Didn’t Genesis describe how Eve was created from Adam’s rib?
He grieved like Adam, now.
Something necessary, vitally necessary, to his being, to the physical structure of his body, had been torn from him wholly against his will, leaving tender, visceral organs unprotected. Then, the missing part had been fashioned into something entirely different, something he didn’t understand. Something…someonewho would ultimately be his downfall.
Or, Lord willing, his salvation.
Chapter Fifteen
Harbury watched aghastas Cassandra disappeared behind the door to her apartments. Placing his thumb and forefinger on either side of his nose, he closed his eyes and squeezed.
Hard.
Rise and fall, advance and retreat. Whenever he, or Cassandra, steadied, the other wavered. Like the opposite sides of an unbalanced scale.
The constant vacillation had been bad enough, but what if the fulcrum had just snapped?
He couldn’t be left without recourse. She’d just promised to be here when he returned. He’d time to save his marriage. He had to trust his wife, had to believe she would keep her vow. If not, he would not be able to turn his mind toward the problem Anderson—and Viv—presented.
Delaying action was no longer an option.
He took one last look up the staircase and then forced himself to turn back toward the entry. Deep in thought, he made his way back across the courtyard.
Today was the first time he’d seen Lady Pennington since the end of last Season, when he and Cassandra had almost collided with her and her husband during a visit to the Royal Academy.
This time, he had not experienced the same sharp pain of unrequited love that he had felt at both the Academy and at Almack’s. Instead, he’d felt shocked—a natural response to seeing anyone in aplace they were not expected.
And already, his shock had dissipated.
He fixed his gaze on Lady Pennington’s carriage, where she had chosen to rest while he’d been trying to reason with Cassie. Even though she was well known to all his staff, none of them had made any effort to make her feel welcome.
Apparently, their loyalty was to the duchess.
As was his.
He came to a stop, leaving ample room between them. He studied her face, a face that had once haunted him as much during his waking hours as during his sleep.
Present as ever were the echoes of a thousand conversations, as well as an equal number of silent exchanges. However, the ache of longing he’d grown accustomed to expecting was, indeed, simply gone.
If he felt anything for her at all, it was only the distant pang of sadness.
Perhaps sadness was what he’d been distracting himself from all along.
When he’d told Cassandra he would always love Vivianne, he’d honestly believed he would be forever trapped, unable to court or to marry any lady, because he would never be at liberty to give another his heart.
Now, after experiencing the joy of true connection with Cassandra, he was certain his misery, his loss, had been caused, not by unrequited love, but by the absence of love itself.
He only hoped his realization had not come too late.
He folded his hands behind his back. “Lady Pennington.”
Shehumphed. “Do you intend to pretend we are merely acquaintances?”
“Wearemerely acquaintances.”
She lifted one shoulder, as if his manner toward her was of noconsequence. “Pratt lets in riff-raff.” She waved her arm in the kitchen entrance’s direction. “While I, on the other hand, am forced to wait in the hot sun.”
He glanced over his shoulder. He hadn’t even noticed the two ladies arriving on foot. But before he could identify them, Mrs. Pratt ushered them into the house.
