The air in the room went thin. Nancy set the paper down, arranged the other correspondence in a perfect line, then stood and crossed to the window. She watched a pair of crows bicker on the lawn. They circled each other, black wings flashing, then parted—one to the west, one to the cold shadow of the hedge. Nancy pressed her forehead to the pane until the glass fogged.
When the first anger subsided, the pain hit. She felt it in her ribs, in the backs of her knees, in the soft place where her heart ought to have grown thick callus by now.
You knew better than to want this, Nancy. You knew better than to hope. It was always a contract, a transaction, never a true thing. He said so himself, a hundred times. Why would he stop now?
A spike of fresh anger steadied her. She snatched up the letter and left the office, stalking through the hallways until she reached Oscar’s study. The door was open. He sat behind his desk, the familiar scowl deepening as he read over a stack of papers. His hair was a little wild, shirt sleeves rolled back to expose the fine, pale veins at his wrist.
He looked up at her, and for the first time in memory, Nancy could not read what lived behind his eyes. He looked tired. Or furious. Or both.
“I came to deliver your correspondence, Oscar,” she said, slamming the letter onto the desk with more force than she’d intended. “Your mistress misses you dearly. Especially your hands. She seemed particularly fond of your skill with jewelry.”
Oscar stared at the envelope, then back at Nancy. He said nothing, but the color drained from his face.
She waited. When he still didn’t move, she snatched up the letter and shook it at him. “Do you deny it? Did you think the servants would not talk, or that I would not eventually find out?”
Oscar took the letter, scanned it, and then stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. “What in the world are you talking about, Nancy?”
She laughed, sharp and joyless. “I am talking about your habits, Oscar. The ones you were so famous for. Did you really expect me to stand here and smile while you parade your lovers through half of London?”
He threw the letter onto the desk. “I have no idea who this is from. S? That could be any number of women.”
Nancy braced her hands on the edge of the desk. “Well, it isn’t me. I have never owned a pink envelope in my life. Nor have I worn a necklace you gave me, ruby or otherwise.”
Oscar’s mouth twisted. “You believe this.”
She shrugged, a movement designed to hurt both of them. “I don’t have to believe it. The house staff already does. You have made me a laughingstock, and you don’t even have the decency to lie well.”
His eyes darkened. “You think I have a lover? Is this your way of absolving yourself?”
Nancy blinked, stunned. “Of what?”
He rose, looming over the desk. “You have letters, too. Shall I read them aloud? The poems, the anonymous declarations of undying affection? I have seen them, Nancy. The flowers, the pressed rose, the books. Did you think I was blind?”
The room spun. “Those were not from anyone I know. I assumed they were some prank—possibly Adrian, possibly even you.”
He snorted. “Of course. Everything is always a joke to you, until you are the one with the knife in her back.”
Nancy felt herself shaking. “You truly believe I have a lover?”
He shrugged. “Why else the secrecy, the long afternoons at your desk, the hours unaccounted for? Why else refuse even the pretense of a proper marriage?”
She stared at him, uncomprehending. “Because I do not want you. Because you made it clear from the beginning that this was never about love. Or even comfort. We agreed. You told me, in this very room, that you would never ask for more than my name.”
He was silent. His hands clenched at his sides.
Nancy straightened, smoothing her skirt with a mechanical grace. “You are a grown man, Oscar. You can do as you please. But I will not have the staff snickering every time I walk into a room. I will not have you embarrass me any longer. From now on, keep your affairs outside this house, or I will make certain you regret it.”
She turned, intent on leaving with some fragment of dignity. At the door, she paused. “If you wish to end the marriage, do it cleanly. I do not require alimony, nor will I fight for the estate. All I ask is that you do not drag the children through your mess.”
Oscar’s face was unreadable. “You would take the twins from me.”
She met his gaze. “They are my family because they are Teresa’s children. I acknowledge that you have more right to them, but I will not leave them here to be raised among lies.”
Oscar said nothing.
Nancy left the room, her skin buzzing, her mind alight with fury and shame. She made it to her chambers before the tears came.
She had not cried for years, not at the loss of her mother, not at her own failures, not even at the death of Teresa. But tonight, alone among the silk pillows and the bottles of rosewater that now made her ill, Nancy wept until she could barely draw breath.
