More wondering silence. Then, “Under the circumstances, why on earth did you go through with the ceremony?”
Gervase shook his head. “I’m not really sure. I didn’t realize something was wrong with her until later. At first I believed Hamilton and his daughter had arranged it all to trap me, and perhaps they did—I still don’t know. But then I found out he was a clergyman, a gentleman of sorts, so his daughter could be considered gently bred.” He shrugged helplessly. “Even though it was unintentional, I had compromised her. And so, because I was confused, uncertain of the right thing to do, raised to be a ‘gentleman,’ I married her.” With bitter humor he added, “I’ve never been drunk from that day to this.”
Diana still sat in that tight withdrawn knot, her eyes hooded and inscrutable. Ironic that they were reversing their earlier roles; now she was composed but he was distraught. Her gaze strangely intent, she asked, “When you had had time to think clearly, why didn’t you have the marriage annulled? After all, it took place under coercion.”
Shaking his head, he returned his gaze to his hands. “I never thought I would want to marry, so an annulment didn’t seem important.” He gave a twisted smile. “I never imagined that a woman like you existed. But even if I had wanted it, an annulment was impossible.”
“Why?” Her gentle voice was relentless.
“Because . . . the marriage was consummated.”
“So you seduced a girl of feeble mind? I suppose it wouldn’t have been difficult.” Her cool voice had a knife-sharp edge. “You can be very persuasive.”
“I didn’t know then that there was anything wrong with her.” The blank child’s face, slack and swollen with tears, was vivid to his inner eye. Then his guilt forced him to add, “And I didn’t seduce her.”
“Oh, she seduced you?” Diana said, caustic now.
“That’s not what happened.” Gervase was unable to sit still any longer and he stood, his agitation needing physical release. “I was angry, she was my wife . . . and I forced her.” He turned to Diana, willing her to understand, to extend some of her infinite compassion to help him, but she simply stared at him, wearing the blind mask of Justice.
“She was scarcely more than a child, she didn’t really understand what was happening, and I raped her.” His anguished voice rose. “In my anger and wounded pride and drunkenness, I overpowered and injured a helpless innocent.”
He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories of the girl’s pain and panic as the walls reflected echoes of his guilt and self-loathing. Hoarse and low, he said, “Don’t bother to say anything. I’ve already said it to myself a thousand times.”
He whirled away again, covering the length of the room in angry strides, wishing as he had so often before that he could repeal that moment of time, that he had left the girl without touching her, that he did not have to admit such base behavior to the woman he loved.
Diana’s caustic voice followed him. “How nobly you are suffering for your sins. I’m sure your guilt has been a great comfort to the child you ravished and abandoned.”
Gervase swung back to face her, shocked by the bitter condemnation of her words. Defensive, he said, “I couldn’t undo my actions, but I made a settlement on her behalf, contingent on her being properly cared for. I could do no more.”
“Oh?” Diana inquired with a mockery of sweetness. “You have visited her, seen to her welfare, made certain that her mad father hasn’t abused her?”
He flushed at her sarcasm. “I went to India within a fortnight. My lawyer took care of the arrangements. He would have informed me if anything was wrong.”
“And of course you didn’t want to know more. You signed over some money, then left her torot.” Her voice was a whiplash. “Or does your lawyer visit her, to see for himself that she is well treated?”
“I don’t think he has ever gone in person,” was the reluctant acknowledgment.
“All your guilt and regret are foryourunhappiness,yourfailure to live up to your own standards of honor.” Diana uncoiled from the chair, her slim body radiating fury. “Nothing you have said shows genuine concern for the girl you married.Nothing!Her mad father may be keeping her locked in a stinking cell. He may have sold her to a brothel. She may be dead. How would you or your precious lawyer know?”
“Why the devil are you so outraged?” Gervase said incredulously. He strode across the room, stopping a scant arm’s length away from her. “I should think you would be praying that she’s dead. Then you could be a viscountess. Isn’t that what you want—position, security, comfort?”
In their months together, he had never seen her truly angry, and it was shocking to see such rage in the woman who had won him with her gentleness. In a voice that trembled on the edge of hysteria, she cried, “In a world where men rape innocents and abandon them without another moment’s serious thought, you wonder why I am outraged? Ask any woman who has ever been victim of a man’s selfishness and violence why she is angry. Ask Madeline. Ask Edith. Ask the child you married.”
Gervase had wondered how a woman like Diana had turned to harlotry, and now he knew, not in detail, but in essence. She, too, had been grievously injured, and her grief and hard-earned compassion made her a champion of all women’s anguish. Her fury came from some well of torment buried deep inside her. Understanding that, he could not return anger.
And Diana’s accusations were just. The thought of what he had done to Mary Hamilton had tormented him, but more because it was proof of his own deeply flawed nature than because of empathy with his victim. After making a minimal reparation, after handing over money he would scarcely miss, he had thought no more about the girl’s welfare.
No matter that their marriage was a mockery. She was his responsibility, one he had not properly discharged. He closed his eyes, shuddering. He had dismissed her as barely human. In its way, that was a crime as wicked as the initial act of violence. God only knew what kind of life she lived with that evil father of hers.
Gervase had faced black truths about himself before, and he did not let himself turn away from this one. He took a deep breath, then said flatly, “You are right. I have behaved as badly over the last years as I did at the beginning.”
Diana had been staring at him, her fists clenched with the force of her feelings, but his words undercut her anger. Calmer now, she asked, “Are you going to do anything about it?”
“I’ll find out from my lawyer where she is living and visit her myself. I imagine I will know what to do when I see her condition.” He thought a moment. “The sooner it is done, the better. I can leave the day after tomorrow. I suppose I’ll be gone a fortnight or so.”
Even though she was under control again, Diana still looked unapproachable, her face set and remote. Now more than ever Gervase wanted to hold her, to forget his transgressions in the sweet depths of her body, but there was still too much anger in the air. Nor did he deserve comfort or reward until he had discharged the debts of the past.
Instead, he picked up his hat and left. As he went out the front door, he humorlessly considered the irony of having a mistress who was so concerned about the welfare of his wife.
