Page 142 of The Earl She Once Saved

Rafe had not raised his voice. Aunt Cordelia stopped nonetheless. Verity kept her eyes upon her torn glove.

“She owes no account of herself to anyone in this house,” he continued. “Least of all to those who stood by while she kept the estate running and others emptied it.”

The silence that followed was so complete Verity heard the groom lead her mare across the cobbles outside. Aunt Cordelia drew her shawl closer and stepped away from the foot of the stairs.

Verity passed her without speaking. Halfway up, she looked back. Rafe was standing where she had left him, with one hand resting against Sergeant’s broad head. He met her eyes, then let her go.

In her room, the blue gown still lay where she had dropped it. Daylight had found the silk. It looked strange upon the floor, as though another woman had stepped out of it and gone away.

Verity unfastened her cloak. The clasp resisted her stiff fingers. She tried again, harder, and the door opened behind her.

Win came in, crossed the room, and put both arms around her. For a moment Verity remained rigid with surprise. Win held on. Her cheek was cold against Verity’s hair, and she was shaking.

“You came back,” she whispered.

Verity’s hands rose slowly to Win’s shoulders. All night she had thought of Win finding the letter, reading what could not be taken back. She imagined her angry or wounded. She had not imagined this weak, breathless relief.

“I am sorry.”

“You ought to be.” Win’s voice caught. “Do you know what it was to come in here and find you gone?”

“Yes,” Verity confessed, though she could not know it as Win had lived it.

Win drew back only far enough to study her face. “Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

Win looked unconvinced. She took Verity’s hands and turned them over, finding the torn glove and the reddened skin beneath. Verity let her. Downstairs, a door closed, and both women glanced toward the sound.

“He suspects nothing of your leaving,” Win whispered. “Roland.”

Verity felt her shoulders loosen. “How?”

“When you did not come down, he sent me to ask after you. I told him you had been taken ill and put to bed.” Win gave a small, disbelieving shake of her head. “It was the first thing I could think of. I said it in front of two footmen, with my keys in my hand, and he accepted every word.”

“He did not come up?”

“No. He announced to the guests himself that Lady Edgeworth was indisposed. I heard him tell Mrs. Marchmont how sorry you were to miss the last dance.”

Verity pictured him smiling beneath the chandeliers while she rode through the dark. He had never troubled to learn when she was ill. Last night, her absence served him better than her presence would have done. But she also knew well that her being indisposed could help his case later, if he were to claim her mentally unsound.

“He may ask why I am well again,” she remembered.

“You recovered.” Win’s fingers tightened briefly around hers. “You need only tell me if there is something I should know.”

Verity thought of Roland’s hand closing on her arm, of the places where he said a troublesome wife might be sent. Win had already lied for her before knowing any of it. Verity could not bear to see fear added to the exhaustion in her face. But Win must know enough to be careful.

“He threatened to have me put away,” she divulged. “He called me unwell when I refused him.”

Win went still.

“He has done nothing yet. Rafe knows.”

For a few moments Win said nothing. Then she looked toward the door, her expression settling into the grave attention she gave a household problem that could not be allowed to spread.