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‘I feel such a coward. It seems…like a betrayal of everything I told you I could be as a soldier’s wife. I hate to…worry you, but I am pregnant with our child. Please don’t blame yourself, we were both at fault, but write, I beg you, tell me what to do… Please look after yourself, with all my love, Laura. There was only the one page. The beginning of the letter was me thanking him for his note and hoping he was safe.’ Her voice trailed away.
‘You really did love him, didn’t you?’ He was trying so hard to stop his voice shaking that it came out harder and more abrupt than he meant. What had he done? Instinct should have told him to look deeper. To have trusted this woman. Prejudice, guilt and fear. What a toxic mix.
‘Yes, of course. I told you how I felt about him, I would never have made love with him if I had not.’ Laura’s hands clenched into fists. ‘I am sorry, but the fact that I loved Piers does not mean I cannot be a faithful wife to you.’
‘That is not why I asked.’ Hell, this was difficult. ‘I have a confession to make.’ He made himself meet her startled gaze. ‘When I found that letter all I could read were isolated words, negative, angry words. Together they sounded like a diatribe from a woman who felt bitter and betrayed, who was writing to accuse Piers of abandoning her. I thought those were the last words he received from England, that he had gone to his death not with a message of love over his heart, but one of furious rejection.’
Laura gasped and stared down at the letter. ‘Coward, hate, blame. But…you condemned me on those isolated words alone? How could you!’
He almost said it aloud, spoke of the grief and the guilt, the awful guilt, but how could he excuse himself when he had done Laura such an injustice? It would sound as though he was trying to justify the unjustifiable. ‘I am sorry. I was wrong and I was prejudiced.’ I love you. How am I ever going to be able to say those words to you now? How will you ever accept them from me?
‘I should have been open with you from the start. Told you what I thought, asked you to explain.’ He was unused to being in the wrong so completely. The great diplomat, the man who can read faces, delve into minds. Look at you now. ‘I should have been totally open and honest.’
‘Open and honest,’ Laura echoed, almost to herself. When she stood she seemed paler than normal, frailer somehow, as though she was in pain. ‘I cannot speak of this any more now. It is too… Excuse me.’
Avery was still standing on the same spot when little Annie, the downstairs maid, came in, her hands full of feather dusters and polishing cloths.
‘Oh! I’m sorry, my lord. I thought the room was empty when I saw her ladyship come out. I’ll come back later.’ She bobbed a curtsy.
‘No, I am just leaving.’ Avery folded the bloodstained letter into a piece of fresh paper and took it with him. He would lock it in the desk in his bedchamber where there was no risk of Laura finding it and being upset all over again.
Who am I trying to deceive? I was the one who upset her, not the letter. She was weeping, yes, but that was simply normal grief. The pain came later when she realised what I had thought, how little I valued her. I thought all I was risking with this marriage was my place in Alice’s heart. He had glimpsed something more than he had ever hoped for. A wife he loved and who might love him, a family built on truth and trust and not lies and secrets. And he had thrown it away.
*
Laura did not appear at luncheon, although it was not unusual for them to miss each other for that informal meal. Perhaps she had gone to collect Alice early so she could enjoy the company of someone who trusted her, he thought, spearing a slice of ham with unnecessary force. But how could he tell what she thought or what she wanted? He was coming to realise he did not understand her at all and that she might never trust him enough to let him try.
*
Laura had been still pale and quiet during dinner. She had left him to his port and was sitting with a book open on her lap when Avery joined her in the drawing room. After ten minutes of stilted conversation she announced she was going to her room, said goodnight and left him standing on the hearthrug with no idea of how to reach her.
After half an hour spent brooding Avery came to the conclusion that they had only two things in common. Alice could not be involved in this, but perhaps they could talk honestly in bed. He felt a glimmering of optimism as he shed his clothes and donned his banyan.
Laura was sitting up in bed, pale against the white pillows. When she heard him she opened her eyes and said, quite simply, ‘No.’ Then she closed them again and lay back.
Avery found himself out on the landing with no very clear memory of how he had got there, only the knowledge that he had never been with an unwilling woman in his life and he was not going to start now with his wife. Even persuasion was unacceptable.
He thought about the library and its decanters, only to be jolted out of his inertia by a snort right behind him. When he turned Laura’s woman Mab stood there regarding him with disapproval over an armful of clean linens.
‘Yes?’ he enquired in the tone that normally had staff scuttling for cover.
‘Have you been bothering my lady?’ Before he could tear her off a strip for impertinence she added, ‘You men! And now of all times.’
‘What do you mean?’ Was Laura sick? ‘Come in here.’ He steered her into his bedchamber where Laura would not be abl
e to hear them.
‘I mean, she’ll be feeling poorly for a couple of days, bless her. Always has taken her badly. And it’s no good you glowering at me. You might be upset she’s not going to give you your dratted heir this time, but I expect she’s not too pleased either.’
‘Poorly? Heir?’ Light dawned. ‘You mean it is that time of the month?’ No wonder the poor woman had looked so drained. He could not have found a worse time to distress her if he had tried for a year.
‘Yes,’ Mab said baldly. Her face softened a trifle. ‘I’m sorry if I spoke out of order, my lord, but I worry about her. She might seem as if she’s hard sometimes, but she’s not. Not as sophisticated as her reputation makes out and not as strong either.’
‘I cannot fault you for caring for your mistress.’ He should not be gossiping with servants, let alone taking one into his confidence, but he had to ask. ‘You’ve known her for years. She loved my cousin, didn’t she?’
‘Aye,’ Mab agreed. She shifted the laundry onto her hip and scratched her ear as if deep in thought. ‘Doubt it would have lasted though. Calf love.’ She eyed him up and down, a purely feminine appraisal that brought the colour to his cheeks. ‘He wasn’t the man you are, if that’s what’s worrying you.’
‘It is not. Thank you, Mab.’ He opened the door for her. ‘Is there anything I can do for her?’
