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“I… did not know it was Doctor Stanforth,” Anthony said, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “His hair was different and I only saw him from the back. Having no notion that your uncle was so unwell, how could I have known it was the doctor? You did not tell me.”
A note of frustration colored his voice, eliciting a little grip of guilt in her stomach.
“My uncle asked me to keep it to myself,” she explained. “He is a surprisingly proud man, and he did not want anyone to know. Heavens, at first, he did not even want me to know. If I had not seen the doctor leaving his townhouse, I probably still would not know. But… I am sorry for not telling you immediately. I loathed keeping the secret from you for as long as I did, for I am not a natural liar. I hate being dishonest.”
Her answer seemed to inflict more pain upon her husband, his eyes creased, his breaths strained.
“What about the message at midnight? What about the note?” he asked. “Who is ‘WP’ and why does he know what you desire, and why do you know where to find him?”
A gasp of shock left her throat, remembering that Anthony had broken into her private library. She had been in such a hurry to leave Knotgill after his dismissal that she had not gone to check if anything was out of place or missing.
“You had no right to invade my library,” she said, clenching her hands into fists.
“I thought you were conducting an affair!” he replied, his voice cracking. “I needed proof, to protect myself.”
An affair? She might not have been involved in society, and could not say she had ever read a scandal sheet, but she knew what that was. At least in its simplest terms. A betrayal.
He thought she had betrayed him with another man when, all this time, she had been falling in love with him.
“And you found a note from my plant merchant!” she shot back, infuriated. “A very private man who prefers to remain that way. A very private man who had expensive and hard-to-get herbs and roots that I needed for my uncle. Herbs and roots that are helping him!”
Anthony took a step forward, but Marina stepped back, her leg bumping against the writing desk chair.
“That was all the more reason to keep the truth from you,” she added, her eyes stinging with angry tears that she refused to let fall. “I did not want to put the burden of that expense upon you.”
His eyes widened. “The boxes that smelled terrible…”
“Pardon?”
“That is what you brought back from London in the garment boxes,” he said. “Medicinal herbs.”
She nodded slowly. “That is how he packages the rarer things, so no one asks any questions. He provided me with the things I would need to make the preparation, too.”
Anthony stood as if frozen, his face a picture of horror. His throat bobbed, and as she waited for him to say something, she noted how tired he looked. Had he not been sleeping well? Had he not been taking care of himself? Was there a tonic or a tea that she could brew to help him get some restful slumber?
No! Do not think fondly. He thought such terrible things about you! she scolded herself, forcing her gaze away, toward a painting on the wall of a snowy Stadley. It was always so beautiful in the winter.
“And… how is your uncle?” Anthony croaked, shamefaced.
She whipped her gaze back to him, glaring. “You dare to ask that now?”
“I am sorry, Marina. I am so very sorry,” he rasped, raking a hand through his hair. “But, in my defense, you were dishonest. You were acting strangely. You lied about where you were.”
“I did not!” she countered, annoyed that his apology had come with a caveat.
“You said you had a meeting with two physicians from the Royal College and that you dined with Lady Yvette,” he pointed out.
“And I did have a meeting with two physicians from the Royal College. One of them was Doctor Stanforth and one of them was his useless acquaintance who told me I would be better off visiting an undertaker, and that I should not trouble myself with such matters,” she snapped in reply. “True, I did not dine with Lady Yvette, but I bumped into her and we had a dismal tea together, where I was insulted for the second time that day.”
Shame cast a pall across Anthony’s face, his hand reaching up to tug at a too-tight collar. “Ah… I see.”
“But no insult from any physician or vapid acquaintance has been worse than you suggesting I would ever betray you,” she said, her voice catching. “That I would consort with someone else for what I assume to be unseemly reasons.”
She had not forgotten his explanation on their wedding night; it was not a far leap to suppose that that was what he thought she had been doing.
Anthony exhaled, and his entire body seemed to collapse. “Then, I am even sorrier for the way I have treated you.” He shook his head slowly. “It is no excuse, but… I have trouble trusting people. And you did keep your uncle’s secret from me.”
“So, I am entirely to blame for your cruel dismissal? I am entirely to blame for you jumping to the wrong conclusions?” she retorted, for she would not accept that. She would accept a portion of the responsibility, but not all.
