Page 125 of The Earl She Once Saved

His eyes moved to her throat. The performance stopped.

Roland’s gaze settled upon the pendant. “Where did you find that?”

Verity’s hand rose instinctively to the blue stone. “It was given to me.”

“I know that jewel.” His attention shifted to Rafe. “It belonged to our mother.”

Rafe raised his eyes. Roland leaned back. His manner remained mild.

“How curious.”

“It is not curious,” Verity said.

“No?” He looked between them. “Then perhaps Rafe will explain why he has been giving our mother’s jewels to another man’s wife.”

The insinuation settled upon the table. It was as ugly as it was deliberate.

Aunt Cordelia went still. Ezra’s hand tightened around the stem of his glass. Verity felt heat rise beneath her skin.

Roland’s smile remained pleasant. “One wonders what she gave him in return.”

Rafe set down his knife. The small sound of silver against china carried along the table.

“I gave it to Lady Edgeworth,” he said evenly, “because I thought the Countess of Edgeworth should have it.”

“The countess.” Roland repeated the word as though it amused him. “A fine thing, to be called by a title.” His gaze returned to Verity. “A pity titles are only ever lent.”

No one spoke.

Roland lifted his wine. “A house is kept for its master. A name is worn by his leave. I am home now to take up both.”

Not one word had been unkind. Every soft syllable carried the same blade. Nothing at Edgeworth was hers, not the house she had saved, not the title under which she had paid his debts, not even her place at the table. A wife held such things only while her husband permitted it.

Verity pushed back her chair. Sergeant rose at once.

“Verity,” Aunt Cordelia whispered.

“I am tired.”

Roland smiled. “Of course, my dear.”

He gave his permission as though she had asked for it. Verity left the room. She did not look at Rafe. She felt his attention follow her, but she kept walking. Sergeant remained at her side all the way upstairs.

In her bedchamber, the lamps had been lit. Their glow seemed too bright. Verity stopped before the looking glass. The pendant rested at the hollow of her throat.

She saw Rafe’s unsteady hands fastening the clasp. She saw the portraits scattered across his carpet, her face, drawn through years with a care he had called nothing.

Then, she heard Roland’s voice.

One wonders what she gave him in return.

She was not worried about Roland’s opinion or even herself. All she cared about was Rafe and how this would affect him.

Her fingers found the clasp. It resisted. She tried again, but her hands had begun to shake. At last, the chain loosened and slid into her palm. The blue stone lay against her skin. Verity opened the dressing-table drawer and placed the pendant inside. It made a small, hard sound against the wood.

She closed the drawer. Sergeant lay before the hearth. Verity sat upon the edge of the bed, meaning only to rest for a moment.

The tears came without warning. She bent forward, with one hand pressed to her mouth. She wept for the estate that was no longer hers, for the young wife who had waited for a husband already planning his escape, and for the woman in Rafe’s drawings who had been remembered more tenderly than Verity had ever been loved.