When they arrived at the harbour, Talek passed Grace the reins and jumped down to inspect the line of clay wagons waiting to be transferred to the waiting ship. He marched from one to the other, speaking briefly to the drivers before checking their loads. Two of the six wagons were sent back to Stenna Pit, with instructions that all the clay produced was to be stored in the linhay on site until he visited. He returned to the trap and climbed on board.
‘I want to kill Henry,’ he muttered under his breath. He reclaimed the reins from Grace with a shaking hand. ‘I’ll have to stop work at Stenna until I find a new buyer for the clay. The clay is only suitable for paper and earthenware, not porcelain. He must have cancelled our previous customer or they would be knocking at our door wondering where their shipments were.’ He turned the trap in the road, scattering the bystanders who had gathered to watch. It was not every day that a member of the gentry arrived at the busy industrial harbour to cancel their shipment.
‘This past year I’ve been preoccupied by Amelia’s accident. I placed my trust in Henry and this is how he has repaid me.’ He pinned Grace with an angry stare. ‘Amelia and I opened our home to you and you have repaid us by not alerting me to hisfraudulent activities. You chose to protect him rather than those who helped you.’
His accusation was cutting, but fair. She fought the urge to reveal Amelia’s involvement, and that she had begged her to keep it from him, but what purpose would it serve, now? Talek was right. She had not told him of her discovery and it was unforgivable . . . yet she could not bear for him to think of her so badly.
‘I have only recently discovered the full extent.’ Her response was pathetic. She could not blame him for looking away. ‘You must despise me. I would if I was in your place.’
‘I despise myself, for trusting those around me,’ he muttered as he flicked the reins.
The remainder of the journey was made in silence, but for the occasional direction on Grace’s part. Finally they arrived at the grand house that had become Henry’s retreat.
Talek looked up at it as he wrapped the reins around the dashboard rail of the trap.
‘Have you been here before?’ asked Grace.
Talek shook his head, jumped down and helped her down from the trap. His hazel eyes held hers. ‘I have not had that pleasure.’ As soon as her feet touched the ground he withdrew his hand from hers.
‘My visits were fleeting, no more.’
‘But you felt the need to make more than one.’
Before she could reply, Talek strode to the door. Grace hastily followed.
‘This looks like a new house,’ observed Talek as they waited for it to be answered. ‘Have you met his cousin?’
‘I’ve seen her, but we have not spoken.’
‘His cousin is a woman?’ Talek sounded surprised. Suddenly, the door opened. Wicks, the housekeeper, greeted them.
‘Mr Danning and Miss Kellow to see Mr Ward,’ said Talek looking past the housekeeper.
‘Your visit has been expected. Please, follow me to the drawing room.’ The housekeeper led them through the hall to a door set slightly ajar. Grace realised that this room was larger than the one she had visited before. Sunshine beamed into the room by way of two large south-facing windows adorned with thick damson drapes. Ornately carved chairs and an elegant chaise longue, cushioned with vibrant reds and gold fabric, provided a welcoming ambience, while a side-table with a white lace trimmed tablecloth provided the humanity of silver framed photographs and trinkets. A large, intricately framed mirror hung over the mantel reflecting the smooth elegant lines of the woman standing on the far side. Henry’s raven-haired cousin, dressed in scarlet, stood next to it, waiting for the moment Talek finally noticed her. He looked about him, his eyes skimming over the furnishings, until they came to rest on her.
A heavy silence followed. A feeling of unease stirred in Grace. There had been no greeting, no introduction and no questions as to Henry’s whereabouts. This silence was unlike the man she had come to know.
‘Talek?’ asked Grace.
He did not reply. The woman walked towards the fireplace and, in a swish of red taffeta, turned to face them. She is exquisite, thought Grace. A stab of jealousy caught her in the chest as she realised Talek thought the same. His gaze had been drawn to her curves too and, she suspected, his senses to her floral perfume and his basic needs to the swing of her hips. This woman had managed to consume his thoughts and make him forget the reason he had come here today. Grace felt that she no longer existed to either of them.
‘Hello, Talek. How are you?’ the woman asked in a voice smooth as velvet.
Talek’s expression hardened. ‘What are you doing here?’
The woman raised an eyebrow. ‘This is my home. I live here.’
‘I didn’t know. You, on the other hand, don’t seem too surprised that I’m here. Did you wearthatdress for my benefit?’
‘You always did like me in it.’ The woman smiled at him. ‘How are you, Talek?’
‘You know each other?’ asked Grace, looking from one to the other.
The woman’s smile softened. ‘We were engaged once.’
‘We were . . . until you changed your mind.’
‘You are Margaret?’ asked Grace.
