She hesitated, as if expecting protest or reproach; Neil wondered whether she had braced for defiance. He had not the strength for anger now. Offering a tired, conciliatory smile, he added, “All is forgiven, in case you were looking for absolution.”
Lord and Lady Farendale had, by all accounts, packed up their things and climbed into their carriage shortly before Neil and the others returned from their hellish night at the Greenery. They would have to read about had happened in the papers, and Neil allowed himself a small smile at the thought of Lord Farendale’s eyes popping out of his head as he read about the gossip he had only just missed.
Lady Constance had departed with them, of course. Mrs Thornton had described her standing with one dainty foot on the carriage step, turning back toward the house with a touch of wistfulness before climbing in and being driven away. Rumour already had it she was to be matched with a quiet, spectacled gentleman of her mother’s choosing. Neil smiled despite himself.
“Mr Camden is up in his room,” Aunt Harriet said, breaking the easy silence. “Miss Winter—Miss Camden, I should say—has been persuaded to take a little time for herself. She needs itsorely. She’s taking an airing in the garden, if you would care to find her.”
The remark seemed almost casual, yet when Aunt Harriet met his eyes, Neil felt the breath leave him for a moment.
“I see,” he said at last.
She inclined her head. “If you have a moment, of course. You two will doubtless have much to discuss.”
“Is that so?” he asked.
“It is.” Aunt Harriet’s expression softened. “I have spent a good deal of time with Miss Camden these past days, and I find her…” She paused, hunting for the word. “Remarkable,” she finished with a faint smile, then swept from the room with the brisk composure of a woman who had done her duty.
***
All the rain had done some good, at least. Maggie watched bright flower-heads bob among the grasses, shivering in a gentle breeze. She had chosen a neat stone bench close to the house; a trellis arched over it, heavy with lilac that filled the air with a sweet, heady scent.
It was a warm day, yet the cold from the Greenery seemed lodged in her bones. She had mentioned it to Lady Westbrook—Neil’s aunt—and found the lady unexpectedly sympathetic.
“It is not an ordinary cold,” Lady Westbrook had said when Maggie finished describing it. “It lives in the mind. It will recede, but it takes time. Think of Jenny’s scar, the cut at her hairline: it will fade, though slowly. All we can do in the meantime is wait.”
The notion was oddly comforting. Maggie leaned back, closed her eyes, and let the scent of wet earth and flowers fill her. For a few moments she could almost forget that Emma still woke screaming and that her own father lay pale and hollow upstairs.
All we can do is wait.
“There you are.”
She started and opened her eyes. Neil stood at the path, and a warmth she did not attempt to disguise flooded through her. She rose to her feet out of respect, but he caught her hand before she could make the small, formal gesture.
“I think we are past curtseys and bows,” he said with a faint smile. There was softness in his face—tiredness, perhaps, or the easing of some terrible weight. “May I sit?”
She nodded wordlessly, shifting up to make space beside her. He moved towards her, his footsteps crunching in the grass.
They sat in silence for a moment, both staring at the flowers.
“Have you seen Emma today?” Maggie said at last.
He nodded. “We ate luncheon together. You were with your father, I think. I’ve told Mrs Thornton that Emma and I should be eating at least one meal together a day. What about dinner?”
“I think that’s a fine idea. How did she seem to you?”
He sighed. “Pale, tired—still frightened. Jenny says the nightmares continue.”
“She will be better,” Maggie said. “Lady Westbrook thinks time will heal these things. Wounds take their own course, whether we see them or not.”
Neil turned toward her; she felt the intensity of his gaze as if it were a physical touch. Her heart sank a little. He wanted answers, she realised, and she—she had feared this moment. Gathering herself, she decided to be plain.
“You must think me a coward,” she said.
He started. “What?”
“I saw a man die,” she went on, her voice small. “I saw Lord Bramwell strike him. I ran home to tell my father. He fled—left me—and I ran here instead of to the authorities. I should have gone to them. I brought danger with me.”
There was a brief silence after she’d spoken. Maggie shot a quick, nervous glance over at Neil, who stared at nothing with a frown between his brows.
