draperies,” he said. “A lamp was tipped over. Who knows? There was a war in progress. There had been any number of sporadic and inexplicable atrocities.”
“There was a suspicion of arson, then?” Luke asked.
“But no proof,” Ashley said with another shrug.
“Did you have enemies?” Luke asked.
“A nationful,” Ashley said with a laugh. “I am an Englishman, Luke. Englishmen were at war with Frenchmen. And there were Indian men fighting on both sides. ’Twas not a wise time to leave one’s wife and son alone at home.”
“Anna said that you must be blaming yourself,” Luke said. “She was right. Were there no servants, Ash?”
“My valet was with me,” Ashley said. “Alice had dismissed the other servants for the night except her faithful nurse and companion, who had been with her since she was a girl. She died with them.”
“Only one servant.” Luke frowned. “Why did she dismiss the others? Was it customary? Even when you were from home?”
Ashley merely shrugged. “There were those, you know, who said I did it,” he said. “When a wife dies in inexplicable circumstances, the husband is always suspect.”
“Zounds,” Luke said.
“They were, of course, wrong.” Ashley laughed and drummed his fingers on the parapet of the bridge. “I should not have come here, Luke. I should have gone straight to Penshurst. Yes, ’tis mine. I was penniless seven years ago, but I am now in possession of two sizable fortunes: the one that I amassed for myself and the other that my wife brought me. And I am free to enjoy both, unencumbered by wife or child. What more could any man desire?”
“Stay here for a while,” Luke said. “Let yourself be loved, Ash. Let yourself be healed. I cannot know what you have suffered or what you still suffer—’tis beyond imagining. But there is love to be had here. And perhaps healing too if you will but give it a chance. If you will give it time.”
“I will stay for a few days,” Ashley said with a shrug. “And then I will be on my way to Penshurst. To my new life. ’Tis the one I have worked toward since joining the East India Company, Luke. And now ’tis within my grasp. And so he lived happily ever after.”
Luke turned his head to smile at him. “And perhaps ’twill do the trick, too,” he said. “But stay here for a while. Anna will want to fuss over you. The children will wish to become acquainted with you and discover how indulgent you can be when wheedled. And I have missed you. Come back to the house with me? I will have toast and coffee brought to the study, unless you wish for something stronger. I noticed you ate almost no breakfast after all.”
“Later,” Ashley said. “I still revel in the coolness of English air. I would not willingly exchange it so soon for the indoors.”
Luke nodded and after a moment turned to walk back to the house alone. Emmy, Ashley noticed when he looked after him, was no longer in the formal gardens with her beau.
He should have written to them a year ago. And when he returned to England, he should have gone straight to Penshurst. He was a mature man now, independent, confident, assertive, resourceful. He had spent six years achieving that effect, overcoming the handicap of having grown up as a dependent, irresponsible, bored younger son of a duke. So he had lost a wife and a child. Every day men lost wives and children.
He should have continued with the life he had made for himself and by himself.
But he had resorted to instinct rather than to cool judgment and good sense. He had come running home—home to Bowden and to Luke. And, without consciously realizing it, to Emmy. To a wild and happy child who no longer existed.
He should have told her this morning, he thought. It somehow hurt to know that she would learn it from someone else. She would be sad for him. He should have told her himself. But he knew that he could not have done so. He could not have told her the bald facts as he had to his family at breakfast. If he had said that much to Emmy, he would have grabbed for her and poured out everything else too. Somehow with Emmy words could never be used as a shield. She seemed to know them for the inadequate vehicle of truth they were. Emmy saw to the heart.
But he had no desire to use a woman as an emotional crutch.
He had a sudden unbidden image of Thomas with his soft down of gingery hair. It was an image he often held behind his sleepless eyelids when he lay down. Poor child. Poor innocent little baby. The sins of the fathers... No! It had been an accident. A tragic accident. That was all. No one, least of all God, would punish a child...
8
THEEarl of Royce was delighted by his talk with Lord Powell. He had begun to have doubts when nothing had been said after all last evening during the ball. Now he was happy and relieved for his youngest sister, whom he had not really expected to be able to settle in life. And he was grateful to his brother-in-law, who had made such efforts to find her a husband of suitable rank and fortune and one who would be kind to her. Powell seemed genuinely fond of Emily.
The earl did, though, hesitate about making the announcement on this particular day. It had not taken long for the news to spread through the house, to those who had not been present at breakfast, that Lord Ashley Kendrick’s wife and child had perished in a fire a year ago in India.
But the Duke of Harndon was pleased too to hear that the betrothal had been agreed upon and that Powell was both ready and eager to have it made public. The duke insisted the gloom that had descended on the house must be lifted and that his brother certainly had no wish to wallow in it. The celebration of a betrothal in the family would be just the thing to lighten everyone’s spirits, he maintained.
And so the announcement was made during tea, when everyone was gathered in the drawing room, including the children. Even Lord Harry Kendrick was there, asleep with open mouth against his father’s shoulder. Agnes and William had come from Wycherly Park with their children. The mood of the gathering was subdued, or rather determinedly cheerful, until Victor rose to his feet, cleared his throat for silence, and informed them that Lord Powell had offered for his sister, that Emily had accepted, and that there was no more to be said on the matter except that making the announcement gave him the greatest pleasure and that the nuptials would be celebrated some time during the summer. And that really he was no great speech maker.
There was general laughter.
Emily, standing beside her betrothed, watched her brother’s face intently and felt a sense of finality. A calm contentment. It had been done now. The words had been spoken to all the people who mattered most in her life. There was no going back now. Not that she felt any wish to go back. She needed this marriage. She might be deaf, she might be different, but she was a woman.
Lord Powell had taken her hand and was bowing over it in a touchingly courtly manner and bringing it to his lips.
