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“You do know,” Ariana repeated, realization striking her with the force of a thunderbolt. “You’ve seen the journal, haven’t you, Theresa? You’ve read it.”
Theresa inclined her head, regarding Ariana with her keen, birdlike eyes. “I’ve seen it, yes, but I haven’t held it in my hands.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve seen the journal, numerous times, but only in my visions. So have I seen it? Yes … I have. Others, however, would argue that I have not.” She smiled, patting Ariana’s cheek. “Such is the case with Vanessa’s words … and with the duke’s guilt. As I’ve pointed out, appearance is a fascinating thing: changing in accordance with one’s perspective, and often not as believed to be.”
“I’m afraid to go to Spraystone with him,” Ariana confessed, her fingers tightening on Theresa’s arm.
“Had the duke any desire to harm you, his access is equally good at Broddington,” Theresa submitted. “Has he made an attempt to do so?”
Ariana bowed her head, unbidden memories of long, exhilarating hours in Trenton’s arms assailing her. “No,” she admitted. “But why is he so adamant that no one accompany us to Spraystone?”
“Is it so unusual for a newly married man to want time alone with his bride?”
Ariana flushed. “No … of course not.”
“In the words of Sir Francis, ‘A man must make his opportunity, as oft as find it.’ Why not use this trip as a chance to seek the truth, to learn your husband as openly in heart as you have in body?”
Ariana was too intrigued by that possibility to be embarrassed by Theresa’s open reference to the marriage bed. “Do you think Trenton might actually offer me the truth?”
Theresa smoothed Ariana’s copper tresses. “Truth cannot be forced upon us. One can lead us to it, but the choice whether or not to accept it as fact is ultimately ours. The duke is perpetually offering you the truth, pet. It is up to you when to accept it.”
“He’s told me nothing!”
“Hasn’t he?”
Ariana shook her head, totally baffled. “Why is it that you and Dustin can so clearly see things I cannot?”
“That is the easiest question of all to answer. It is because, unlike the marquis and I, you are in love with your husband.”
Sighing, Ariana asked, “Is it so obvious, then?”
“Only if one is looking”
The clock downstairs chimed midnight, and Ariana glanced toward the door, torn between eagerness and apprehension. “I wonder …”
“He won’t come to you tonight,” Theresa supplied.
Disappointment thudded heavily in Ariana’s chest.
“You have much to resolve, pet,” Theresa said quietly, squeezing Ariana’s hand. “You need to clear your head, to free yourself of distractions, to permit nature’s allure to work its magic.”
“To go to Spraystone?” Ariana voiced aloud, fear momentarily held at bay by Theresa’s compelling description. “Is Wight really as beautiful as they say?”
“I hear tell it is a veritable paradise, a picturesque haven with a life all its own.”
“Do you?” A faraway look came into Ariana’s eyes. “It must be a miracle. … An island where the animals run free and the trees climb as tall as the heavens permit.”
“A perfect place to resolve one’s doubts,” Theresa agreed.
Ariana jolted back to reality, her gaze meeting Theresa’s. “I do need to find the truth.”
“Yes … you do.”
A current of communication ran between the two women without a word being spoken. At last, Ariana crossed the room to her wardrobe. “It’s late, Theresa. We’d best finish packing my things.”
Theresa nodded briskly. “Yes … Your Grace. Tomorrow is nearly upon us.”
