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“I watched women flit around Hugo, but none of them really caught his eye. Until you. Then I had to watch him fall in love with you. What a ghastly time that was! Rupert and I tried to warn him away, but like an idiot, Hugo went after you.” Claire narrowed her eyes. “He knew he was marrying beneath him, but you were the one he wanted so I made a choice. I would help you because it would mean I could be close to him. I knew it wouldn’t be too long before he realized the mistake he’d made.”

“How long has the affair been going on?” Sylvia asked, horrified but unable to stop herself.

“Years,” hissed Claire with obvious satisfaction. “Since the summer before the war. Every time Rupert went away for a sailing trip or some other such nonsense, Hugo would find a way for us to be together. Then the war broke out and it became easier. Then he could use his leave.”

Everything Sylvia had known to be true rearranged itself into a new reality. She’d thought it strange at first that Hugo seemed to have far less leave than some of the other men she knew who were serving, but he’d told her how important his role was and that he couldn’t be spared. She’d believed him because… because she supposed it had been easier than to wonder why her husband hadn’t wanted to come home to her.

“Does Rupert know?” she asked.

“No,” said Claire.

“Are you certain of that?” she asked, remembering the strange conversation she’d shared with Rupert while dancing.

Her former friend’s hand shot out to grip Sylvia by the wrist. “You cannot tell him.”

Sylvia shook her off. “It’s a bit late for you to begin making demands of me, Claire.”

“If he knew…”

“He would divorce you? Is that what you’re frightened of? Claire, you really should have thought about that before committing adultery with my husband,” she said, making her disgust obvious.

Claire lifted her chin. “He said you would be small-minded about this. You would not believe how we laughed at you and your prim little ways, trying so hard to pretend as though you belonged.”

How deeply those words would have cut Sylvia once. They hurt, but now they were only flesh wounds, just scratching the surface of who she was.

“Do you know, Claire? More than anything else, I pity you and your sad, sorry little life spent judging everyone but yourself. Good afternoon.”

She brushed past Claire, knocking the other woman’s shoulder as she went. She was furious—not only because of Claire and Hugo’s betrayal, but at herself and her willful blindness.

No more. Claire, Rupert, Hugo—she owed these people nothing.

Ahead of her on the road, the door to a black cab opened and Lady Winman stuck her head out.

“Mrs. Pearsall, can I offer you a lift?” the countess called out.

Sylvia supposed that she should have felt humiliated that Lady Winman had witnessed so much of her social undoing and the crumbling of her marriage, but in that moment, she found that she didn’t really care.

“Thank you, I would appreciate that very much,” she said, and slid into the car next to the Countess of Winman.

After Lady Winman gave the cabdriver an Eton Square address, silence fell over the cab. It was just long enough for uncertainty to take hold of Sylvia. First she lost her husband. Then her closest friend. She could see her world shrinking before her.

As though sensing Sylvia’s weakening resolve, the countess leaned over and said, “I’m very sorry.”

Heat crept up the back of Sylvia’s neck. “I take it you heard all of that.”

“Enough to understand the gist of it,” said Lady Winman. “Am I to understand that you knew something of your husband’s infidelity?”

“Yes. And a little over two weeks ago, I walked out of my home and haven’t seen Hugo since.”

“How did that feel?” asked Lady Winman.

“Liberating and embarrassing in equal measure.”

Lady Winman nodded. “Well, I’ve never met your husband, but I have met Mrs. Monroe and I can honestly say that I’ve never liked the woman.”

Startled, Sylvia twisted in her seat to look at Lady Winman, who watched her with a quirked brow. Suddenly a bubble erupted in Sylvia’s chest, and she fell back laughing.

She laughed so hard that her eyes began to leak tears. “Oh, Claire is wretched. She’s mean-spirited with hardly a good word for anyone. Even being her friend was like tiptoeing around a sleeping lion. One false move and she might swipe at you.”