“Enter,” she bid.
Tentatively, he peered into the room. She’d changed into her nightclothes, but she was not in bed. Resting on the mattress were two packed valises. A third, still open, sat on the other side of the room.
His heartbeat slowed. His limbs grew heavy. Some part of him had known she would be preparing to leave.
“Sally,” she said, “would you please have these collected? And tell the coachman to be ready to leave at first light.” She dismissed her maid, then asked, “Is Mr. Anderson safe?”
“Yes. Lady Pennington has taken him back to Rose Cottage.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m glad.”
“I should have acted sooner,” he said.
“I know,” she replied.
“I didn’t see the changes in him because I didn’t want to see the changes in him.”
“I know that, too.”
She turned away from him and went over to study the contents of the open valise on the chair in front of her dressing table. The table where he’d brushed her hair. The table where she’d been seated when he’d placed a necklace around her neck.
Had that only been this morning?
“You’re leaving me.” His voice rasped as he spoke. “Aren’t you?”
“Taradiddle,” she replied without looking up.
“Pardon?”
“Taradiddle. Something I say with Eliza, or, rather, when we hear nonsense, I say taradiddle and she answers twaddle, if the nonsense is particularly egregious, we add bilgewater.” She paused and shook her head. “Something you would know about me…if you had courted me properly.”
She was paler than she’d been before. Her mouth tight.
“Eliza,” he echoed.
“You remember Eliza. My sister. My twin. Whom I miss. Desperately. Yes, I’m leaving. But I am not necessarily leaving you. I am going to visit Eliza.”
“You’re still angry…and you are placing your things into a valise. Pardon my confusion, but such things make itlookas if you are leavingme.”
She placed her brush carefully into the valise.
“Well?” he prompted. “Chastise me if you must. Just tell me what I can do to make you stay.”
“There’s nothing you can do.” She flashed him a pointed glance. “You wouldn’t challenge a clearly incompetent man because he’s your—”
“—Because he was my father’s man,” he interrupted. “And also due my regard.”
“Don’t even try to convince me your failure to act had nothing to do with his relationship to Lady Pennington. ToViv.”
“Very well, you’re right. But only in part. I hesitated because my father had relied on him, and I didn’t yet trust my own judgment. But, yes, I did feel a debt to him. And, yes, having him here kept a distant connection to Lady Pennington.”
Admitting as much was painful even to himself. He’d been so damn foolish.
She stared at him long and hard. “I am not sure what you expect me to do.”
“I want you to stay.”
She shook her head. “I’m exhausted, Harbury. More than exhausted. Shattered. I don’t even know what I want anymore.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “The only thing I can think of that would give me some small measure of peace is to go to my sister.”
