When I glanced to the promenade once more, Marguerite and her husband had gone.
Donata did not mention the encounter on the walk home. Though Gabriella was clearly curious, she said nothing, perhaps sensing my tension. When we reached the house, Donata admonished Peter for submerging his shoes and getting his trousers wet to the knees, then adjourned to her rooms to ready herself for supper.
I returned to my own to change myself, but Donata soon entered my chamber through the dressing room between.
“Gabriel?” she said as she threaded a diamond earring through her earlobe. “Are you quite well? When you were speaking to those people, you became an interesting shade of green. I thought you’d be ill. Are you still weak from whatever concoction you were given?”
I wanted suddenly to sit, but it would be discourteous while my wife stood. I leaned one arm on the mantelpiece, wishing the cold hearth contained a fire.
“She was Isherwood’s wife,” I said.
Donata froze, her fingers at her ear. She stared at me for several ticks of the clock before she slid the earring all the way in and did up the delicate clasp.
“I see.” Her voice was wintery.
“I could hardly point this out while we stood on the promenade,” I said. “Nor did I wish to say anything in front of Gabriella and Peter.”
“Quite.”
“I had no idea she was in Brighton.”
“Obviously not,” Donata said. “Your color indicated her presence was a blow. Mr. Gibbons is her second husband, I take it. Does he know you were her lover?”
Donata enjoyed being blunt. She’d once explained that it was much easier to voice unpleasant truths and be done than to dance around them for days.
“From his manner, I would say no, he does not,” I answered. “I did not enlighten him.”
“No reason you should. Interesting she has turned up now that Isherwood is dead.”
“Perhaps her stepson sent for her. He would naturally write her of the incident.”
“True,” Donata said.
She remained composed, but I saw the anger deep in her eyes. I considered apologizing, but I wasn’t certain how to word things or what I was apologizing for. I had no intention of taking up with Marguerite again, and likewise, Marguerite seemed happy with Mr. Gibbons. She obviously no longer had interest in me.
I’d never been an eloquent man, and as I struggled to wrap these thoughts into phrases that would not anger Donata further, Jacinthe glided in from the dressing room.
Only Jacinthe could interrupt a t?te-à-t?te between Donata and me, no matter how heated our argument. Donata turned away, her mouth a thin line.
“Message for you, sir.” Jacinthe held out a sealed piece of paper. She hovered as I opened the letter, no doubt waiting for a response.
“It is from Grenville,” I announced. “He wishes to meet. Or rather, he summons me to him.”
Donata’s voice was cool. “You ought to go then. He’d not write if it weren’t important.”
“True.” I nodded to Jacinthe, who curtsied and departed, answer received.
“Give him my best wishes,” Donata said stiffly.
Donata prided herself on pretending extreme indifference as to my comings and goings—a wife should not live in her husband’s pocket, she said—but I could see she was not pleased.
I would not mind at all having her next to me most of the time, but it apparently was not the done thing in our world. I took her hands, leaning to kiss her cheek. “I will return forthwith.”
I thought I saw a slight softening in her eyes, but I could not be certain. I kissed her again, and departed.
* * *
Grenville did not noticemy agitation when I arrived at his house a quarter of an hour later. He waved a paper at me.
