“I’m fine,” she murmured, though her eyes glistened.
“No,” he said. “You’re not.”
For a moment, she resisted, and then the fight left her. Tears slid down her cheeks in silence. He drew her gently into his arms, meaning only to steady her but, when she leaned into him, when her forehead touched his chest, something deeper than comfort answered. She clung to him, shoulders shaking, and he held her without thought or reason.
“Winston,” she whispered, “I never wanted to bring trouble into your house. I would have gone if I’d thought…”
“Don’t.” His voice was rough. “Don’t say you’d have gone.”
He meant to stop there, but her face was so close, her breath warm against his throat. He tilted her chin up, saw the reflection of the lamplight in her eyes, and kissed her. It was not the fierce claiming of desire but something quieter and soothing. A kiss that asked forgiveness and offered it at once. She didn’t pull away. Her hand came up to his shoulder, fingers trembling. When they broke apart, the silence felt almost holy.
He brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Adeline…”
But whatever he meant to say was lost as the door opened.
The doctor stood in the doorway, spectacles fogged, wearing a grave expression. “Your Grace.”
Winston rose at once, Adeline drawing back, her composure returning with visible effort.
“Well?” Winston asked. “What is it?”
“I’ve administered an emetic,” the doctor said. “It was necessary.”
“For what cause?”
The physician hesitated. “I believe Her Grace has been poisoned.”
The words struck like a blow to Winston’s already tender ribs. Adeline gasped softly. Winston’s jaw tightened.
“Poisoned?” he repeated.
“There’s no mistake,” the doctor said. “The symptoms are unmistakable. Whether by accident or intention, I cannot yet say.”
Winston’s hand closed into a fist at his side. “Intention,” he said quietly. “It must be.”
The doctor looked between them. “She’ll live, if the treatment takes. But someone in this house should watch her through the night.”
“You may leave that to me,” Winston said.
The doctor bowed and withdrew.
For a long moment, neither Adeline nor Winston spoke. Louisa stirred in her sleep, murmuring Adeline’s name, and Adeline went to her, smoothing her hair with shaking hands.
Winston stood where he was, the weight of suspicion, desire, and fear pressing down upon him until he could hardly breathe. He looked at Adeline, her tenderness, her courage, the woman who had lied to him and yet held his family together in a single night. He thought, with terrible clarity, that he could no longer tell the difference between love and ruin. Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed midnight.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Adeline woke to the tick of a mantel clock and the soft rasp of a fire settling. Her cheek lay against a cushion. Louisa was curled in the circle of her arms, warm and heavy, her breath brushing Adeline’s wrist in small, regular puffs. On the rug beside the chaise, Winston lay on his side with his back to them, one arm crooked under his head, his shoulders rising and falling in a slow, measured rhythm. The distance between his temple and hers was no more than the span of a hand. Adeline momentarily worried for Winston, as she knew he was still recovering from his own injuries. But—he looked so peaceful in his sleep that she dared not disturb him.
Cordelia slept in the big bed. Color returned to her lips if not yet to her cheeks. A glass stood on the bedside table, a spoon resting in the dregs, and two clean cloths cooled on the rail. Adeline recalled that she had opened the window to let in the night air. Now the room held both warmth and the faint bite of dawn.
Adeline shifted the smallest amount to ease a cramp in her back. Louisa murmured but did not awaken. Winston did not stir. Fora breath, she only watched them. The child’s soft mouth, the man’s untidy hair, the loosened lines of sleep that made him look younger and gentler. It was a picture of a family that required no speech: mother, father, daughter. The thought warmed her, bright and simple. It lasted three heartbeats.
Then the truth came with its blunt edges. None of this belonged to her. The name she used in this house was not hers. The story she had told them was a carefully woven veil. If the veil slipped, they would hate her for the lie. She would deserve it.
I am not Louisa’s mother and have no right to be. I am not Winston’s wife, and he will never claim me to be. I think it is time for me to go before more damage is done.
Her throat tightened. She pressed her lips to Louisa’s hair to steady herself and counted the clock’s ticks until the sting behind her eyes receded. The bed creaked. Cordelia’s lashes fluttered, then lifted, and she looked toward the chaise. For a moment, the old alertness returned to her face, and then something easier. She tipped two fingers the smallest fraction in Adeline’s direction, a request to be still.
