Page 28 of Secrets of the Heart

Leona turned and sauntered off, smugness in every line of her voluptuous body. Rachel watched her go, feeling numb. There was a roaring in her ears, and she could not move, could scarcely think. She was afraid that she might faint.

“Perry…” She murmured, reaching out a hand, and Perry quickly took it and tucked it into his arm, shooting a significant look at Lady Montgomery.

Sylvia immediately moved closer to Rachel to grab her other arm if need be, and Perry led them through the throng of people to a bench. Rachel sank down upon it, with Perry and Sylvia flanking her. Sylvia took her hand and squeezed it.

“Don’t worry about what she said,” Sylvia said stoutly. “Leona Vesey has always been a liar. You know she would say anything to hurt you.”

“But she said everyone knew!” Rachel looked at her friend.

“I didn’t,” Sylvia replied. “And that means Sir Ian’s mother didn’t, either, which is most unlikely.”

Rachel turned to Perry. “Perry?”

“Rachel! ’Pon my honor,” Perry said. “How can you even ask me? Of course it’s not true.”

“But I saw you when she said that name,” Rachel pressed.

Perry blinked. “Oh, well…” His face reddened. “Of course I had heard the name. But I promise you she is not Michael’s, well, his, you know, light-of-love.”

“Michael would not be unfaithful to you. How can you think that?” Sylvia added. “Come, now, you cannot let Leona Vesey make you doubt your husband. That would give her exactly what she wants. It doesn’t matter to her whether she’s telling the truth—or even whether you find out later that it isn’t true. She will have disturbed you, made you worry and question Michael. That will be enough for her.”

“You are right, of course,” Rachel replied, summoning up a small smile for the other two. “I cannot let her see that she has upset me. It would please her no end.” She drew a breath. “I think we should promenade around the room and enjoy ourselves.” And let everyone see us do so, she added mentally.

Rachel was determined not to give Leona the satisfaction of seeing that she had hurt her, and she managed to keep up a good front through the rest of the party. But what she felt inside was a different matter entirely. Sylvia might be certain that Michael would not be unfaithful to Rachel, but Rachel was less so. Sylvia did not know the true state of Rachel and Michael’s marriage. Michael’s honor was deep and important to him, so much so that Rachel had never even considered the possibility that he might break his marriage vows. But now that Leona had inserted the worm of doubt into her mind, she could not help but think how very likely it might be. Yes, Michael was honorable, but he was a man, after all, with a man’s needs. He had been married for seven years to a woman who did not share a bed with him—a woman who had so offended him with her own lack of honor that he would not even touch her.

Many men kept mistresses, even those who said they loved their wives. How much more likely would it be for a man who did not love his wife, whose affection for her had been trampled into nothingness by her betrayal? It should not surprise her, she told herself. If she were not naive, as Leona said, she would not have been surprised. She would have expected it.

But she had not expected it, and it hurt. She was not sure why—wounded pride, perhaps—but it did indeed hurt, as if someone had stabbed her through the heart. She wanted to run home and crawl into bed and cry.

Rachel told herself that there was the possibility that Leona had been lying. As Sylvia had said, Leona was given to lying, and she would seize any opportunity to hurt her. But how had she come up so quickly with a story to tell? It was absurd to think that she had planned it out beforehand; she had not known that she would overhear Rachel asking about Michael’s secrets. Indeed, she would have had no reason to think that Rachel would even be at the party; she had only got back into town the day before.

She believed that Sylvia had not heard the story, which lent some weight to its unbelievability, but on the other hand, men did not usually talk to the women of their family about the other world in which they moved, the world of gambling and drinking and mistresses. It was not considered a suitable topic for a lady to hear. A woman like Leona might easily learn of it; she dabbled in that environment herself. But Sir Ian would never have spoken to his mother or Sylvia about a woman who ran a gambling den or the fact that she was the mistress of Sylvia’s best friend’s husband.

However, she was certain that Perry knew a great deal more about Mrs. Neeley than he would tell her. No matter how much he insisted that Michael and Lilith Neeley were not having an affair, Rachel had seen his face when Leona first threw out the name at Rachel. He had looked as if he had just swallowed his tongue. His claim that he had simply recognized the name as belonging to the owner of a well-known gambling den was, in Rachel’s opinion, completely without merit. Had the name had no more meaning to him than that, he might have looked surprised, even a little shocked, at Leona’s bad taste in bringing it up in front of two ladies of the Ton. But the look in his eyes had not been merely surprise or social shock; it had been something closer to horror. And, even more significant, he had not looked outraged that she would couple Michael’s name with such a woman. Indeed, he had not immediately denied the claim; he had just moved to protect Rachel from Leona. He had not denied it until some time later, when Rachel asked him directly.

She tried to remember exactly what he had said. Had he actually denied it, or had he merely skirted the issue? She could not remember now the exact words either of them had used. It didn’t really matter, she supposed; she could not rely on his being truthful. Perry was fond of her, but he had been Michael’s friend for far longer, and there was, besides, that male bond that excluded women from all sorts of knowledge. She could not really rely on what he told her.

Rachel was not sure why it bothered her so. It was not as if she and Michael loved each other; theirs had always been an arranged marriage, a matter of practicality. Though Michael had once loved her, in the end they had married only to avoid scandal. She supposed that a woman could not expect a husband to remain faithful when he and his wife shared no intimacy. Michael had, after all, been very discreet. She had never heard a breath of rumor about the affair until tonight.

If, of course, there really was an affair. She could not quite shut down the voice of hope inside her.

The thing was, she decided, that she was beginning to feel as though she did not know Michael at all. First there had been the highwayman’s strange warning that Michael was somehow skirting close to danger. Then tonight she had heard that he had a mistress—had had one for a number of years. And she had known nothing about either thing! She felt strangely lost. At sea.

Even though they had never had a real marriage, as other people viewed marriage, still Michael was the rock upon which her life was built. She was his wife. Her title, her support, her position in society, even the very clothes on her back, came from him. If she had a problem, she turned to him about it, and even if it was only through letters, he helped her with it. They lived together part of the year; they had shared every Christmas for the last six years—even this past one, when she had been trapped by a snowstorm at Castle Cleybourne, for Michael, worried that she had not arrived at Westhampton, had managed to make his way through the snow to the Castle. That was the sort of man he was—loyal, steadfast, honorable. And she was proud to have him as her husband.

She had never really thought about the matter before, but now, faintly surprised, she realized that it was true—she was proud to be Lady Westhampton. Not because of the wealth or the title, but because of the man that Michael was. The highwayman’s assertion and Leona’s words had challenged that belief. She felt as if she had been cut loose from her moorings.

As soon as it was possible to leave the party without feeling that she was running away, Rachel did so. She kept up a pleasant, unconcerned conversation with Sylvia until she was able to bid her good-night at her front door. With an inward sigh of relief, she went up the steps and into her house. The smile she gave the footman who took her evening cape was a trifle wobbly, but that did not matter. She was home now, and safe. She only wished that Michael was there for her to talk to. But, of course, that was foolish. He was the very problem she would have liked to talk about.

She dismissed her maid as soon as she had helped her out of the evening gown, with its long line of buttons down the back, and taken down the intricate curls of her upswept hairdo. Rachel put on her nightgown, then sat down to brush out her curls. She was a little surprised to notice midway through the brushing that silent tears were rolling down her face.

She brushed the tears away, angry with herself. It was not the end of the world, she told herself. Her life would go on as always. Why, she did not even know if Leona had told the truth! She wished there was someone she could ask. She could write to Dev or Richard, of course, but it would not be the same as asking them face-to-face; it would be far too easy for them to lie. Besides, they were friends of Michael’s, and, moreover, they would probably consider it their duty to protect her even if it meant lying to her. It was the same way with Perry. She could try to pry the truth out of him, but no matter how much he denied it, she would not be able to trust that he was being honest.

She tried to think of someone else who might know the truth about Michael. The only name that came to mind was his sister, Araminta. Rachel grimaced. She did not want to visit Araminta, much less ask her such a personal question. However, social courtesy demanded that she visit her upon her return to town. And Araminta was someone who could be counted on not to sugarcoat the truth for fear of hurting Rachel, as her friends and family could not.

Of course, as his sister, she might not have been told about the rumors any more than Rachel had been. On the other hand, it was a rumor that reflected badly on Rachel, so it was entirely possible that one of Araminta’s friends might have told her, knowing how little she liked Rachel.

It would be humiliating, of course, to go to Michael’s sister and ask her such a question. On the other hand, it might be well worth the embarrassment to learn the truth. Anything, she thought, would be better than this wondering and worrying.