“It’s only on paper between them, and he never meant any of it. If only—”
“You’ll check a man’s socks, but not hisring? Lily, howcould you? If he’s willing to betray his wife, there’s no telling whathe’ll do to you, the woman to whom he owes nothing. Do you have any idea what might have happened?”
Her scowl turned dark. “I should have known I’d hear nothing but a lecture from you. They’re right, you being a nun. You know nothing of reality. Marriage has little to do with love, and everyone deserves a slice of happiness. Even him. Evenme.” She stood taller. “I came to ask your advice, but I see I won’t be granted any sympathy here.” She whirled around in her billowing cape and disappeared into the darkness, footfalls echoing through the night.
“Lily!” But she didn’t return. “Lily!” Only crickets responded, and my thudding heart. “Marco!”
Only silence. She was in one of her moods again, and I knew there was no catching her. Like a cat, everything was on her terms and advice would only be taken when she was ready for it.
I slipped inside and up the stairs weak and heavyhearted, almost tripping over a parcel leaning against my door. My pulse pounded as I lifted the thing by its string, but it bore Minna’s name. I tossed it on her bed, and when she climbed through the window an hour later, I pointed at it. “Came while you were out.”
She pounced on the little package to tear off the strings and paper, and drew out a crystal figurine, which she held to the light and admired with a giggle. “My, how he indulges.”
“He seems kind, at least.”
She turned, crossing her legs on the bed. “He took a fair bit of training.”
I stared.
“Come, don’t look at me that way. It isn’t uncommon.”
“He’s married, and I’ll never feel right about that.”
She walked further into the room, no hint of apology on her bright face. “I’ve not told you much about him, have I? I supposeI cannot expect you to like a man you don’t know.” She yanked off her hat and tossed it onto the table, then came to sit across from me on her bed. “He’s a battered old cavalry man who’s seen a lot in his lifetime, and he wears all the scars of it. They never heal. He sailed in to help the fights at Waterloo twenty or so years ago and was injured twice in battle. Fought so hard they made him Major General.”
“His family let him stay away that long?”
“He had no choice, you know.” Her voice grew soft, her eyes oddly tender. “He fled England after his wife died, out of sheer desperation. He couldn’t bear it here without her, in her house with all her little touches about. Came back to claim his title when his uncle passed on, and according to his servants he’d become a stiffly bitter man with iron for a heart. His children were cold, his siblings all turned against him because of hard feelings about the war, and no woman would ever have him for a husband again. I am the only indulgence he has in life. A small taste of warmth in a world that’s otherwise been quite punishing to him.” Her voice was soft. “He’s a decent man who deserves for someone to see him as such once in a while.”
I looked anew at this woman who had both intimidated and provoked me. I saw Mama in her, in the softness she turned toward this broken man everyone else scorned. Choices had to be made in real life, and many in the murky gray areas.
I couldn’t help but think of Jack. Jack, who had also surprised me. In the end, he’d earned his reward and it hadn’t been a kiss. I glanced at the white shoes strung over my mirror. His eyes always burned with such visible intensity that it should be easy to grasp what he was thinking, everything that lay beneath, but I suddenly realized as I stared at those white shoes how little I truly understood this man. And that I rather wished to.
24
Sometimes loving a person meant giving them up. Jack Dorian knew that well, but he’d never expected to feel it so intensely. He stared at the cemetery of St. Paul’s the following morning, recalling their walk, the way she’d crumpled before her mother’s grave. The slight weight of her head on his shoulder in the carriage. Had an entire night truly passed since then?
In the afterglow of their time together, everything felt magnified. The rainbow of colors spread out before him, the voices of people calling out, the aroma of sausages and bread. The great, aching need for her. He’d never found anything so purely beautiful through and through in his entire life.
He arrived at the tall gray building he knew almost as well as his own and forced himself to ring the front to be admitted upstairs to the second-story flat. At the top he found Philippe Rousseau, slumped in a small horsehair sofa before a solitary game of cards, elbows propped, and three—three—mugs spread over the surface, leaving rings on the wood table.
Yet the man’s face looked oddly sober. Long and morose, but most definitely sober. Jack slid into the opposite seat andtook a whiff of the mugs as he passed over them—cream was the only scent his nose detected. He looked at the man’s face hanging over the fourth mug of the half-drunk concoction of buttermilk and corn flour, salt, and pepper, the famous Scottish remedy for a night in one’s cups. Never had Philippe reached this point of the circle—the clear-your-head stage—without Jack even knowing he’d begun another round. “This one was short-lived.”
“I’m doing better, Jack. Far better.” Philippe lifted his countenance still heavy with evidence of a wretched headache. “It’s been years.”
He stiffened. “Yes, but here you are again.”
“I know you won’t believe me.” He toyed with an empty mug, idly smudging drips. “I’ve grown too old for this nonsense. Hurts worse than it used to and doesn’t clear away the problems half as well as it once did. Besides, I’ve a reason to become healthy.”
“Your ‘reason’ wouldn’t happen to be a woman, would it?” His stomach turned even as he voiced the question. He knew her feelings on the matter, but what were his?
Philippe’s brooding gaze leveled on Jack’s face, eyes snapping. “What business is it of yours?”
It was worse than he’d thought—he was as far gone as she was. “I suppose she knows about all your secrets and shadows.”
He straightened on the sofa, locking gazes with Jack. “You won’t go and ruin this one for me too, will you? I’m that determined she’ll never have to know most of it. Oh, I’ll tell her about it eventually, but I’m hoping it will all be in past tense.” His eyes pleaded. “It’s beenyears,Jack. I had one bad day, one slipup. The pain was terrible.”
Jack tried to swallow a hard lump in his throat. He remembered the night that injury had occurred, leaving Philippe scrambling for a quick fix that landed him in his cups. It was only the right foot, but the pain had been so intense that it had to be dulled by something.
