“Then I suppose you had best be gone. It is already several hours past the early morning start that Poole demanded.”
“Yes,” Isabella whispered, her voice a thread of misery. She could feel him looking at her. She wanted desperately to lift her face and stare into his one final time, but her eyes were swimming in tears and she vowed he would not see her cry.
“Good-bye, Damien.” A great weight was pressing down on Isabella’s chest, and she had difficulty catching her breath. She turned to leave.
“I will miss you, Isabella,” he said quietly. “I have no doubts that I shall think of you far too often for my own peace of mind.”
“Oh, Damien! ”Her legs nearly gave out. She turned back to the earl, hesitated, then rushed into his arms. Burying her head in his shoulder, she finally allowed herself the luxury of tears. The unexpressed emotions and unspoken words of love remained hidden deep in her heart as she cried for all they had shared and for all they had lost.
Damien’s fingers twined in her hair. He held her close, and she welcomed his protective, possessive touch. His warmth eased away some of the bitter coldness in her soul. Isabella felt her heart thumping in slow, painful beats, wondering why it did not simply split in two.
“I know it is selfish, yet I’m glad you will also miss me,” Damien said hoarsely.
Isabella gulped back her sobs and raised her tear-swollen face. Damien smiled down at her, but she saw the bleakness he could not hide clearly in his eyes. He leaned down and kissed her lips softly, gently. It was a kiss of affection, not passion. A kiss of tenderness and comfort. A kiss of love.
She closed her eyes against the pain. All too soon the kiss ended. Isabella felt Damien take her hands in his own. They were warm and solid. She clung to them tightly. Slowly he led her out of the room, across the great hall, and into the sunlight.
A fine traveling carriage stood waiting in the drive, the steps lowered and door opened. It was a warm morning despite the breeze, but Isabella barely noticed.
Damien handed her into the carriage. She was glad of his support, for her feet faltered on the small steps. She settled on the near side and blindly thrust her arms out the open window. She felt Damien take her hands. He lifted one, then the other, to his lips.
“Farewell, my lord,” she said.
“Godspeed, Isabella.”
He dropped her hands abruptly, and the carriage lurched forward. Panic clawed at Isabella’s throat as the wheels crunched down the gravel drive. Within minutes they had cleared the gates and turned onto the road.
Lord Poole gazed broodingly across the coach at her, but held his tongue. Isabella supposed he was chafed at the delay her long farewell had caused. She sighed deeply, allowing numbness to overtake her bruised emotions. She had left The Grange at her brother’s command, because she had no other choice. But her heart would forever remain behind.
The sound of shattering glass brought Jenkins to the library at a run. He opened the door, fearing what he might discover, but the drapes were shut tight, bathing the room in darkness. Jenkins could barely discern the earl’s tall silhouette.
“Are you all right? I thought I heard glass breaking.”
“I didn’t throw anything this time, Jenkins.” Damien gave a hollow laugh. “I was merely holding my goblet when it suddenly broke.”
“That goblet was made of leaded crystal,” Jenkins grumbled. “You must have been pressing on it awfully hard for it to split like it was a ripe melon.”
The valet lit a brace of candles, then crossed the room to assess the damage. “You’ve cut your hand,” he exclaimed. “And in more than one place.”
“So I have,” the earl replied absently. “Strange, I didn’t even feel it.” Damien looked down with detached interest as the blood dripped steadily onto the rug. “Poor Mrs. Amberly will be distressed. I’ve gotten blood all over the Aubusson carpet. It leaves such a nasty stain. I hope she will not have too much difficulty removing it.”
“Have you gone completely daft?” Jenkins pulled the earl’s hand toward him and examined the wounds. There were several cuts on Damien’s palm and a few slashes across the finger pads. After dousing the wounds liberally with whiskey, Jenkins wrapped the hand with a clean handkerchief. The earl remained silent through the entire procedure.
“After all that has happened today, the one thing that troubles you is the damn rug,” Jenkins said with exasperation.
“You are missing the point, my friend,” Damien said. He poured himself a fresh glass of whiskey. “If I concentrate long and hard on the inconsequential occurrences of today, I can ignore all the important ones. It is a technique I have subconsciously employed for years, yet I only realized that today. However, this afternoon I deliberately turn my attention toward the minute details.”
“You are talking nonsense.”
“I am not.” Damien sighed heavily, and twirled his whiskey glass restlessly in his uninjured hand. “I have lived most of my life chasing after the unimportant details. My marriage to Emmeline was unhappy, so I ignored her and invested all my energy and time in making The Grange a profitable estate. If I had put half as much effort into my marriage, Emmeline might still be alive.”
“You are not to blame for her death,” Jenkins insisted, watching the earl’s expression change from indifference to regret.
“Oh, but I am.” Damien made a small, guttural noise and bit down on his lip. “She was my wife, my responsibility. And I failed her. God only knows what she was doing in that passageway, and so it shall remain. We will never learn the truth. But if I had cared more, if I had concerned myself more with her happiness, if I had protected Emmeline properly, she would have been safe. I failed her, Jenkins. And she paid the ultimate price for my neglect.”
“Emmeline never sought or wanted your involvement in her life,” Jenkins said. “Her friends, her social activities, pursuing her own interests—that is what occupied Emmeline’s days. She wanted little to do with you or The Grange or even her own children. She spent far more time living in her brother’s house than she did in yours, even after you were married.”
“She was my wife, Jenkins. She was my responsibility,” the earl repeated stubbornly.
