Her eyes blazed. “Even if he does think he loves me, I wish he hadn’t told me, because clearly, what he means by love isn’t what I thought! I would rather have continued in blissful ignorance. What does he expect me to do?” She fixed her burning eyes on Child. “Share him?”
There wasn’t any viable answer to that.
Feeling utterly helpless—and very glad she was not his wife—Child was cravenly grateful when a tap on the door had her swinging around and icily demanding, “Yes?”
Portland entered, armored in the unshakeable imperturbability of an experienced ton butler. “My lady, Nanny Sprockett wishes to inquire how long you expect to remain at the Priory. Also, Dennis has returned with the required tickets, and he confirmed that the train is scheduled to depart at five minutes after six o’clock.”
Therese nodded curtly. “Thank you. Please tell Nanny Sprockett to prepare for at least two weeks in the country. Call me when everyone is in the hall and ready to leave.”
“Yes, my lady.” Portland bowed and retreated.
Child wished he could retreat, too, but the compulsion to plead his old friend’s case hadn’t eased its hold. When Therese turned back to him, he tried again. “Therese, you must see that there’s a definite chance that you’ve leapt to an entirely erroneous conclusion. And yes, I admit that I can’t offer you an alternative explanation for what Devlin was doing, but at least wait until he comes home and give him a chance to explain.”
Her eyes, until then as hard as ice, glimmered alarmingly. “When he returns after being with her?”
The pain underlying the words sliced into him. He breathed in slowly, then pressed, “The pair of you need to learn to talk to each other—you don’t seem to have been succeeding on that front all that well.”
She gathered herself—he could almost see her reining in and shackling her emotions, fusing them into a carapace, a hardened protective shield surrounding her innermost self—then she raised her gaze to his face. “If Devlin wishes to speak with me, he’ll know where to find me, but at this moment, I need to leave—to put space between us so I can calm down and think.” She sent a cold glare his way. “Isn’t that what you want me to do—think?”
“Yes, but—”
Her temper sparked anew; he saw it in her eyes. “Can you give me any other likely explanation for what we saw?”
When he hesitated, she snapped, “And don’t say ‘business.’ I’ve learned enough about his business interests to know that none of the enterprises he engages with would have offices in Covent Garden.”
Again, she made him feel helpless. He fell back on adamantly assuring her, “There will be some reasonable explanation.”
When she shot him a dismissive look and started to turn away, stung, he blurted, “I know, absolutely and beyond question, that he wasn’t lying when he said he loved you.”
Half turned from him, she froze.
Therese closed her eyes. She breathed in and tried to wrench her awareness from the seething turmoil inside, tried to do as Child had demanded and think, but as she’d earlier confessed, she simply couldn’t. Her shock—her hurt—had pushed her past rational thought; at that moment, all she could do was feel. And everything she felt only fed the instinctive imperative to flee—flee to the safety she’d always found at the Priory.
She knew she was running away, but at that time, that was all she could manage.
Perhaps, once she’d had a chance to examine and tend her wounds and build sufficiently strong walls around her heart, she would be able to face the prospect of meeting and listening to Devlin.
At the moment, every time she thought of him, the image of him smiling so charmingly at the woman in Covent Garden and the look on the woman’s face blazed in her mind.
And her hurt deepened.
She had to get away.
“Listen.” Child had moved closer. “I know I’ve only recently returned, but it’s plain as a pikestaff that you and Devlin…have the chance of something special in your lives. Something not all of us get a chance to have. All I want to say is don’t throw that away.”
She drew in a breath, then opened her eyes and glanced at Child.
A tap fell on the door, distracting her, and Portland called, “Everyone is ready, my lady, and the carriages are at the door.”
“Thank you.” Without meeting Child’s eyes, she walked to the door.
Child heaved a resigned sigh and followed.
Therese walked into the hall and found everyone waiting. Her mask softened as the children looked up at her eagerly. For them, she managed a smile. “We’re off to the Priory, my darlings.”
With a nod to Nanny Sprockett, Therese accepted her bonnet from Parker and put it on, then tugged on her gloves.
Turning to the children, she smiled again. “Are we all ready?”
“Yes!” the boys answered and dove to claim her hands.
She included Horry, who was safely anchored on Nanny Sprockett’s ample hip, with her smile, then allowed the boys to drag her forward.
With her entourage preparing to fall in behind her, she started to turn toward the door, and her gaze fell on Child.
He’d halted farther back in the hall, his expression frustrated, but also troubled. Clearly, he thought she was making a mistake.
That’s as may be.
Therese faced forward and let her sons lead her out of the house, across the porch, and down to the carriage.
From the shadows of the hall, Child watched the company pile into the carriages that would take them to the railway terminus. Reluctantly, he accepted that there was no way he could prevent Therese’s departure, even though everything a lifetime had taught him about Devlin insisted that this was all a horrendous misunderstanding.
He firmly believed Devlin would have a perfectly rational and acceptable reason for visiting a beautiful woman in Covent Garden. Alone, in the middle of the afternoon.
Inwardly, he shook his head and admitted he was looking forward to learning what that explanation was.
He watched the small cavalcade roll off.
When Portland stepped back and shut the front door, then turned to Child, Child flung up his hands in defeat. “I’m going to wait in the library. When Alverton gets in, please tell him I’m there.”
Portland bowed. “Indeed, my lord. Should you require anything, please ring.”
With a nod, Child turned toward the library.
Little had changed since he’d last been in the house. He’d been much younger then, and so had Devlin.
In those days, they’d been carefree gentlemen on the town. Now...
The tantalus was in the same spot in which it had always stood. Child poured himself a healthy measure of Devlin’s whisky, then walked to one of the large leather armchairs angled before the hearth and slumped into its comfort.
He sipped and waited and brooded on his old friend’s situation.
Drama of this sort usually sent him running. But this was Devlin, and he had to admit that despite her attempts to steer him toward a suitable wife, he’d grown rather fond of Therese and her often-acerbic observations.
When it came down to it, he didn’t, exactly, believe in love, yet he’d told Therese the truth—he didn’t want her and Devlin to senselessly pass up the chance of having a love-based marriage.