She nodded eagerly. “The gallery at Marshfields was used for the ball, and I think that inspired Simon… Mr Payne’s design.”
Richard smiled at her, and said gently, “I think he is very much in love with you. All his drawings of the ball are of you, did you know that? It was as if no one else existed. His sketches of other people are lightly drawn, barely there, but when he draws you… there is affection in every line. Would you still like to marry him?”
“Oh yes, but I know it is impossible. He has no money at present. One day, perhaps, he will be a renowned architect and be able to afford to marry, but it could be many years.”
“Or it could be sooner than you think. Now that I am confident that Rowena is not about to be taken from me and canbe rational again, I propose to tell the duke that your Mr Payne’s design is so much better than mine that I cannot improve upon it, and will withdraw from the competition. He will make at least a thousand pounds in fees from it, and possibly more, and his reputation will be made. In a year or two, perhaps, I shall have the pleasure of leading you to the altar and placing your hand in his.”
Sophia could barely breathe. “Does he know this?”
“Payne? No. I should write to tell him, I suppose, since he looks likely to be gone for some time.”
“No! He is back, just arrived, but I suppose in all the fuss over Lord Daniel, no one thought to tell you. May I—?”
“Of course. Off you go and tell him the good news, sister.”
Thus released, Sophia jumped up and practically ran from the room.
***
Simon somehow found his way upstairs, following Juliet without thought. She led him to his old room, where a maid was hastily lighting the fire.
“Brandy?” Juliet said.
He shook his head. How could brandy help?
“I am chilled to the bone, and you must be too,” she said. “Shall I order baths for us?”
Again he shook his head.
“What can I get you?” she said, her voice so sympathetic that he could have wept.
“Nothing.”
Without a word, he turned and strode back out to the landing. He had no specific destination in mind, but his feet must have known what his heart intended, for before long he found himself outside the curtained door to the little galleryabove the chapel. Inside, it was flooded with light, unexpectedly blinding him. The midday sun, pouring through the chapel windows and undeterred by the carved screen, lit up the tiny gallery. He sat down in his accustomed place on the bench and closed his eyes, but the light was so bright that it penetrated even through his lids. Groaning, he buried his face in his hands.
At first, his despair was so great that nothing could dent it. Gradually, however, he forced himself to think good thoughts. His father was dead and could hinder his career no more. That was something good, was it not? It was very good, for that dark, evil shadow no longer contaminated the world. His mother was free of his malign control, and Andrew — timid, uncertain Andrew — would grow into his new estate.
And perhaps, one day, far in the future, he devoutly hoped, Simon would step into his brother’s shoes and become the Earl of Edlesborough. It was a fate that had seemed so remote that he had never given it a moment’s thought before. He did not care about the title, and the obligations of rank would be a heavy burden, but the wealth — oh yes, he would enjoy the fortune that came with everything else. Bless Andrew for the allowance he had given him! A thousand pounds a year was enough — more than enough — to support Juliet in comfort, to buy her new gowns and jewels and as many bonbons as she could eat, and still pay for coal and beef and candles, and a few bottles of good claret.
It was enough to marry on. And then he was plunged into despair again.
So his thoughts revolved, as the sun gradually lowered and the gallery fell into gloom again. It was as if he was aboard a benighted ship in a storm, tossed this way and that by the waves, and with no more power to right the ship than the barnacle still clinging to the hull. Unresisting, he allowed his mood tobe thrown this way and that, never settling, never even close to settling.
He barely heard the door open — there was no more than a half-imagined click. It was her perfume he noticed first, and then a soft step at the far end of the gallery.
“Simon?”
A thousand emotions roiled through him like a summer storm. He was not ready to face her, not yet! Perhaps he would never be ready, but she was there anyway.
He jumped up, turned to face her, made some strangled sound deep in his throat. Dear heaven, but a man could die of happiness at the sight of her… or die of grief, more likely. Was it possible to die of a broken heart? He was about to find out. Why could she not leave him alone?
She smiled, that glorious smile that he loved and remembered so well. Inside him, the pain receded. No hurt was so acute when she was so close to him, just a few steps away, and smiling as warmly as the sun.
The smile faded, replaced by anxiety. “Are you all right?”
No, he was not all right. Possibly he would never be all right again. But he needed to know, once and for all, where he stood. “Is he…? Are you…? Will he…?”
“Lord Daniel? He has gone, and good riddance.” Before he could assimilate this shocking response, she smiled again. “I turned him down.”
