Web of Love

Chapter 18

SIXTEEN PERSONS SAT DOWN TO DINNER AT Sir Jasper Simpson’s town house several evenings later. It would not, unfortunately, be a merry gathering, he told his guests in the drawing room before they moved into the dining room. There would be no dancing. A number of them were in mourning. But he had given in to the desire to honor the daughter-in-law and the granddaughter whom he had met for the first time only recently, and to meet some of their closest friends.

He knew almost everyone, Lord Eden discovered. He did not know Sir Jasper himself or Mrs. Edith Simpson, but he had seen Phillip Simpson at White’s a few times in the past. And he was acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Everett, cousins of Charlie’s. Young Mr. Lawrence Winslow he had not seen before, but he did know Viscount Agerton. And there was a great deal of loud talk and laughter and back-slapping when that last gentleman and Walter recognized in each other old school fellows.

Anna and Susan and Madeline were present too, of course, and Penworth, much to Lord Eden’s surprise. Madeline had announced at home the day before that he had decided to attend the dinner. She had been sparkling with exuberance, and yet she had expressed some uneasiness to him when they were alone together. Was he up to mingling with such a gathering for a whole evening?

There was only one way to find out, he had told her, his arm about her shoulders. Was she up to it? That was more to the point. She had thrown him an indignant look, and he had guessed that he had hit on a raw nerve.

Lord Eden should have felt quite comfortable at the gathering. In fact, he felt quite the opposite. He was mingling with Charlie’s family. And he was intruding yet again on Ellen’s presence, when he had told her the week before that he would probably not see her again. He had said good-bye to her.

He was still not quite sure why he had accepted the invitation. Had it been Susan’s plight? Or Anna’s persuasions? Or Miss Simpson’s eager expression? Or was it his own weak and selfish need to torture himself? And perhaps Ellen too?

However it was, he felt uncomfortable and wished himself anywhere but in that particular place. He was thankful that his trunks were packed and arrangements all made for his departure the next day. Temptation would be taken out of his grasp then. He could begin the process of forgetting her and starting a new life.

In the meantime, he decided as Sir Jasper took Ellen on his arm to lead her into the dining room, and he offered his own arm to Susan, he would stay far away from Ellen for that evening. He would show her feelings that much respect, anyway.

He seated Susan as far from the head of the table as possible and set himself to charming both her and Lady Habersham on his other side. He concentrated the whole of his mind on his conversation with those two ladies and on Winslow and Mrs. Everett opposite. And soon, he thought after an interminable hour, the ladies would withdraw, and if he was fortunate, Sir Jasper would be the type of man who liked to sit over the port and the male conversation for at least an hour more.

But Sir Jasper rose to his feet before Edith Simpson could give the signal to the ladies. He wished his guests to join him in a few toasts, he said. They all dutifully raised their glasses to his granddaughter, whom circumstances had kept from him all her life, and to his dear daughter-in-law, who had comforted the last years of his son.

The old man paused, his smile directed at Ellen. Lord Eden allowed himself to look fully at her for the first time that evening. She was sitting very upright in her chair, her face pale and tense, her eyes wide and pleading on her father-in-law. One hand began to reach up to him but joined the other in her lap again.

Lord Eden frowned.

“And a very special toast,” Sir Jasper said, “to a third person, one who is with us tonight and makes our numbers a very awkward seventeen.” He smiled kindly down at his daughter-in-law.

She closed her eyes.

“To my future grandchild,” Sir Jasper said. “To my grandson, it is my fondest hope. My heir.”

There was a buzz of voices about the table and a scraping of chairs being pushed back. And a clinking of glasses. Lord Eden found himself on his feet and doing what everyone else did. He even heard Susan say that she was never more surprised in her life. And one part of him noticed Jennifer with both hands to her mouth, crying.

He stayed on his feet, bowing and smiling as the ladies left. And he even found himself participating in a conversation about the races and the quality of the cattle that were up for auction these days at Tattersall’s. He had no idea if the gentlemen sat over the port for ten minutes or thirty, or for a whole hour.

But Sir Jasper did eventually suggest that they join the ladies in the drawing room.

JENNIFER SAT BESIDE ELLEN until the gentlemen joined them. Most of the other ladies were gathered about the pianoforte. Several of them played.

Jennifer was feeling happier than she had felt for months, she told Ellen more than once. Why had Ellen not told her before? She was so very happy.

“I have been feeling so sad for you in the last few weeks, Ellen,” she said. “I have new friends and have been going about a great deal more than you have. And I have realized that losing a husband is very much worse than losing a father. I have wished and wished that there were something or somebody for you. But though you are young and very lovely and will undoubtedly remarry eventually, you could not think of doing so yet, could you? But now you do have someone. Your very own child. Oh, Ellen, I know why you did not tell me when we were alone at home. I would have screamed and danced you about the room. I don’t blame you for preventing that.”

“Jennifer.” Ellen looked acutely distressed. “I did not want you to find out like this. I wanted to tell you myself. I wanted to tell you the whole of it. There is a great deal to be said.”

Jennifer smiled brightly at her. “And I want to hear it all,” she said. “You shall tell me all about it sometime when we have the leisure. There will be lots of time, Ellen. Three weeks at Amberley Court. Oh, life suddenly seems very good again. But you are not looking happy. I am being very insensitive. There is a sadness for you too, as well as happiness. Papa isn’t here. He would never have known, would he?”

Ellen shook her head. “No,” she said, “he did not know.”

Ellen rose as soon as the men came into the drawing room, and stood behind the bench at the pianoforte, watching Madeline play. Jennifer stayed where she was, feeling her own happiness. Just a few months before, her world had seemed to end when her papa died. And yet she was now surrounded by family and friends at a party that was being given partly in her honor. And Grandpapa had said that she and Ellen must come to live with him when they returned from the country.

And Ellen was to have a child. She would have something of Papa left.

But Lieutenant Penworth was sitting alone in the darkest corner of the room. And he was shifting about as if he could not find a comfortable position, as if he were in some pain. Jennifer crossed to the tea tray, took two cups from her Aunt Dorothy’s hand, and carried them over to the corner. She took a seat close to his and smiled.

“Would you care for some tea, sir?” she asked.

“Thank you,” he said. “But you do not need to bother yourself waiting upon me, you know. You should be enjoying yourself with the other young people.”

“I can enjoy myself here,” she said, “with another young person.”

“There is no enjoyment to be gained here,” he said. “You should be at the pianoforte, singing or playing, and being admired.”

Jennifer laughed. “I am afraid that if I sang or played,” she said, “I would not be admired, sir. Would you not like to be closer to the pianoforte yourself?”

“It is better if I sit here,” he said. “If I went over there, everyone would be falling over themselves to find me a chair and to speak kindly, as if I were an infant.”

“You don’t like kindness?” she said.

“Not particularly,” he said.

“You would prefer that people ignored you or kicked your leg from under you?”

He stared at her rather coldly from his one eye. “You cannot possibly understand,” he said. “When you have been in the best of health, when other people have treated you as an equal, then it is hard to find that everything-and everyone-has changed.”

“But everything has changed,” she said. “Nothing can be quite the same for you again. But people have not been unkind to you, have they? Perhaps you should be thankful for that at least.”

“The very worst way in the world to be treated,” he said, “is with pity.”

Jennifer stirred her tea and lifted the cup to her lips. “You are right,” she said. “I don’t understand. I don’t know what it would be like to be in your place. But I would think that the very worst thing in the world is to feel self-pity.”

He was very angry. She could see that from the set of his jaw. “Self-pity!” he said. “To know that any stranger looking into my face for the rest of my life will either grimace with distaste or smile with embarrassed pity. To know that I will never again walk properly, never again ride, or sail a boat, or play cricket, or run. Or a hundred and one other things. I would be better off dead.”

“My father is dead,” she said, setting cup and saucer down carefully beside her. “He will never see the sun again. Or feel its warmth. He will never see Ellen again, or me. He will never know love again or laughter or tears. And we will never have him with us again. Only a great heavy emptiness where he used to be. And you dare to envy him?”

“Yes, I do,” he said curtly.

“Then you are greatly to be pitied,” she said. “Not because you have lost a leg, and not because your face has been disfigured. Not because your life must change beyond recognition. But because you do not have the character to cope with those changes. Because you have allowed yourself to crumble beneath adversity.”

“A very eloquent speech,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “I thank you.”

“I try to recognize the man I knew in Brussels,” she said. “I liked him. He was sunny-natured, and he had a love of life, and a passionate desire to serve his country. I think I even felt a little jealous at one time that he seemed to prefer Lady Madeline to me. I can see him sitting before me, even though one side of his face is covered with bandages, and a pair of crutches rests against his chair. But I have mistaken. He is not the same man. I am sorry. I would have mourned that man with my father if I had known that he died at Waterloo.”

His jaw was set very hard. He was choosing his words with care, she could see. But they were interrupted.

“Jennifer has brought you a cup of tea, Allan?” Madeline said, smiling warmly down at him. “That was kind of her. Did you hear me singing? I did so just for you. You are in some discomfort, aren’t you? Shall I take you home? I am sure everyone would understand.”

“We will stay here,” he said. “I want you to enjoy the evening, Madeline.”

“But I don’t mind leaving,” she said. “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“We will stay,” he said, his eye straying to Jennifer. “I will play a hand of cards as soon as the tables are set up. I am sure I can see well enough to do that.”

“But of course you can,” Madeline said, laughing in some amusement.

Jennifer excused herself and moved away. How unforgivably rude she had been. She had said herself just a few days before that Lieutenant Penworth would need more time to adjust to the harsh circumstances of his future. And yet she had just ripped up at him as if he were a sullen schoolboy.

Perhaps she should go back to him and apologize, she thought. But no, that would doubtless make matters worse. He would think she was pitying him. She went to the pianoforte and seated herself on the bench beside Anna.

ELLEN TOOK A SEAT between Edith and Mrs. Everett, and talked with them while they drank their tea. It seemed a safe place to be. But when their cups were empty, Edith took hers and Ellen’s and crossed the room to return them to the tray. And she stayed there to talk with Dorothy. And Mrs. Everett was called away to play the pianoforte while Anna and Jennifer attempted a vocal duet.

The rest of the company were beginning to take their places at the tables for cards.

Ellen did not react fast enough. One of the empty chairs beside her was taken. And they were somewhat removed from both the pianoforte at one end of the room and the card tables at the other. Ellen clasped her hands in her lap and focused her attention on one of the tables. Lieutenant Penworth was to have Susan Jennings for a partner, and Lord Agerton had Madeline.

“Well, Ellen,” Lord Eden said quietly from beside her.

There was no reply to such a greeting, was there? Or if there was, she could not think of it. She said nothing.

“It appears you forgot to tell me something,” he said.

“My lord?” Her eyes shifted to his legs, clad in blue knee breeches, but could not lift to his face.

“You forgot to tell me that our liaison had consequences,” he said.

“You are referring to Sir Jasper’s announcement at dinner?” They were very foolish words, she knew. But she could think of no others.

“I suppose there are not many men,” he said, “who find out in just such a way that they have fathered a child. But under the circumstances I suppose I should be thankful that I found out at all. Tomorrow your secret would have been safe. Tomorrow I leave for Wiltshire.”

“My secret?” she said. “It has not been a secret, my lord. I have told a few people. I had no occasion to tell you.”

“Ah, of course,” he said. “How foolish of me to think that I am of any importance in this matter. I merely planted the seed. I am merely the father. A quite irrelevant person once the seed has been sown. It is conceited of me to feel that I should have been told.”

“I think you are under a misapprehension,” she said. “It is Charlie’s baby.”

She could feel him looking at her. She watched the card games in progress at the other side of the room.

“I see,” he said. “It was a happy coincidence, then, that after five years of marriage he finally got you with child at the last possible moment. Nothing shows yet. It must have been the last moment.”

“Yes,” she said. “A happy coincidence.”

“Happy for the Simpson family,” he said. “Very happy for Sir Jasper, who has a new grandchild to look forward to. Someone to replace the son he has lost and comfort him in his old age.”

“Yes,” she said.

“And happy for Miss Simpson, who will have a new brother or sister.”

“Yes.”

“Happy too for Mr. Phillip Simpson, who has thought himself his father’s heir since June. He must be hoping with his father that the child is male so that the family property and fortune will be restored to Charlie’s line again.” He leaned toward her suddenly. “What did you say?”

She tried again. “Yes,” she said.

“Ellen,” he said, “I never thought you a coward. I have seen proof time and time again that you are capable of extraordinary courage. Now I see you are capable of extraordinary cowardice too.”

She looked at him for the first time, her eyes flashing. “Prove it!” she said. “Prove that I am lying. Prove that the child is not Charlie’s. That I am too cowardly to admit the truth. Prove it!”

He shook his head. “I cannot do so,” he said, “and would not, even if I could. But you and I both know the truth, Ellen. You are carrying a child that is mine and yours. And it always will be ours, however much you wish it could be Charlie’s, and however much you look for signs of him in the growing child. You will be fortunate indeed if it does not have green eyes.”

“Charlie did not have green eyes,” she said, “and I do not.”

His eyes passed slowly and almost lazily over the other occupants of the room, none of whom were paying them any attention. “You know, Ellen,” he said, “you are fortunate that we are in such a public place and must pretend to be holding an amiable and quite unimportant conversation. Very fortunate. For the past hour or so, I have been in shock. I am only just beginning to feel anger.”

“You have nothing to feel angry about,” she said. “This has nothing to do with you, my lord.”

“I want to pick you up with my two hands,” he said quietly, “and shake you until your teeth rattle. I want to take you across my lap and beat you until you are too sore to sit down. Both of which acts I am saved from committing under present circumstances. And it is as well. I have never abused a woman physically and have never thought to. But I want to do you terrible violence, Ellen. And I am deadly serious despite the amiable expression I must put on for the other occupants of the room.”

“I think we have already said everything that needs to be said between us,” she said, hearing her own breathlessness, and unable to control it. “You should not be here, my lord. You said good-bye to me at your mother’s house.”

“We have not said one fraction of what needs to be said between us,” he said. “I did not know at that time, Ellen, that you have my child inside you. You had chosen to deceive me, to keep from me what every man has a right to know. We have not by any means finished speaking, you and I. And will not be until you have the courage to look into my eyes and tell me the truth so that we can discuss like rational beings what we are to do about our child.”

“My child will be well-cared-for,” she said. “By me. You need have no fear of that.”

“But this child is not yours,” he said. “It is ours. It will be well-cared-for, Ellen. By you and by me. We will jointly decide where and how it will live.”

“We will see,” she said. “I believe you will find that you will not be allowed to harass me.”

“I will take the risk,” he said. “I have a child of mine to consider.”

They sat side by side, both watching the card players, both apparently relaxed, both taut with anger and tension and awareness of each other.

“Ellen,” he said at last, very quietly, “tell me the truth. Please? I loved you for those six days, and you loved me. It was a kind of love, anyway. At the time, it was very precious to both of us. It has gone and can never be rekindled, I suppose. But there has been that between us. Tell me the truth. I will not make trouble for you with your family. You may do what you wish with regards to them. But look at me and tell me the truth.”

She felt quite incapable of either moving or opening her mouth. It would be so easy to do. And the right thing to do. It was what she wanted to do, to have part of the burden of a secret guilt removed. Even if she could not look at him. Just to say the words-It is your child, Dominic. Just to say them. It should be so easy.

She said nothing at all.

“The silent treatment, then?” he said at last. “That is all I am worth to you, Ellen? You cannot even look me in the eyes and tell me once more that I am mistaken?”

She stared straight ahead, her mind forming the words, knowing exactly what the words should be. Knowing how few and how simple they were and how much better she would feel after saying them. Knowing how the words needed to be said. Knowing that he had every right to hear them.

She said nothing.

He got abruptly to his feet. But one of the card games had come to an end without their noticing the fact. Susan Jennings had crossed the room toward them.

“Such a pleasant evening,” she said, taking a vacant seat and smiling up at Lord Eden, who resumed his own seat. “Of course, Mrs. Simpson, you must feel, as I do, that it would be easier to remain at home alone and grieve. But one must make an effort to continue with life, mustn’t one?”

“Yes,” Ellen said.

“You are in many ways fortunate,” Susan said, unfurling a fan and fanning herself slowly with it. “You have a daughter to take about with you. And you have another event to anticipate.” She glanced archly at Lord Eden and laughed. “But we must not put his lordship to the blush by discussing such matters.”

“Is Mrs. Courtney staying in town long, Susan?” Lord Eden asked.

“She talks about going home,” she said. “Papa and the boys are so helpless when she is not there. But she knows that I need her. And she will not abandon me in my time of great need. It is a great comfort to have one’s mother close, Mrs. Simpson.”

Ellen inclined her head.

“You are going into Wiltshire tomorrow, my lord?” Susan said. “Your family will miss you dreadfully, I am sure.”

“After Christmas,” he said abruptly. “I will be going into Wiltshire after Christmas. I plan to spend a few months first at Amberley Court.”

Susan’s face brightened. “But how happy your mama must be,” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “She will be happy to have her family all together again at Amberley.”

“Of course,” Susan said, “I must be going into the country soon too. Mama is restless, and Lord Renfrew is about to betroth himself to Lady Penelope Varley, I believe, though he has been obliging enough to assure me that I may always have a home with him. I shall doubtless spend what is left of my year of mourning quietly at home.”

“Then I shall look forward to seeing you there, Susan,” he said.

“You are very kind,” she said. “You will like Amberley Court, Mrs. Simpson. The valley and the beach and the cliffs. I am afraid of heights, of course, and can never enjoy the cliffs. I hope you are not as silly as I. I am sure I spoil everyone’s enjoyment. You will find plenty to do there. And the young people will amuse themselves. Your stepdaughter will be happy there.”

“I rather think Mrs. Simpson might qualify as one of the young persons, Susan,” Lord Eden said.

Susan looked at him with large, remorseful eyes. “Of course,” she said. “Pardon me, ma’am. I did not mean to imply…Why, I daresay you are not above five or six years older than I. It is just that you were married longer, and your husband was older than mine. And of course, you are enceinte. But I did not mean to imply that you were old.”

“Mrs. Jennings, ma’am.” Sir Jasper was smiling down at all three of them suddenly. “Mr. Winslow is in need of a partner for the next hand. Would you oblige?”

“Why, certainly,” she said. “It is very kind of you to ask, I am sure, sir.”

Lord Eden too got to his feet, though he stayed for a moment when the other two had moved away.

“You will be able to get out the words at your leisure, Ellen,” he said. “You are to be at Amberley for three weeks? Or do you plan to change your mind about going? Do so, if you will. But you will not escape from me. You will tell me the truth, with your eyes on mine, before you can hope to see the last of me.”

“I shall be going to Amberley Court,” she said. “I do not change my mind as easily as you seem to do, my lord.”

He nodded and turned away. “We will talk further there, then,” he said. But he turned back after taking only one step in the direction of the tables. “Have you seen a physician, Ellen?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And is all well?” he asked. “There have been no recurrences of the fainting spell? I assume it was your condition that caused that.”

“The doctor says I am in the best of health,” she said.

He looked at her broodingly before moving away abruptly.

ELLEN DID NOT SLEEP at all that night. The accusation of cowardice had cut to the heart of her guilt. And the more so because she had no defenses against it. He had been quite right. She was a coward.

Less than a month after the death of her husband she had conceived another man’s child. And rather than admit that fact to the world, she had allowed other people-members of Charlie’s family-to believe that it was his. She had never lied to them. But she had allowed them to believe a lie, and that was just as bad. Now she seemed to be in a quite hopeless situation.

But worse had happened. She had finally lied outright. She had told Dominic that the baby was Charlie’s. A pointless and an unnecessary lie. Why had she said it? She could not answer her own question. It had been wrong, of course, to withhold the truth from him in the first place. She had realized that all along. But to lie to him when the truth was out was utter madness. And she did not know why she had done so and why she had not been able to put the matter right when he had given her the chance to do so.

Oh, yes, she was a coward. She had prided herself so much on her independence, on her ability to survive even the crushing blow of Charlie’s death. And yet she was too cowardly to admit that the child she was carrying was illegitimate. Even though she was not ashamed at all of its illegitimacy. Even though she had loved its father when he had begotten it in her.

She slipped out of the house the following morning and had the carriage drop her outside the Earl of Harrowby’s house. She willed him to be at home, not to have departed for one of his clubs already. But she need not have feared. It was too early for him to be abroad. She had to wait in the morning room while his valet hastily dressed and shaved him.

Ellen was nervously pacing the room when he finally made an appearance. She shot across the room almost before he could get any greeting out, and straight into his arms.

“Ellie?” he said, one large hand going to the back of her head. “What is it, girl?”

“He has found out,” she blurted into his neckcloth, “and I lied to him and told him it is Charlie’s. And if it is a boy, he will be Sir Jasper’s heir. And Phillip will be defrauded. Papa. Oh, Papa, I have made such a mess of things. And me five-and-twenty years old. I have made such a mess of things.”

“Ellie,” he said, rocking her comfortingly in his arms, “we all make a mess of life sometimes, girl. But there is usually a way out if we want it dearly enough.”

She closed her eyes and let the comfort of his arms flow over her.

“Come into the breakfast room with me,” he said. “Have you had breakfast? And you shall tell me what it is you were trying to tell me just now. It didn’t make much sense, Ellie, girl. It is the father who has found out?”

She nodded against his neckcloth and lifted her head away from him. “I didn’t have breakfast,” she said.

Sometimes, she thought afterward, one did not need anything more to help one solve one’s problems than a truly sympathetic ear. Her father had said very little. She had done most of the talking. He had not given any advice or any comment on what was right or wrong. He had offered to go with her to Sir Jasper Simpson’s, and she had been very tempted to say yes. But she had not. She had decided herself what must be done, and she would do it alone. She was very much afraid, but she would do it.

“Papa,” she said when she was leaving, wrapping her arms about his neck and standing on tiptoe so that she might lay her cheek against his. “Papa, the very worst thing I ever did was to turn my back on you, thinking that somehow it was the honorable thing to do. I don’t care if you are my real father or not. I really don’t care. You are my papa, and that is all that matters.”

“And this is your home,” he said, patting her reassuringly on the back. “You must come here, Ellie, when you come back from Amberley’s home. You must not rush into buying a place that you may not really like. You must come here. I’ll stay sober if you come home, you know.”

She withdrew her cheek from his and smiled up into his face. “No, you won’t, Papa,” she said. “Be honest. But it does not matter. I love you anyway.”

He smiled a little sheepishly.

And so the visit to her father-in-law was made, where Ellen lived through surely the most uncomfortable half-hour of her life. And could not collapse with relief even when it was over, because it had to be repeated with her sister-in-law.

She asked only that Jennifer not be told. She would tell the girl in her own time. At the end of the visit to Amberley, she planned. Indeed, she was somewhat surprised that someone did not suggest that she was no fit companion for Jennifer and should not accompany the girl into the country. But no one did say that. In fact, Dorothy was not even unkind and did not order her from the house.

It had all been a lot easier-and many times worse-than she had anticipated.

LORD EDEN HAD a few confrontations of his own to face before leaving London behind him.

His twin did not even allow him the night in which to get used to the totally new fact of his life. She came to his dressing room soon after he had escorted Susan home, and came inside without waiting for his valet to answer her knock. He dismissed his man.

“Dom,” she said, leaning back against the door, “did you know?”

He did not pretend ignorance. “No,” he said.

“It is yours?”

“She says not,” he said.

“I saw you talking to her.” She pushed away from the door and came toward him. “Is there any chance that she is lying, Dom? You were lovers, weren’t you?”

“She says it is Charlie’s,” he said, turning away from her.

“Oh, Dom,” she said, “I am so very, very sorry. And tomorrow you leave. And you will never see her again.”

“I am going to Amberley,” he said.

“Oh.” There was silence for a moment. She sounded almost her normal cheerful self when she broke it. “You are going to fight, then. I am glad to hear it. She is by far the most sensible female who has ever taken your fancy, Dom.”

“She has not taken my fancy,” he said. “There is nothing between us, Mad. Except this, of course. There are a few matters to settle, that is all.”

“Yes,” she said, “that is all.” She reached up to kiss him lightly on the cheek and whisked herself from the room. She paused as she was closing the door. “But that is quite enough, Dom. I know it. I feel it in my bones.” She laughed lightly as she shut the door.

Edmund was not nearly so sympathetic or so easy to deal with. It was a mere courtesy call Lord Eden made to inform his brother of his intentions. He found him in the library.

“What is happening?” the earl said with a frown. “You are coming to Amberley, Dominic?”

“You don’t need to look quite so enthusiastic,” Lord Eden said with a grin.

“I am not particularly enthusiastic,” his brother said. “We have invited guests. I think you know that one of them may not welcome your presence there too.”

“Ellen?”

“Well, you tell me,” the earl said. “Will she mind your being there, Dominic? I don’t know quite what happened in Brussels, and I do not know what has happened since. And I would not presume to pry. But she did not look overjoyed to see you when you arrived here a few afternoons ago.”

“She knows I am going,” Lord Eden said, “and says that she is still planning to go too.”

Lord Amberley looked uncertain. “Well,” he said, “there is not much I can say, then, is there? Amberley is your home, Dominic. I would never dream of closing its doors to you. But I will make one thing clear. I will not have Mrs. Simpson harassed. Is that clear?”

“I feel like a young boy who has been hauled onto the carpet,” Lord Eden said. “I will not harass her, Edmund. But I have to be there. Do you understand?”

“No, quite frankly, I don’t,” his brother said. “But you are an adult, Dominic. I will not even try to tell you how you should behave, beyond what I must do to protect a guest in my home, of course.”

“Of course,” Lord Eden said. “I will take myself off, then, Edmund.” But he paused with his hand on the library door. He did not turn his head. “You will doubtless hear it from Madeline or Anna. I might as well tell you myself. She is increasing.”

He continued on his way out of the room.