No, none of them would ever forget.
Henever would, Flavian thought—which was a strange thought, when he suspected there were still all sorts of things he did not even remember. But he would never forgetonething. One thing, two persons.
Would he ever forgive?
“I am going away at first light tomorrow,” he said abruptly. “I’ll be gone for a few days, but I’ll be b-back.”
They all looked at him in surprise. He had been thinking about it all afternoon but had made no definite decision until this precise moment. His whole life these days seemed to be governed by sudden impulses.
“Going away for afew days, Flave?” Vincent asked. “When this is our final week together?”
“I have some urgent business to attend to,” he said. “I’ll be back.”
They all continued to look at him—even Vincent, whose sightless gaze missed his face by only a few inches. But none of them asked the obvious question. None of them would, of course. They would not intrude. And he did not volunteer the answer.
“If you are going far, Flave,” Ralph said, “take my curricle. Just be sure to leave my team at a decent posting inn. You can pick them up on your way back.”
“It’s London,” Flavian said. “And thank you, Ralph. I will.”
“If you are leaving at cockcrow,” George said, “we had better get to bed. It is already well after midnight.”
***
But I have not left yet. Say no when I am leaving if you must, but not before then. Promise me?
And Agnes had promised. It had been a remarkably easy promise to keep. How could one say no—or yes, for that matter—when one was not given the chance? For four whole days she had not set eyes upon Viscount Ponsonby even once, and the visit was almost at an end. After he had gone from here, he had told her, he would not return. Ever.
Well, he might as well be gone now, and she might as well start getting over him now.
If she had not been a lady long practiced in quiet self-control, Agnes thought as the days crawled by, she would surely start throwing things—preferably things that would smash.
She was on the rotating church sick visiting list with Dora, and it was their turn this week. Not that they ignored ailing or aged neighbors at other times, but this week attending to them was their official responsibility. Dora took along her little harp wherever they went so that she could provide some soothing music—and occasionally a lively tune to entertain the children or to set aged toes to tapping. Agnes took along small watercolor sketches of wildflowers she had painted especially for such occasions and propped them on mantels or tables close to the sick person and left them there.
She was glad of the distraction. The visits helped pass the days and stopped her from expecting a knock on the door every waking moment. She looked forward fervently to the time when she could stop counting days and pick up the threads of her life again and be at peace once more.
Though she suspected that peace would not come easily once hope was gone. And she shuddered at the idea that it washopeshe still felt.
On the fifth day Lady Harper called with Lady Trentham just after Agnes and Dora had arrived home. Lady Trentham had come to beg the favor of a viewing of Agnes’s paintings. Both ladies looked at them all with flattering attention and much appreciation, though they would not stay to take tea. They had come on an errand from Sophia and had one more call to make, upon Mr. and Mrs. Harrison. They had already been to the vicarage. Sophia hoped some of her friends and Viscount Darleigh’s would come up to the house this evening for cards and conversation and refreshments.
“Do say you will both come,” Lady Trentham said, looking from Dora to Agnes. “We will be at Middlebury Park for only one more day after today. How the time has flown. It has been lovely, though, has it not, Samantha?”
“It has been a pure joy,” Lady Harper said, “to observe such a very close-knit friendship as that of our husbands and the other five. I do wish, though, that Viscount Ponsonby had not gone away.”
Agnes’s heart and stomach plummeted in the direction of her slippers, and it felt as though they collided on the way down.
“He has left?” Dora asked.
“Oh, he assured the others he would return,” Lady Harper said, “but they do miss him. And he gave no explanation, the wretched man.”
Lady Trentham’s eyes were resting upon Agnes. “I am sure hewillreturn if he said he would,” she said. “Besides, he took the Earl of Berwick’s curricle and horses, and will feel obliged to return them. Will you come this evening? Miss Debbins? Mrs. Keeping? We were to tell you that no would not be an acceptable answer and that the carriage will be sent for you at seven.”
“In that case, we must be gracious about it and say yes,” Dora said, laughing. “There is no need to send the carriage, though. We will be happy to walk.”
Lady Harper laughed. “We were told you would say just that, and we were given an answer from Lord Darleigh himself. We were to inform you that the carriage will be here whether you choose to walk beside it or ride inside.”
“Well, then. We would look silly walking beside it, I suppose.” Dora laughed again.
He was gone. Without a word.
