A Secret Affair

“What will happen to the poor boy?” she asked.

“The poor boy is forty years old or thereabouts,” he said. “Wexford will sort it out. It is clear that Jess did not intend to steal but only to please me by putting right his mistake. And Kincaid has been more than adequately recompensed, though I cannot blame him for being angry. It has always been the worst fear of my neighbors that they are not safe with so many unsavory characters living close to them. I just hate the thought of poor Jess in jail, though, and not quite understanding why he is there. I had better go down to Ainsley next week, after we go back to London.”

“Do you want to go today?” she asked.

He looked into her eyes. “There would be too many questions to answer here,” he said. “And I want to spend the rest of today here with you even if you do insist that we abstain from … pleasure.”

He grinned at her.

She did not smile back.

“Thank you, Constantine,” she said. “Thank you for telling me.”

And good God, devil take it, he felt tears welling into his eyes. He drew his hands from hers hastily and turned to pick up Wexford’s letter. He hoped she had not seen. That was what happened when one let go a little and confided in someone else.

He ought not to have burdened her with his problems. She was preparing for a party.

“I love you,” she said.

He turned his head sharply, tears notwithstanding, and gazed at her, startled.

“I do,” she said softly. “You need not feel threatened by it. Love does not deck the beloved in chains. It just is.”

And she turned about and strode across the lawn again. This time she did not turn back.

Devil take it!

Idiot that he was, he felt frightened. Now wouldn’t the ton be fascinated to know that the devil himself was frightened by love? Though perhaps it made theological sense, he thought with wry humor.

I love you, Con. I love you more than anyone else in the whole wide world. I love you forever and ever. Amen.

That had been Jon, on the night of his sixteenth birthday.

The following morning he had been dead.

I love you, Hannah had just told him.

He closed his eyes. Pray God Wexford had got Jess safely out of jail by now. And it was a prayer. The first one in a long, long while.

***

THE CHILDREN’S PARTY was long and chaotic and excruciatingly noisy. The children all enjoyed themselves enormously, with the possible exception of Cassandra’s baby and another babe in arms, who both slept through most of the proceedings as though nothing very special was happening at all.

The adults were looking a little the worse for wear by the time all the neighbors had rounded up their offspring and herded them off back home and the house guests had picked up all the play equipment and debris and trudged back to the house with the remaining children.

“One always knows a children’s party has been a vast success,” Mrs. Finch said, “when one is so exhausted afterward that even putting one foot before the other takes a conscious effort. Your party has been one of the best, Your Grace.”

Everyone laughed—rather wearily—and agreed.

Hannah was feeling happy and proud of herself as she dressed for dinner an hour or so later. She had involved herself with the children all afternoon rather than standing back, as she might have done, playing the part of gracious hostess. She had even run a three-legged race with a ten-year-old girl who had shrieked the whole length of the course, leaving Hannah feeling slightly deaf in one ear as well as sore in all sorts of places from their numerous falls.

She was feeling happy.

She had told Constantine that she loved him, and she was not sorry. She did love him, and it had needed to be said. She expected nothing in return—at least, so she persuaded herself. But too many things were left unsaid in life, and their unsaying could make the whole difference to the rest of life.

She had told him she loved him.

They had scarcely spoken to each other all afternoon. It was not that they had avoided each other. But they had both been involved in playing with the children and conversing with the neighbors, and their paths had hardly crossed.

Of course, she had made no great effort to see to it that they did cross. She felt embarrassed, truth be told. She knew he would not laugh at her for telling him such a thing, but …

What if he did?

She was not going to brood. There was one whole evening of her house party left, and though everyone would undoubtedly be tired, they would also enjoy relaxing together in the drawing room, she believed. She was looking forward to relaxing with them.

And she believed she had female friends who would remain friends after they had all returned to London. Friends in addition to Barbara, that was. She had felt the friendships this afternoon— Cassandra and her two sisters-in-law, even Mrs. Park and Mrs. Finch. Both Lady Montford and the Countess of Sheringford had found a moment in which to invite her to call them by their given names. Katherine and Margaret.

If only she could find the courage to be her inner self as well as the Duchess of Dunbarton in London.

Life was complicated. And exciting. And uncertain. And …

Well, and definitely worth living.

“That will do nicely, Adèle,” she said, turning her head from side to side so that she could see her hair in the mirror. It was prettily piled and curled without being overelaborate.

She wore a gown of deep rose pink. She had intended to wear no jewelry, but the low neckline was too bare without anything. A single diamond pendant—a real diamond—hung from a silver chain. And on her left hand she wore the most precious of her rings, her wedding present, along with her wedding ring.

“That will be all, thank you,” she said, and she gazed at her image for a while after her maid had left the room. She tried, as she occasionally did, to see herself as others saw her. In London, of course, she always made sure that other people saw her a certain way. But here? She had felt friendship here during the past few days. Apart from the fact that she was the hostess, she had felt as if no one viewed her as being any more special than any of the other ladies.

Was it her clothing? She had not worn white even once. Or her hair? It was more formally dressed tonight than at any time since she had come into the country, but even now it was not as elaborate as she wore it in town. Or her relative lack of jewelry?

Or was it something else? Had her guests seen during the past few days what she was seeing now? Simply herself?

Was she able to inspire love, or at least liking and respect, as herself?

She was not the only beautiful woman in the world, after all. Even here. Cassandra and her sisters-in-law were all strikingly good-looking. Mrs. Finch was pretty. So were Marianne Astley and Julianna Bentley. Barbara was lovely.

Hannah sighed and got to her feet. She was so glad there had been this house party. She had enjoyed it more than she could remember enjoying anything for a long while. And there was this evening left. Tomorrow she would be back in London. She and Constantine would be able to spend the night together. Unless, that was, he felt it necessary to hurry down to Ainsley Park to see that all was well with his farm hand.

She hoped for the sake of both him and Constantine that that situation would resolve itself soon.

***

“TOMORROW NIGHT,” he said, gazing up at stars too numerous to count. “My carriage