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‘No.’ Adelaide’s needle jerked to a halt.
‘Oh, forgive me. Are your parents...?’
‘My parents are in perfect health, as far as I know.’ Adelaide’s voice sounded brittle. ‘As are my two younger sisters, though I haven’t seen anything of them since I married Sir Ralph.’
‘Oh.’ Constance blinked, surprised by the sudden rush of words. ‘Why not?’
‘Because it would make me happ
y and he wouldn’t like that. Because my husband doesn’t want to share me, not even with my own family, even though he cares less about me than...’ Adelaide held up the fabric in her hand with an expression of sudden, intense loathing ‘...this sleeve! All he cares about is my dowry and the inheritance I’ll bring him when my father dies. Then he can add Blythorpe to his precious Wintercott.’ Her voice seemed to grow in strength with every word. ‘I’ll be an heiress some day, just like you were. Only you were lucky. His sons aren’t like him.’
Constance felt a jolt in her chest, remembering what Alan had told her about Sir Ralph wanting to marry her himself. Only it had been too soon after the death of his other wife—Blanche—and so Matthew had taken his place. She sucked in a breath at the thought. Apparently she’d had a greater escape than she’d realised. Lucky didn’t even begin to cover it. No matter what else she might think of Matthew, he was a far better man than his father. And if it hadn’t been for him then she might have been the one in Adelaide’s position.
She was saved from responding, however, by the heavy tread of footsteps in the gallery outside. Whoever it was sounded as if they were in a hurry to reach the solar.
‘Constance?’
She turned just in time to see Matthew burst through the doorway, breathing heavily and looking distinctly windblown.
‘What’s the matter?’ She stood up, alarmed by the urgency of his expression.
‘I need to speak with you. It’s important.’
‘Of course.’ She dropped the sleeve back into the basket, throwing a reassuring smile towards Adelaide, though after her brief outburst her stepmother-in-law seemed to have retreated back inside herself, staring intently at her sewing again.
‘Will you accompany me?’ Matthew didn’t wait for an answer, turning on his heel and marching away down the gallery almost at once.
She started to follow, still vaguely alarmed by his behaviour, slowing down as he turned down the corridor that led to the roof.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To the roof.’ He stopped and waited at the base of the stairwell, his whole stance tense.
‘I thought you told me never to go up there again.’ She hesitated, eyeing him suspiciously as if it were some kind of trick. ‘You made me promise.’
‘I know, but I need to show you something.’
‘Why can’t you just tell me?’
‘Because I need to explain properly—’ his voice had a hard edge now ‘—about Blanche.’
‘Oh.’ She had a sudden impulse to cover her ears. ‘There’s no need. Alan already told me what happened.’
‘No, he told you what he thinks happened. I’ll tell you the truth. Will you come?’ He clenched his jaw, waiting for her answer.
Constance looked between him and the stairwell, trying to steel her nerves. The truth. It was what she’d asked for so she supposed there was no shying away from it now. Perhaps it was better to get it over and done with.
She pulled her shoulders back, taking care not to touch him as she swept past, intensely aware of his footsteps following closely behind. The roof was empty like before, but this time the air wasn’t refreshing. Despite the blue sky, it felt heavy and oppressive as if there were another storm coming.
‘This is the first time I’ve been up here in five years.’ Matthew came to stand just in front of her.
‘Except for yesterday.’ She eyed him challengingly.
‘No. Yesterday, I stayed in the stairwell. I never stepped out. I didn’t think I’d be able to.’ He folded his arms, his face drawn with a look of tension. ‘But this is important.’
‘All right.’ She braced herself for the worst. ‘What is it you need to tell me?’
‘Alan told you that Blanche and I were lovers.’
