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“I’m sorry. I know I’m being unbearably rude, but it seems likely I’ll never see you again after this, and . . .”
“And that gives you leave to say outrageous things?”
His gaze fell for just a moment, and Kate was sure he would retreat. And so he should. How dare he pretend he knew anything.
But Penrose didn’t retreat. When he looked at Kate again, his gaze was sharp and sorrowed. “I’d never seen him smile. Not truly. Do you know that?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m not saying he never smiled, Mrs. Hamilton. Just that I never saw it. Until he went to Hull.”
Kate shook her head again, but she was the one who retreated, rising to scramble back to her seat and gather her cloak around her as if she could hide in it. Her stomach churned, and she held her breath, terrified that he would follow and say more ridiculous things. More stupid, hopeful nonsense things.
Despite that she’d donned her cloak, the cold from the window at her shoulder seeped into her as she sat, first chilling her hands, then her arms, then up to her chest and face. She shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her cloak, but her right hand touched something smooth and cold.
Her fingers instinctively clasped it tight, and she drew her hand free. When she uncurled her grasp, there was her grandfather’s watch. It had comforted her on the train ride to London, but she saw it with much different eyes now.
It was the only jewelry he’d given her during this affair, and now it seemed symbolic. Simple, sentimental, used . . . pretty in a worn way. If he’d given gifts to his other mistresses, they’d been nothing like this. He would’ve given those women glittering jewels. Expensive baubles. Things to enhance their beauty.
She squeezed the watch hard in her fist, as hard as she could, wishing she could crush it, break it with her bare hand, destroy what he’d given her. The hinge dug into her palm, gifting her with bright spots of pain to distract her mind.
When she let it go, her palm throbbed and her mind flared back to clarity.
Aidan had let her believe he’d been empty, lonely, and now his man was trying to convince he
r of that too. That his life had been joyless before she’d reappeared. Joyless. As if it had been misery he’d been visiting between those women’s legs.
He’d said himself that it had been the only way he could forget her. He’d buried her inside those women, and she couldn’t forgive that.
But if her heart was so hard, why was she so terrified that Penrose would follow her and tell her more? Why did she feel sick at the thought?
In the end, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t forced to confront her fears, because Penrose let her be. She stared out the window, avoiding even a twitch in his direction as she watched the sky lighten into a gloomy day. And once they arrived in Hull in a flurry of sparks and steam, Kate pretended not to see him hover at the edge of the platform until she’d safely descended and turned toward home.
But this was not Ceylon, and she was not as weak as she’d once been. There was no gray pall to smother her feelings about Aidan. She tried to walk faster and leave them behind, but they gripped her, clutched at her, no matter how quickly she moved. They stayed with her past the docks and into the lanes and followed her down the dim alley toward her shop.
She unlocked her door, then shut it hard behind her. But a terrible foreboding followed her in. Her heart whispered frantically that she’d done something very wrong.
She answered it with stubborn silence.
Plodding up the stairs, Kate stopped at the top and looked listlessly around—saw her tiny, neat parlor, her undersized bed. She had to leave it all, but surprisingly, she felt no grief at that. After all her hard work, it seemed to mean nothing to her at all.
Chapter 28
The power of the horse beneath him was a relief. Each strike of hoof against ground felt as if it channeled some of Aidan’s rage out of his body and into the depths of hell. But in the end, it channeled nothing, because as soon as he wheeled his mount to a stop and jumped down, his rage was back. He normally felt better after a ride, but today he was buried in his own emotions, and the idea of walking back into his brother’s home made his skin crawl.
Still, he hadn’t been able to stay another moment in London, in his big house full of nothing and no one. The house seemed nothing more than the building that had once held Kate. At least she had never been here.
His instructions to the groom were interrupted by the breathless voice of a footman. “Mr. York!” He rushed across the horse yard. “A letter, sir.”
Aidan snatched the paper from the footman’s outstretched hand and tore it open. Finally . . . news that she’d arrived in Hull. And that was it, he supposed. If she could not forgive him his past, what could he do? He hadn’t died ten years before any more than she had. He’d had a life. He’d made mistakes.
But his outrage was as hollow as the rest of him. Mistakes, after all, were accidental. He’d made his willingly, and so they weren’t mistakes at all. Just awful, awful choices. And he hated her for knowing them.
He’d come to his family home without thought. His mother’s birthday was in two days, and she’d never forgive him for missing it, but that hadn’t been his primary motivation. No, he’d returned home like any injured animal would. For comfort. Understanding. Or simply to howl in rage.
But it didn’t matter where he was; he still thought of her. Why had she visited a solicitor’s office in London? Surely she couldn’t pursue divorce on her own? The cost would destroy her.
Her next stop had been even more mysterious. Derby. Her family’s home. Had she visited them? Or just stopped to walk through her old world? Penrose hadn’t offered details. And Aidan was too proud to ask, though he suspected he might change his mind sometime in the future.
