He was close to concluding his abrupt awakening had left his senses befuddled when he heard something. A wrenching sob, muffled by the wall, followed by a curse.
She hadn’t opened the door, so she must want privacy. Well, to hell to that.
He walked out to the terrace, climbed up onto the balustrade, and jumped the four feet to the one that surrounded Rosamund’s balcony. He dropped down onto her terrace.
Through the glass, he could see her on the edge of the divan, her body folded so her face rested on both hands. The crown of her head hovered over her lap. No sounds came to him through the glass, but her body careened back and forth enough to alarm him.
He didn’t knock this time. He turned the latch and entered.
Her body stilled. After a few sniffs, her hands fell to her lap. She did not straighten. She did not look at him.
“Are you unwell?” he asked. “Were you hurt in some way?”
She found enough composure to sit erectly. She sniffed again and wiped her eyes with a crumpled handkerchief clutched in one hand. She still did not look at him.
She spoke quietly, just above a whisper. “I have not been physically harmed. There was no accident with the carriage, or a theft of my person.” She smiled ruefully. “I am mourning someone—something. Do not be concerned.”
She appeared so damned sad. Her eyes still glistened from her tears and her expression broke his heart. He ventured closer.
“Yet Iamconcerned. Did you receive bad news from home? Your sister? A friend?”
She shook her head. She looked at him, finally. Her gaze pierced right into him, as if she calculated what she had in him. Then she sat back on the divan, and her whole body heaved in a long sigh.
“I learned today that something I believed for a long time, something me heart counted on and trusted in, was a lie. So, you see—” She lifted the hand with the handkerchief and made a hopeless gesture with it.
He sat on the divan. “Then you are entitled to a good cry.” He set his arm on the back of the divan, behind her head. “I’ve a shoulder if you need one.”
She blinked once, twice. Then she slid over and made use of that shoulder, resting her head against it. She dabbed at her nose with the handkerchief. He fished out a clean one from his frock coat and gave it to her.
They didn’t speak for a long while, just sat there with his arm embracing her shoulders and her sighs close to his ear. Outside, the late afternoon sun turned golden and the breeze coming in the long windows cooled.
“Thank you,” she finally said. “It helps more than I expected.”
His reputation for tact was not the best, but even he knew when to remain silent.
“When I first came up to London, I took service in the house of a gentleman. What references I had were rural, and not adequate for such a situation, so I was not paid the usual wage. I was glad for anything, though. I started in the kitchen; then, after a few months, was made a chambermaid. Such a grand house it seemed to me too. I thought I was lucky.”
“You were probably worth twice what they paid you.”
“I like to think I earned my keep at least. So there I was when I made a mistake. I fell in love with the son of the family. We became lovers.”
Ah. “Did his parents discover that?”
She nodded.
“I suppose you were thrown out.”
“In the middle of the night. No references.”
“And the son?”
“He was sent on a long tour of the Continent.” She settled in closer. Her voice had returned to normal now. “We had sworn our love. We would be together soon, he promised. I believed him.”
“You were young.”
“I wasn’t young two days ago when I still believed him. Just stupid. Childish.”
“I hope you are not blaming yourself. This man was a rogue.”
