“Yes, thank you.” Persephone returned his smile. “That does put my mind a little at ease.”
Hewitt’s smile grew, until his eyes met Adam’s, and then the smile disappeared in an instant.
That was much better.
* * *
Hewitt had been at Falstone for three days, and Adam was only refraining from strangling the man by sheer willpower. He sniveled and slumped when taken one-on-one but regained his equilibrium in Persephone’s presence. Adam watched for any signs of infatuation but found none on either side, which was extremely fortunate for Hewitt. Else he would quickly find that not all the rumors about the Duke of Kielder were exaggerations.
Despite theirs being only a budding friendship, Persephone’s and Hewitt’s ease with one another did not sit well with Adam because, he told himself, it would be impossible to get Hewitt to resent Persephone’s presence if he liked her so very much. Hewitt was supposed to see her as a threat, as the one person who could prevent his obtaining his inheritance. Then, when Hewitt was at his most dejected, Adam could throw him out, content in the knowledge that Hewitt would never return.
Adam had taken pains to sit beside Persephone at every opportunity in Hewitt’s presence. He was finding it was not much of a chore. She would occasionally produce one of her magnificent smiles, or she would laugh with real enjoyment, and Adam found himself very nearly smiling in response.
Adam grew more adept at maneuvering their relative positions so his unmarred side was exposed to his picturesque bride.
It did occur to Adam on one or two occasions to wonder at his insistence at keeping his scars from her. He hadn’t hidden them since his childhood. He had decided then not to allow his deformities to cow him, to not let others use his pain as a weapon. But from the moment he’d seen Persephone in Falstone Chapel, he’d been unwilling—practicallyunable—to give her the opportunity to be disgusted by him. And she hadn’t been. Yet.
Hewitt hadn’t choked on his port at dinner, Adam noticed as they walked to the drawing room on the third night of Hewitt’s sojourn. At least he had improved in that respect. He had, however, quickly backed out of the sitting room that afternoon when Adam had pulled out his dueling pistols. He’d only intended to clean them.Coward,Adam remembered with a smile.
Stepping through the drawing room doors, Adam’s eyes automatically sought out Persephone. She did not smile up at them at their arrival as she had the last two days but remained seated, bent over a paper in her hands.
Adam tensed. She hadn’t obtained another map, had she? He strode across the room, determined not to let Hewitt see her studying the layout of her own home. Upon closer observation, Adam realized the paper was filled with writing, a letter, perhaps.
She seemed to take notice of his approach and looked up at him. Her eyes filled with tears even as more coursed down her face. She looked between Adam and Hewitt, her eyes almost pleading for something, but what, Adam couldn’t say.
A sudden surge of sympathy clamped his mouth shut. He did not want emotional attachments, he did not want to feel sympathy or concern.
Hewitt spoke first. “Good heavens. What on earth has happened?”
“There has been a battle.” Persephone’s voice shook.
Her brothers. Adam felt his stomach knot.
“One week ago,” Persephone said.
October 21,Adam calculated in his head.
“Near Cape Trafalgar.” Her words were halting and difficult to discern. “TheTriumphantsustained heavy losses.”
“And what of your brothers?” Hewitt asked the question on the tip of Adam’s tongue.
The tears picked up pace as her chin began to quiver.
No. Adam sat beside her on the sofa, at a loss.
“Evander is dead.”
Chapter Thirteen
Seven days had passed in a haze of emotion and grief since word had come of Evander’s death at Trafalgar. The great Admiral Nelson had perished during that battle as well. Early estimates were placing the number of dead at more than four hundred with the wounded numbering three times that many. Evander’s name had appeared on the first list of the fallen to reach London, one of Papa’s uncles having sent word to Shropshire and to herself as soon as he’d read it. Linus’s fate remained unknown.
In Persephone’s mind, Linus appeared the same way he’d been when he and Evander had left home headed for the sea. He’d tried so hard to appear brave, but his eyes were filled with fear and apprehension. Good heavens, he’d only been a boy, a mere eleven years old. The same age then as Daphne was now. How had she ever allowed him to go?
And now he was alone, having faced the horror of war and, more likely than not, witnessed the death of his brother.
Persephone sat in her corner of the garden where she’d come the day after her wedding to cry out her grief. She felt she ought to have been crying again, but she lacked the energy to allow the grief she felt to express itself further. She had come not to cry but to find solitude.
Since the night that word of Evander had come, she’d been faced at practically every turn with an empathetic Mr. Hewitt and a quieter than ever Adam. She was heartily sick of the both of them.
