She had to leave. She had to go home. Matthew would follow her there, of course, and they would play out the last scene of the drama that had begun almost three months before.
There was no mystery about the conclusion of that drama, of course. But she would no longer avoid it. She had to go back and somehow come to terms with what she had done and with what the consequences were to be.
Better to go back freely than to be taken back in fetters. And better to go back alone and independent than as Matthew’s bride or mistress, her integrity forever gone.
She finally blew out the candle and lay down fully clothed on top of the covers of her bed. She stared up into the darkness.
IT WAS RAINING AGAIN THE FOLLOWING MORNING. That long warm, dry spell seemed to have deserted them for good, the Duke of Ridgeway thought as he stood at the library window looking out. It seemed that they must face a more typical British summer than the spring had been.
Perhaps it was just as well that it rained. He had been able to plan his talk with Lord Brocklehurst more carefully than he would have done if the sun had shone. He strode restlessly to the desk, gazed down at the unfinished letter lying on its surface, and put it away in a drawer. There was no point in trying to concentrate on writing.
She had not come down to practice in the music room that morning. Just on the day when more than ever he needed the soothing balm of music, she had not come.
And perhaps that was as well too. He was going to send her away soon. In fact, that was the main topic of the letter he was writing to the dowager Countess of Hamm, an old friend of his father’s. Once he had had his talk with Brocklehurst, he was going to make other arrangements for her—unless by some miracle her fortune could be released to her.
His left hand rubbed absently at an aching hip. He was going to have to learn to live without her music. And withoutthe daily sight of her. He was going to have to find someone else who would be as good for Pamela as she was.
His hand opened and closed at his side. Perhaps Sybil would not object to his taking Pamela to London with him for a few weeks or months. He could not leave her again for another long spell—he had decided that at this last homecoming. But how would he be able to stand the loneliness and the constant aggravations of life at Willoughby?
Especially now thatshehad been there.
Several of the guests had expressed their intention the evening before of leaving within the next few days.
There was a tap at the door and Jeremy opened it to admit Lord Brocklehurst.
“I’m sorry about the ride,” the duke said after the two of them had exchanged morning greetings. “Have a seat. Can I offer you a drink?” He glanced toward the half-open door leading to the music room.
“I have just had breakfast,” Lord Brocklehurst said, sinking into the chair Fleur had occupied a few evenings before and waving a dismissive hand at the offer of a drink. “Devilish weather, Ridgeway. The ladies will be climbing the walls out of boredom. They love to stroll.”
“They must do so in the gallery,” his grace said. “I understand you are planning to deprive me of my governess, Brocklehurst.”
The other’s eyes became wary. He laughed. “Miss Hamilton is a very attractive lady,” he said.
“It is my understanding that the two of you have an unofficial betrothal,” the duke said. “You are a fortunate man.”
Lord Brocklehurst was silent for a moment. “She has told you this?” he asked.
The duke took the chair opposite his companion’s and smiled. “I hope I have not got her into trouble with you by speaking up,” he said. “But I am sure she has not been announcing the news to everyone. She probably thought thatas her employer I should be given some notice of her leaving. She will be going with you, I believe?”
Lord Brocklehurst relaxed back in his chair and returned the duke’s smile. “I am not at all annoyed at her telling you,” he said. “I wished to announce our betrothal officially here, but she has been reluctant. The fact that she is a servant has made her shy.”
“Ah,” the duke said, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepling his fingers, “it is true, then. Congratulations are in order. When are the nuptials to be?”
“Thank you,” Lord Brocklehurst said. “As soon as possible after we leave here. I hope you will not be too greatly inconvenienced, Ridgeway.”
The duke shrugged. “Miss Bradshaw has given me a week’s notice,” he said.
The other nodded, and then his glance sharpened. “She has told you that she has been living here under an assumed name?” he said.
The duke inclined his head. “If the wedding is to be immediate,” he said, “you must have decided not to press charges. Of course, when the charges are theft and murder, the decision is not a justice’s to make. What you must have decided is that the death was not a murder and the removal of the jewels not a theft. Am I right?”
“What has Isabella been saying to you?” Lord Brocklehurst was sitting up in his chair and gripping the arms.
“Nothing at all,” his grace said, crossing one booted leg over the other. “Not even anything about marrying you. I have another source of information.”
Lord Brocklehurst was frowning. “What is going on here, pray?” he asked.
“It seems that I have employed a governess who is not who she claims to be,” the duke said, “and who may or may not be a murderer and who may or may not be a thief. My daughter’ssafety and well-being are at stake. I wish to find out some facts from you, Brocklehurst, if I may. I need your assistance.”
