Finally, he walked forward until he stood before her. For a long moment, he said nothing, his eyes taking in her appearance. She was embarrassed that her clothing was in tatters, her hair in a rough tangle. What a sight she must look to him.
“Beatrice,” he said. His voice was cool, holding no emotion at all. He could have been talking to a stone, not the wife he hadn’t seen in three years.
“Henry.” She nodded to acknowledge him, nervously wiping her hands upon the apron she was wearing. “It’s been a long time.” So long, she wasn’t accustomed to having him here. She’d had to make so many decisions on her own, learning from her failures.
“It has,” he said.
Say something else,she wanted to plead.Let me know that you missed me. Anything.
But he only glanced behind her at the burned roof and skeletal stone walls. “What happened to our home?”
“Someone set fire to it a few weeks ago.” She lifted her chin and nodded at the crofters, who were carrying out the debris from inside. “I wrote to you, but I suppose you never got the letter. We’re still in the process of rebuilding.”
“And the girls?”
She softened at his mention of them. “They’re fine, and all of them are staying in London. Victoria got married a few weeks ago, to the Duke of Worthingstone.”
That,at least, provoked a reaction from him. Victoria hadn’t left the house in five years, and yet she’d made a splendid marriage. Although Beatrice hadn’t done anything to play matchmaker, she couldn’t resist gloating.
“A duke? For our Victoria?” Her husband couldn’t hide his shock, and at least it gave them something to discuss. She led him inside, stepping over the rubble of burned wood and stone.
“It was a shock to me, too,” Beatrice admitted. “I never dreamed she would ever find a husband at all, much less a duke.”
“I’ve missed a great deal, it seems.”
His voice was rough, and she realized he was no longer talking about their daughters or the house. His eyes locked on to her, as if he couldn’t believe he was seeing her again. He hadn’t looked at her like that in at least ten years.
Tears sprang to her eyes, but she wouldn’t allow herself to cry. “You have, yes.”
She touched the front door, considering whether to lead him back outside. Perhaps he wouldn’t want to see how badly the house was burned.
“There’s a lot of damage inside,” she said. “I’ve been living at Eiloch Hill for the past fortnight, but I believe the roof is sound now.” She opened the door wider, deciding it was best if he knew everything. “We don’t know who set the fire, but it will take months to restore the house,” she admitted. “The duke has sent some men to help, but I’ve been trying to salvage our belongings as best I can.”
Her husband spoke not a word, his attention upon the mess that had once been their home. Had he heard anything she’d said?
“Henry?” she asked, pausing at the parlor entrance. “Are you all right? Does your arm pain you?”
He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
She turned around, meaning to lead him into the rest of the house, and it took him a moment before he followed. Though she spoke in a constant stream of conversation, telling him about the crofters who had offered their help to clear out the house, she sensed that he wasn’t listening at all.
She broke off in mid-sentence, waiting for him to reply. He never said a word but doggedly followed her to the other side of the house and back through the kitchen to the exterior.
Seeing him again made it so hard to hold back her emotions. She wiped at her cheeks, hiding her feelings. Straightening her spine, she pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and turned to face him.
“We’ll rebuild the house,” she assured him, taking in a deep breath. “His Grace kindly offered us the use of Eiloch Hill for as long as we need it.”
Henry stepped forward, and she went motionless. For a moment, both of them stood still, waiting for the other to speak.
In the end, he reached out and touched her cheek. His hand was cold against her skin, but the caress went down to her bones.
And in his eyes, she saw regret.
Two months later
Juliette was restless. Although she’d continued to see Paul at social gatherings, he’d been careful not to push beyond friendship. He would dance with her once, and the rest of the evening, he maintained a respectful distance.
But every time she saw Paul speak to another young woman or dance with her, it was like a splinter digging beneath her skin. A possessiveness dominated her mood, and she couldn’t understandwhythe jealousy was taking command of her.
