“Marguerite . . .”
She ignored Anthony’s attempt to intervene, fixing her attention on Harry. “Will you give me your address in France? I would like to write to you.”
“Why?”
“Because I think Justin would’ve wanted to know that you were safe.”
Harry scrubbed at his face. “As I said, I’m going to India. That’s why I came back to England. A relative of mine has found me an obscure post with one of the trading companies where I can work hard to redeem myself.”
“Then write to me when you are settled. Please.” Marguerite hesitated. “I want to forgive you, but I need to think about what I’ve heard. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly, my lady.” Harry stood up and bowed. “It’s taken me two years to get to a point where I can accept my responsibility for this tragedy and also accept that Justin wasn’t blameless. I hope you can do the same. I will write to you.”
Marguerite rose as well and curtsied. “I hope your sea voyage is safe and that your new life is everything you want it to be.”
Harry walked across the room and went down on one knee before her, took her hand and kissed it. “I’m sorrier than I can say about Justin. I’ve gone over what happened a thousand times, and I still can’t decide what I could’ve done to change the outcome.”
She patted his shoulder. “I understand, and I know you loved him. I’ll pray for you.”
He looked up, the pain in his face almost unbearable to see. “Thank you.”
Marguerite went toward the door, and Christian opened it for her. She barely noticed Anthony fall in behind her. They reached the ground floor, and the noise of the tavern was even more startling after the quietness of upstairs. A chorus of boos and jeers went up as they headed for the door and didn’t join in the festivities. Marguerite almost smiled. How ludicrous life sometimes was, the blaze of color and laughter down here compared to the stark story of the destruction of a man’s life she’d just heard upstairs.
She gulped in the slightly fresher air, forcing herself to walk to the wall that protected the river down below.
“Are you all right, Marguerite?”
She suddenly became aware of Christian’s calm voice in her ear and Anthony’s firm grasp of her upper arm as the whole river vista swayed and dipped before her eyes.
“Yes, I want to go home.”
“I can take her, Delornay.”
“Non.” Marguerite removed herself from Anthony’s possessive grasp. “I want to go home, to my mother.”
Anthony stepped back and bowed, his face impassive. “Then I’ll come and see you in the pleasure house tomorrow, after you have rested. Good night, my lady, Mr. Delornay.”
She watched him leave, vault on his horse and disappear into the night. She’d have to talk to him at some point, but why did it have to be tomorrow?
“Are you ready to go now, Marguerite?” Christian leaned against the stone wall beside her, arms folded as if he were happy to wait on her all night. She shivered and drew her cloak tighter.
“Yes, and thank you for coming with me.”
He straightened and buttoned up his coat, shoved one hand in his pocket and offered her the other. “Thank you for helping me understand what happened.”
She glanced up at him as he led her back toward the carriage. “Do you still love me?”
He stopped and put both hands on her shoulders. “Sometimes, Marguerite, you ask the most ridiculous questions. You married the wrong man. He made a fool of himself. Why wouldn’t I still love you?” He shook her gently. “It was not your fault or poor Sir Harry’s. You must try to remember that.”
She bit her lip. If it were only that easy. Perhaps it was for Christian, who had never been in love. She nodded and managed a smile.
“It’s freezing out here. Let’s go home.”
24
“Maman, I don’t want to see him!”
“Marguerite, you have to.”
Marguerite swung around to glare at her mother, who had invaded her bedroom at the break of dawn complete with a breakfast tray and a lecture.
“Why must I see him?”
“Because you owe him an explanation?”
“He got an explanation. Thanks to your interference, he was there last night! I’m sure he heard everything he needed to hear about my transgressions.”
“There is no need to be rude.” Helene settled her skirts around her knees. “Obviously he’s not satisfied if he insisted on meeting you again this morning.”
“He probably just wants to tell me he never wants to see me again.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he knows what I did, he knows everything.”
“He knows that your marriage was full of problems and that your husband caused most of them.”
Marguerite rounded on her mother, fists clenched at her sides. “Why are you being so nice to me? Why isn’t anyone blaming me?”
“For what? You married Justin in good faith, oui? You didn’t know that after a few days of marriage he would suddenly produce a male lover?”
“Of course I didn’t know that, but I didn’t stop him, did I? I let him believe that it was all right, that I understood, that . . .” She ran out of words and stared helplessly at her mother. “God, I was prepared to do anything to keep him. I wanted a family of my own so desperately.”
Helene sighed and held out her hand. “Marguerite, you always had me and the twins; why do you make it sound as if you were alone?”
“I felt alone, Maman. I always tried to be a mother to the twins, but I knew they would be leaving the nunnery soon and coming to you. I knew they would no longer need me. When I met Justin, he seemed the answer to my prayers.”
Helene’s hand dropped onto her lap. “I’m sorry, Marguerite. I’m so sorry for giving you that burden. I should never have abandoned you like that.”
Marguerite went to kneel at her mother’s feet. “It’s all right. I know why you did it, Maman. I understand. Please do not feel guilty.”
Helene sighed. “I knew something was wrong when I came to meet you in Dover just after your marriage. I should’ve acted on my instincts and questioned you more closely.”
Marguerite took her mother’s hand and squeezed it hard. “And I would have continued to lie to you. I’d already made my decision to marry Justin, and I was prepared to live with that choice.”
“And now? You will destroy your chance at happiness with Anthony Sokorvsky by living in the past forever?”
“I thought you didn’t approve of my liaison with Anthony.”
Helene smiled slightly. “I’ve changed my mind. I think he has the potential to become an extraordinary man. You haven’t answered my question. Are you going to allow your guilt about Justin to sour your future with Anthony?”
“But how can I tell, Maman? How can I know if he is the right man for me? I haven’t chosen very well so far.”
“Anthony told me that Lord Minshom shared all his secrets with you, and that you didn’t turn away from him. Is that true?”
“Why would I?”
Helene’s face softened. “Most women would, my dear. Do you think he would have told you himself if Minshom hadn’t forced the issue?”
Marguerite met her mother’s searching gaze. “Yes, I think so; in truth, I know he would.”
“And were you intending to tell him about your complicated relationship with Justin?”
“Yes, I was.”
Helene smiled. “Then what is the problem? Lord Minshom saved you both a lot of trouble, didn’t he?”
Marguerite thought about that. Lord Minshom in the unlikely role of matchmaker felt decidedly odd, yet he had helped her connect with Sir Harry at the end, and had walked away from Anthony . . .
“I don’t know if Anthony wants me, Maman. I know he values our friendship, but he has never spoken of love.”
Helene patted Marguerite’s hand and released it, then got to her feet in a rustle of blue silk. “Both of you have good reasons not to want to fall in love. Both of you fear being vulnerable again. I suggest you see Anthony, tell him how you feel and see what he says in return.”