“Do you hate me for that?” he asked.
“No.” There was a long pause. “That is the very reason I love you, Adam. There is very little room in your life for yourself. Itis filled with your concern for the well-being of others. I did not know it or expect it at first, but I have come to see it more and more.”
“And yet I have taken this night for myself,” he said. “It is a selfishness and a moral wrong, Fleur, or so your curate friend would say.” He kissed her briefly. “But I don’t want to talk. I want to love you one more time. I wanted you to know, though, that I will remain faithful to you and will always think of you as my wife.”
“A piece of eternity,” she said, touching his lips with her fingertips. “It has been wonderful beyond words. I would not exchange it for ten years added to my lifespan, Adam. And there is still a little of it left.”
She turned onto her back and reached up her arms for him as he rose over her once more.
THE SCENERY BEYOND THE CARRIAGE WINDOW grew more familiar as they neared home. They had sat side by side throughout the journey, their shoulders touching, their hands clasped, saying almost nothing.
“There are only a few miles to go?” he asked her.
“Yes.”
His hand closed more tightly about hers for a moment.
“You must apply to whoever does Brocklehurst’s business for him,” he said. “It should be possible to get at least some of your money before your twenty-fifth birthday. You will be able to live in some comfort then.”
“Yes,” she said.
“I shall have Houghton look into the matter too,” he said.
“Thank you.”
There was a silence again.
“I cannot come here again, Fleur,” he said. “I will not even write.”
“No,” she said. “I know. Or I to you.”
“Will you promise me if you are ever in any need or trouble to write to Houghton?” he said. “Promise me?”
“Only in the very extremest of circumstances,” she said. “No, Adam. In all probability, no.”
He stroked her fingers with his own. “Fleur,” he said. “If you are with child…”
“I am not,” she said.
“Ifyou are,” he said, raising her hand to his lips. “If you are, you must let me know. I know your instinct will lead you to keep it from me. But you must let me know. It would be my child too. The only child of my own body I would ever have. I would send you to one of my other homes and care for the both of you.”
“I am not with child,” she said.
“But you would let me know?”
“Yes,” she said.
He lowered their hands again to rest on his thigh.
They were no more than two miles from the village, four from Heron House. Fleur concentrated on breathing quietly and evenly, suppressing the panic that was churning her in-sides.
“You will move into your cottage immediately?” he said.
“Yes.” She focused her mind on her future plans. “I will stay at Heron House tonight for the last time and move to the village tomorrow. I shall start at the school the day after, if Miriam is ready for me. I am going to enjoy it immensely.”
“Are you?” he said. “Are you going to teach the children music, Fleur?”
“Singing, yes,” she said. “There is no instrument, but it does not matter.”
