“Aye, but I fear the damage is done. Trust, once broken, is a damnably difficult thing to repair.” He winced and rubbed his temple. “The way Louisa looked at me in her sitting-room the other day, as if she despised me. I just cannot get that image out of my head.”
“She hasn’t given you a chance to explain yet. Once she does, she’ll see how things are, which is precisely how they’ve always been.”
Maxwell didn’t respond. Since their ugly exchange in her sitting-room, Louisa had taken great pains to avoid him, day and night. A pall had settled over the entire house, deepening the shadows and amplifying the silence. There had been moments when he’d been tempted to seek her out, to demand she sit and listen to him. But so far, he’d resisted the urge, a little voice telling him it was yet too soon, to wait till she’d be more amenable to hearing what he had to say. If that day should ever arrive.
As for his suspicions about Flora’s involvement in Louisa’s accident…well, perhaps he was over-reacting a little. But it seemed almost certain that Flora had been there before and wandered around the vicinity of the manor unnoticed. Might she have seen Louisa riding out on that summer’s day and followed the path up to the moor? Had she been the obscure figure in the mist? Had she startled Byron? If so, it meant she had then left the scene without giving aid to Louisa, or even summoning someone to help. It was all conjecture, but Maxwell’s stomach tightened at the mere thought of it, nonetheless.
Gritting his teeth, he rose and went to the sideboard. “Want one?” he asked, lifting the whisky decanter from its tray.
Finlay glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It’s not even ten o’clock, Max”
“So?”
“So, it’s a little early for imbibing, don’t you think?”
“Not when you’ve been up since half-past-three.” He poured himself a good measure, downed it in three solid gulps, and then frowned into his empty glass. “Here’s the funny thing, brother. Marriage was never something I’d considered. Was never something I evenwanted. Then Dent approached me, offering me his aristocratic, undowried daughter for a price. And I thought, why not? Being shackled to Miss Chessington would be at least tolerable and not completely without benefits.Our feelings, or lack thereof, were mutual after all. But then I botched everything up at Richmond’s party, and found myself married to a girl who, despite all my efforts to the contrary, somehow managed to turn my well-ordered world upside down.”
Finlay sighed. “Stop it, Max.”
Maxwell grimaced. “I have to admit, I resented it at first. The effect Louisa had on me I mean. I even fought against it. But then I came to realize that I’d actually acquired something terribly rare, something so damnperfect, it defied description. Marriage, of all things, was actually turning out to be my greatest investment, and had the potential to be my finest achievement. And now, Goddamnit…” He hurled the glass at the opposite wall, where it shattered in a hailstorm of shards. “I’ve buggered that up as well.”
*
Seated at herdesk, Louisa lifted her head, wondering at the noise she’d heard, like a crash of crockery or glass. Perhaps one of the servants had dropped a tray. She listened for a few moments longer and then, hearing nothing more, turned her attention back to her journal.
The last two entries had taken little time to write.
On one page:I met her today.
On the other:Everything has changed.
More than enough to remind her of what had occurred over the past two days. As if she’d ever need reminding.
For now, she was all at sea, eyes gritty from crying, heart and mind in torment. Not a word had been spoken between her and Maxwell since the confrontation in the sitting-room. Part of her longed for him to come to her, to explain everything in such a way that she was left with no doubt about his fidelity and hislove. But she also feared his words would not be enough, that doubt would remain, tainting their marriage and their future. It had all been so special, and now she ached with anguish, no less than if she’d taken a physical blow to the ribs. At times, she also burned with resentment, her spine stiffening as fierce little outbursts of fury replaced her grief.
Heaving a quick sigh, she closed the cap on her inkwell, set her pen in its stand, and went over to the window to observe the weather. By now, most of the leaves were off the trees, and today were being scattered by a vigorous breeze. But the skies, despite having a few clouds, did not look overly threatening. It was, in fact, a fine day for a ride. And she hadn’t been out in several days.
Sometime later, having summoned Archer to help her prepare, and issued instructions to have Byron saddled, Louisa descended the stairs and headed for the door.
“Where are you going, Louisa?”
She turned to see Maxwell standing in the doorway to his office, the sight of him momentarily stalling her response. Outside of the bedroom, she had never seen him so unkempt; hair ungroomed, jaw dark with growth. He looked exhausted besides, and perhaps not quite sober. A sudden ache squeezed her heart, and, for a moment, her misery and anger were replaced by a surge of compassion. But only for a moment. His suffering was not because of anything she’d done.
She shrugged. “Well, quite obviously, I’m going for a ride.”
“Over the moor?”
“Yes.”
His expression didn’t change. “I’d rather you didn’t.”
Louisa’s eyes widened. “Are youforbiddingme?”
“No. I’m merely asking you not to go.”
“And may I know why that might be?”
He hesitated for the briefest of moments and then glanced at the transom window above the front door. “The weather is not suited to it.”
