“She was your sister,” Elizabeth said. “You were inseparable. You wouldn’t look twice at anyone else with her around, and I wanted you for myself. When you rejected me, I had to do something.”
“Rejected you?”
“At the harvest festival,” she said. “Don’t you remember? I asked you to dance, and you rejected me in favor of your sister.”
Dexter shook his head. He’d rejected the advances of countless women almost as soon as he’d left boyhood. Had one long-forgotten rejection given rise to such catastrophic revenge?
“Is it true?” a voice said.
Alderley stood in the hall, accompanied by a woman in a plain gray dress with a white apron and a bunch of keys hanging from her waist.
“Elizabeth?” Alderley shook his head. “Dear God, girl, I gave you everything you wanted, and more! Why the devil would you do such a thing?”
“Because I was always second best,” she said, “your second daughter…” She pointed at Dexter, “his second choice.”
“It’s time I left,” Dexter said. “Alderley, you have enough trouble on your hands without me adding to them.”
“Dexter…” Elizabeth pleaded.
“No,” Dexter said. “You’ve no right to call me by my name, Miss Alderley. I daresay Hanson here will accommodate your wishes. I hear he’s willing to do anything for a price. But have a care—your father’s funds are unlikely to run to a seventh season.”
He turned to Alderley. “I pity you, sir. Your problems are considerably greater than mine. I shall leave you to resolve them.”
“Mrs. Gordon,” Alderley addressed the woman next to him. “Please see our guest out. He’ll not be returning.”
“There’s no need,” Dexter said. He turned his back on them and exited the building. As he stepped onto the drive outside, the gravel crunching under his feet, he breathed in the fresh air as if to dissipate the evil from the atmosphere. Footsteps crunched behind him as the housekeeper followed him to the carriage.
“There’s no need to see me off,” Dexter said. “I’m going.”
“I must speak with you,” the housekeeper said. She lowered her voice. “It’s about the child.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“About wee Billy,” she said, “the child the master took.”
“How do you know about the child?” Dexter asked.
“From Mrs. Dawkins—the cook,” she said. “She passed last winter, God rest her soul, but in her final days, she told me about a child her sister took in and the secret she kept. She felt that sorry for that poor girl, but she was too frightened of the master to tell anyone the truth until she knew she had nothing to lose—not even her life.”
“I don’t understand, woman,” Dexter said. “What are you saying?”
“I dared not ask who the child was, but I knew it was something to do with the young woman the master brought onto the estate—the woman who married you, sir. I’d seen her with Mr. Arnold years before, then she disappeared. But then, she returned last winter, and I wondered who she was and why the master had hidden her away again. But then, he gave instructions for a party, and I saw her again when she came into the house. That was with you, sir, and I told Betty that I’d seen her before, but Betty said I couldn’t have because Mistress Elizabeth had told her that…”
“Have mercy!” Dexter cried. “Spare my ears. Can you not cease your prattle and speak plain English? What do you know of the child?”
“That he’s alive.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
No matter how many times Meggie read the note in her hand, she couldn’t will it to say more.
Meggie Dearest,
Forgive me, I must remain absent for a while longer. I shall return as soon as I can.
Trust me,
Dexter
She threw a log on the fire, which flared and crackled. Summer was over. Yesterday, as she’d walked Titan in the park, Meggie had felt the crunch of the first frosts underfoot.
Now, with a mug of coca on the table beside her and the little dog snoring in a basket at her feet, her thoughts turned once more to her husband.
Where was he?
When he’d sent her to the country, she’d relished the solitude and dreaded his arrival. But now, she found herself craving him. His silent, brooding presence gave her reassurance; his strong hands made her feel protected. And at night…
At night, his body gave her pleasure.
She glanced at the wall clock—almost time for supper. The smell of ragout had been permeating throughout the house all day. It seemed odd, eating on her own at a table big enough for twenty, in a room bigger than the house she grew up in, but she maintained the ritual. She was a lady now.
A door opened and shut below. Most likely Charles on an errand for Mrs. Draper. He’d said something about needing more logs for the fire, and the basket in the parlor was almost empty.
She heard three sharp knocks on the door.
“Come in!”
The door swung open. A man filled the doorway. His jacket was rumpled as if he’d been traveling for hours. Hair tousled, brow creased, he looked exhausted. But those intense blue eyes focused on her with their clear gaze.
“Dexter!” She jumped to her feet, almost tripping over Titan’s basket.
He held his hand up. Tempered by the expression on his face, she stopped.
“What’s the matter?”
He moved toward her and took her face in his hands, then brushed his lips against hers. She tasted salt on his skin and breathed in his aroma—woody spices mingled with the scent of dust from the road.
“I have something for you,” he said.
“A gift?”
“If you like.” He hesitated. “I trust I’ve done the right thing.”
He held out his hand, and she took it. His fingers curled round hers in a tight, desperate grip, as if seeking reassurance. If she didn’t know him better, she’d have thought he looked afraid—like a child, uncertain whether he was about to be punished.
He called out. “You can come in now.”
A woman appeared in the doorway. She wore a plain dress of black wool and a simple cap on her head where gray curls peeked out. Beside her, gripping her hand, was a young boy with a head of thick, brown hair. He stared at Meggie out of wide, expressive brown eyes, and Meggie felt a shock of familiarity. In his free hand, he held a small posy of flowers. They looked the worse for wear—withered and drooping as if he’d been clutching them for hours.
The woman dipped into a curtsey.
“Dexter, who are these people?” Meggie asked.
Dexter nodded to the woman. “Go on.”
“My name is Mrs. Goode, ma’am.” The woman nudged the child. “Introduce yourself, lad, as I told you.”
The child bowed. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am. My name is William Goode.”
Dexter drew in a sharp breath.
“Did I do it right, sir?” he asked. “Isn’t that my name?”
He looked up at Dexter, fear and awe in his expression. Dexter must look terrifying to a small child with his powerful physique, dark features, and arresting blue eyes. Meggie pulled her hand free of her husband’s grasp and beckoned to the child.