“Oh?” Malcolm asked, his voice deepening. “I do wish you wouldn’t bring beastly Eastleigh into our bed. What did he say?”
“He said he’d keep an eye on you. That you act a different person entirely while in London. And when I didn’t hear from you, not even one letter ...”
“Ever the architect,” Malcolm spat. He rubbed his neck in irritation. “Despite what Eastleigh said, I was no different in London than I am here, although I can venture a guess as to what he was implying.” He let a puff of air out of his lips. “Like most young men, I had some wilder days in my youth. I visited a few of the brothels he frequented. And it’s expected that men of my station will take a mistress, but you keep me more than satisfied, my love. Likely he was trying to cover his own bad behavior.”
“Have you heard Una is with child?”
“No.” Malcolm’s eyes narrowed. “Rather fast, isn’t it? I’m surprised he didn’t dangle that before me in London. It’s just the sort of thing he’d crow about.”
“I’ve my suspicions they’ve been enjoying one another’s company for quite a while.” Eliza thought for a moment, wrinkling her brow. “You know, you say it’s expected for highborn men to take a mistress, but what about women? Why is it so taboo for a wife to take a lover if married men enjoy such freedoms?”
“I suppose it goes back to men believing their wives are their property, to be taken and dispensed with as they wish, and a wife cuckolding her husband is an affront to his stature. My father was that sort.” Malcolm pulled on his pajama trousers and stood, stretching his lean but well-muscled chest.
“Well, I certainly hope you don’t view me as an old leather shoe to be tossed to the side or a heifer you can take to market.” Eliza sat up, the sheets falling around her hips. “I’d like a nightcap, wouldn’t you? Sit with me awhile before you leave.”
Eliza shrugged on her nightdress and they went through to the small parlor adjoining her room, where the dainty crystal chandelier threw multifaceted amber light over the burgundy walls. Malcolm went to the liquor cabinet in the corner and drew out a decanter. He poured himself a dram and smiled over his shoulder. “Whisky or brandy, darling?”
Eliza sat in one of the high-backed chairs in front of the fire. “Brandy, please.”
Malcolm brought her drink to her, his fingers grazing her own.
She took a deep breath. “I made some discoveries while you were gone.”
“Yes?” he asked. “What kinds of discoveries?”
“Your father was a horrid man, wasn’t he? Abusive.”
“He was. He could be. His mother died shortly after he was born, and my grandfather was too busy with politics to pay any attention to him. He was raised by nannies, then shipped off to boarding school as soon as he was old enough. I’m quite sure he never learned how to be a proper husband or father because of it.”
“Your mother must have been dreadfully unhappy. In her loneliness, do you think she ever took a lover?”
Malcolm blanched. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, darling. Or why you’re bringing up such things when we’ve just had such a lovely time together.”
“Because I mean to know, Malcolm. I found a photograph of a young man. Along with some love letters.”
Malcolm leaned forward, a shadow slanting over his face. “Really? Where?”
“In my armoire,” she lied. “I also found her diary there.”
“Darling ... I ...” His eyes were flitting about again, looking everywhere but at her. “You found her diary?”
“Is that where she’s gone—with this man? This M?” Her voice was staccato, sharp. Determined. “If so, you can tell me. I’d hardly blame her.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions, Eliza.”
“Am I? Did your father really die in the fire, or was he murdered first? Was he shot? Perhaps by your mother’s lover?”
“Christ, you’re like a bloody courtroom barrister all of a sudden.” Malcolm’s face had gone red, his eyes glassy.
“And what of Beatrice? No one seems to want to talk about her either, do they? I wonder why.”
“I can’t tell you everything about the past, darling. Some things must still be kept from you.”
“Why?”
“Because there is too much at stake. You can’t possibly understand why, but old secrets can still do harm.”
Eliza stared at him, her frustration at his obstinance shifting to rage. “Our marriage feels like a game of hide-and-seek, Malcolm. I plead for the truth and you keep it from me. I am yourwife!”
