“Me?”
“Is that not just? You are responsible, you realize.”
“Yes, of course.” Leonie turned away, carrying her basket to the hearth so that he would not see how delighted she was. He thought he was punishing her, when in fact he was ordering her to do what she thrived on. She would have made the suggestion herself, but had feared he would refuse. After all, he had denied her any responsibilities at Crewel—until that moment.
She managed a controlled expression, then turned back to face him. “If there is nothing else you wishto discuss, my lord, I will have your dinner sent to you.”
“You will join me?” he asked sleepily. The morphine he had drunk from the blue bottle was affecting him.
“If you wish.”
“Good. And, Leonie, where have you been sleeping?”
“I—I moved a few of my things to a room across from the servants’ quarters.”
“Bring them back.” Sleepy though he was, his manner brooked no refusal. “You will sleep here from now on.”
“As you will, my lord,” she murmured, blushing.
She left the room then, happy and apprehensive all at once.
Chapter 28
AFIRE crackled in the great hearth as servants moved through the hall, setting the tables for dinner under Wilda’s careful eye. Amelia worked her stitchery by the fire, deliberately ignoring what was going on around her. Sitting beside her, Sir Evarard was enjoying a mug of ale, his duties finished for the day.
When Leonie came downstairs from the lord’s chamber, Amelia’s eyes fastened on her. She watched intently as Leonie said a few words to her maid, then left the hall.
Amelia sat back with a smug smile. She had waited for the day when Rolfe would confront his wife with her crimes. Evarard had told her what Rolfe suspected, and whether or not it was true, he would surely send Leonie back to Pershwick now.
Amelia had kept out of the way when Rolfe was wounded, for if he had died and no one could prove that his wife was to blame, Amelia would have been sent packing. She could not have afforded to be enemies with Leonie.
But Rolfe was recovered now, and believed his wife had wanted him dead.
“Do you think he has told her to begin packing?” Amelia asked Evarard, who had also watched Leonie crossing the hall to the servants’ stairs.
“Packing? Why?”
“To go back to Pershwick, of course.”
“Why would he send her there?”
Amelia stared at her lover angrily. She was always having to explain every little thing to him because their minds did not run the same course. She could never confide everything to Sir Evarard, for he was a man plagued with honor.
“Did you not tell me that he believes her responsible for the fire at the mill and the attack against him?” she whispered, exasperated.
“That was a mistake,” Evarard said casually.
“A mistake? Whose mistake?”
Evarard shrugged. “Sir Rolfe knows now that he was wrong.”
“How do you know that? Did he tell you so himself?”
“Sir Thorpe said so before he left. He has gone to begin the siege of Warling.”
“But he was tending Rolfe.”
“The lady Leonie will see to him now, so there is no reason for Sir Thorpe to remain here.”
