Page 82 of The English Wife

“My lover?” Anne gave a bitter laugh. “How you exaggerate. I haven’t set eyes on Mr. Burke since you dragged me back here.”

“You mean,” said Mrs. Van Duyvil with satisfaction, “that your Mr. Burke dropped you quickly enough once he discovered you had no money.”

You’ll never catch a duke if you’re not an heiress.

Anne’s voice was sharp. “Don’t you mean once you had him thrashed out of his pretensions?”

“Really, Anne, we are hardly so barbaric as that. I simply made sure that Mr. Burke was reminded of his position.”

“Groveling and tugging his forelock?” There were lines on either side of Anne’s lips. “When I went back to the theater, I was told there was no one of that name. I sometimes wondered just what you might have done to him.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Anne,” said Mrs. Van Duyvil. Bickering with her niece acted on Mrs. Van Duyvil like a tonic. The sickly look on her face when they spoke of Bay was gone, replaced by her usual majestic complacence. “All I did was have a word with Mr. Daly. He quite understood the delicacy of the matter.”

“You mean you had him sacked.” Anne tipped her head back and breathed in deeply. “How terribly humane of you. No gouging out his eyes for daring to gaze on his betters, then?”

Your kind, Mr. Burke had called her. Gold-plated.

“If I might beg your pardon.” Mr. Tilden half rose from his chair. “Another engagement.”

Innocent until proven guilty. That was the principle, wasn’t it? She was the one who had sought him out, proposed their partnership.

But only after she had found him in her mother’s kitchen.

She could still taste the chestnuts on her lips, feel the press of his hand on hers. St. Genevieve, he had called her, bringing light to the world. Challenging her, debating with her. Using her?

“It might not—” Janie scarcely knew what she was saying. “It might not be the same man. Burke is not an uncommon name.”

“Don’t be foolish, Janie.” Mrs. Van Duyvil rose from her chair to see Mr. Tilden to the door. She looked pointedly at Anne. “The man vowed revenge, and now he has it. I hope he is satisfied.”

She sailed out, Mr. Tilden trailing behind her.

“Anne. Wait.” Janie scurried after her cousin, stopping her before she could follow. “Is it true?”

“Is what true?” Anne asked impatiently.

“That the reporter is … was—”

“My lover?” It was impossible to be sure whether Anne was trying to shock her, or if she was just so used to shocking everyone that she did it automatically. “How would I know? I haven’t seen the man in a decade.”

“But—” Did he have green eyes? Was his voice polished and smooth with something rough beneath? Had he held her hands and told her she was his candle in a dark world? “I should think you would remember him. After all, you tried to run away with him.”

Anne shrugged. “He looked well in breeches. There was a scene in which he fenced. Really, Janie, you remember what it was like. Wouldn’t you have run away, too—if someone had asked?”

SEVENTEEN

New York, 1899

February

“Miss? Miss Van Duyvil?” One of Janie’s students cautiously waved a hand. Every woman in the room, from twelve-year-old Tilda to Mary Frances, who allowed as she might be upwards of forty, had read the papers and knew of the scandal hanging over Janie. But no one had breathed a word of it. They just treated Janie as though she were one of the chipped pieces of porcelain on the table, handling her with clumsy care. “Where does the funny-shaped fork go?”

“That’s your fish fork.” With an effort, Janie recalled herself to the task at hand, six women standing around a scarred table incongruously draped in damask. “It goes to the left, here.”

Solemnly, Mary Frances moved the fish fork to the correct location. After a look from her, the other women did the same with theirs.

Janie took a deep breath. “This knife is the fish knife. If there is no fish course, you will not need to use either, of course. We have no fish course today, so we can set them aside.”

“Then why’d we have them?” muttered Gert, eying the tableware with mistrust. Her fingers, wrapped in her skirt, were rough and work-reddened.