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Instead, she said, “Did you love him?”
Mrs. Fitzwilliam laughed. She had a lovely, light laugh, but it was tinged with sadness. “Does one love the sun? It’s there, and it provides us with heat and light, but can one truly love it?”
Melisande was silent because any answer she gave would only add to the other woman’s sadness.
“I think one must be equals to love,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam mused. “Equal on some fundamental level. I don’t mean in wealth or even status. I know of women who truly love their protectors and men who love the women they keep. But they are equal on a . . . a spiritual level, if you see what I mean.”
o;Children cry when they see me, Vale.” Munroe stated it as an unemotional fact.
“Do you even go to Edinburgh now?”
“No. I go nowhere.”
“You’ve imprisoned yourself in your castle.”
“You make it sound like a tragedy on the stage.” Munroe’s mouth twisted. “It’s not. I’ve accepted my fate. I have my books, my studies, and my writing. I am . . . content.”
Jasper looked at the other man skeptically. Content to live in a big drafty castle with only a dog and a surly manservant for company?
Munroe must’ve known that Jasper would argue the point. He turned back toward the mansion. “Come. We haven’t broken our fast, and no doubt your wife waits for you inside.”
He strode ahead.
Jasper cursed and followed. Munroe wasn’t ready to leave his safe nest, and until the stubborn Scot was ready, there was no use arguing. Jasper only hoped that Munroe would budge in this lifetime.
“THAT MAN IS sorely in need of a housekeeper,” Melisande said as their carriage drove away from Sir Alistair’s castle. Suchlike’s head was already nodding in the corner.
Vale shot an amused look at her. “You didn’t approve of his linens, my heart?”
She pinched her lips together. “The musty linens, the dust on every surface, the nearly empty larder, and that horrible, horrible manservant. No, I certainly did not approve.”
Vale laughed. “Well, we’ll stay on clean sheets tonight. Aunt Esther said she was eager to see us on our return trip. I think she wants to hear gossip about Munroe.”
“No doubt.”
Melisande took out her embroidery and sorted through her silks, looking for a shade of lemon yellow. She thought she must have a few strands left, and it was the perfect shade to highlight the lion’s mane.
She glanced at Suchlike to make sure the maid was asleep. “Did Sir Alistair tell you what you wanted to know?”
“In a way.” He stared out the window, and she waited, carefully threading her needle. “Someone betrayed us at Spinner’s Falls, and I’ve been trying to discover the man.”
She frowned a little as she placed the first stitch—no small feat in a bumping carriage. “Did you think Sir Alistair was the man?”
“No, but I thought he might help me figure out who was.”
“And did he?”
“I don’t know.”
The words should’ve held disappointment, but Jasper seemed cheerful enough. Melisande smiled to herself as she worked the lion’s mane. Perhaps Sir Alistair had given him some peace.
“Blancmange,” she sai‹man lid a few minutes later.
He looked at her. “What?”
“You once asked me what my favorite food is. Do you remember?”
He nodded.
