He moved away and drew a chair nearer to the fire and sat. He put his head in his hands.
She sat on the rug, cross-legged at his feet. She waited until she heard his breathing slow and she knew he was calming.
“Twenty years,” she said. “A long time. Your parents were alive when he began to work here.”
“Yes.” He did not look up. “He started as a footboy. His father was a footman here but died young.”
“He was like a member of the family, then,” she said. “No wonder you grieve.”
“I’m not grieving,” he said. “I want him to hang.”
“He was here when your parents were alive, and when Gerard was alive. He was here all the time I was gone. He was a part of your life—”
“And I trusted him. Implicitly. And he betrayed my trust. Yes, yes. I know.” He looked up. “He was, in so many ways, the perfect servant. I can’t help thinking he would have been altogether the perfect servant had I paid attention.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Whatever happens, the Mohammedans say it’s the will of God. They would say it was the will of God that your servant became corrupt and stole from you. They would say it was the will of God that, when he was caught, instead of repenting, he turned to violence. And so I wonder if maybe you thinkyouare God. You think that because you looked the other way, it’s your fault this man turned bad. Well, perhaps that’s what happens when one is a duke and everyone defers to him. He thinks he’s God.”
“I don’t think…” He trailed off.
She said nothing.
He regarded her for a long time. “You told me you could dance and sing and compose poetry. You told me you knew all the arts of pleasing a man. You told me you could manage a household—even eunuchs. You never mentioned you could argue philosophy, too.”
“Being in the harem gives a woman plenty of time to think,” she said. “I think about these things. Especially I think about the way men think. And most important to me is the waymyman thinks.”
“Or doesn’t.”
She smiled and leaned back and rested her head against his leg. “I’m glad I married you, because your heart is kind and generous. You’re so angry with this servant, and you hate him, yet you grieve for him and think of the ways you could have prevented what’s happened. While you’re thinking this, I’m thinking of how cruel fate has been to you, taking your mother and father and your brother. I know you’ve tried to close your heart. But you didn’t close it to me, and you don’t even close it to a man who has so cruelly betrayed you. I don’t mind anymore that I love you.”
She felt his body go still then. She was aware of the atmosphere changing.
She felt his fingers threading through her hair.
He cleared his throat. “Zoe, I think you said you love me.”
“I did say it. I do love you. With all my heart.”
“I see.” There was a long pause, then he said, “For how long has this been going on?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Sometimes I think it started a long, long time ago.”
“You might have mentioned it.”
“I didn’t want to encourage it,” she said. “I thought it was a bad idea.”
He laughed.
She looked up.
“I feel the same way,” he said. “Exactly.”
She took his hand from her head and brought it to her mouth and kissed each knuckle. She would have done more, but a servant appeared and said, apologetically, that a Bow Street officer was downstairs and wishing to speak to His Grace.
It was a long night and a long fortnight for the Duke of Marchmont.
Harrison was one responsibility one couldn’t pass to others. Marchmont went to Bow Street and gave evidence at the preliminary hearing. Harrison was bound over for trial and sent to Newgate Prison. The trial took place swiftly, as was usual, and the jury swiftly found Harrison guilty. The question of his sanity was raised, but his demeanor was what it had always been. Judge and jury observed the speech and behavior of the perfect servant. The judge sentenced him to be hanged alongside Mrs. Dunstan.
It was what Marchmont had said he wanted. It was what the man deserved.
