He nodded. “I remember. You were wearing a pink gown that day with a hundred pearl buttons down the back. You read poetry to me in the library, and then I took great delight in rucking up your skirts and licking you until you screamed.”
Oh my.Her knees nearly went weak at his words, the memory. “Youdoremember.”
“I remember everything. Every single moment we have ever shared together has been imprinted upon my mind and heart.” He was solemn. “How could I forget anything to do with you, Tilly mine? You are everything to me.”
She swallowed a lump of emotion, blinked away tears that rushed to her eyes. “You are everything to me also. We will fill the shelves with poetry if you like.”
Truly he amazed her. Poetry? After all that happened to him, this man remembered poetry? But of course he did. He remembered the goodness. He believed in promises; he looked for the rainbow after the storm. He doted upon their son, he savored their love. He was uniquely, wonderfully the other half of herself she had not known was missing until he had appeared, making her realize how much she needed him. And then he had been torn from her. Thank God he had returned. Their love was that much more of a miracle for all the incredibly painful times they had faced.
“I do not want any part of him to remain here,” he said.
“I will see the books packed away and sent to a bookseller. This study is yours now, whenever we are in London.”
“I shall keep it in good order until Robby is old enough to manage it himself,” Adrian said, resuming his walk.
And there was another manner in which he was nothing like the man who had sired him. Whereas Longleigh had done everything in his power to destroy his own son, Adrian was doing everything to protect his. He was willing to allow the world to continue to believe Robby was the son of the Duke of Longleigh, the heir, to protect Robby and Tilly both.
“That will not be for some time,” she said, watching Adrian’s progress. “While we are at Coddington Hall, I will have the rugs replaced. Have you any suggestions?”
“I defer to your wisdom in the matter,” he said, moving to the desk at last.
“New wall coverings shall also be in order. Which color do you prefer?”
“Green.” He began opening the drawers of the heavy, ornate desk. “Like my beautiful wife’s eyes.”
Charmer.
“Do you know, I do not think I remembered to check any of the drawers after Longleigh died?” She drew nearer, curious. “What is within them?”
“Nothing of import, as far I can detect. He stopped when one of the drawers was locked, glancing up at her. “Have you a key to this one?”
“Locked? Are you certain? Perhaps it is merely jammed.” She craned her neck to see over her husband’s broad shoulder.
He tugged again. “Locked.”
“That is odd,” she said. “But then, I never spent time within this chamber, as it was entirely his domain, and I endeavored to keep myself as far from his reach as possible.”
Adrian’s capable fingers were moving, searching the drawer, feeling beneath it. “Have you a hair pin to spare?”
She recalled his ease with picking the lock when they had ridden the cycle through the rain that day at Coddington Hall. Reaching into her chignon, she pulled one free and handed it to him.
He slid it into the lock adorning the front of the drawer. A bit more movement on his behalf, his brow furrowed with concentration, and—
One click, and it slid open.
Inside, there was a neatly organized pile of what appeared to be correspondence.
“Letters,” she said, wondering at the tidiness. They were stacked in piles, secured with cords.
“These are from me,” Adrian said, pulling a small stack free of the drawer. “I cannot believe Longleigh kept them out of sentimentality.”
“What are the others?” Curious, Tilly reached for a much thicker collection of letters, reading the name atop the first one aloud. “Mr. George Shaw.”
What business could Longleigh have had with Pippa’s husband? She pulled at the cord and extracted the first letter, reading aloud.
“I am indeed adept at pursuing such matters, and to the satisfaction of many associations, although certainly none as venerable and noble as Your Grace…”
One by one, she paged through the letters, a picture being painted for her that became increasingly troubling. By the time she was halfway through them, the devastating truth of what they had just inadvertently uncovered was painfully apparent.
