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His wife gazed at him with haunted eyes, and Daniel cursed the man who’d caused that fear. “Nothing. It’s nonsense.”
“And the Pratts cut me dead. They’ll see that everyone does. You as well.”
“The Pratts and all their ilk may go to perdition. Do you imagine I care for the opinion of petty, malicious people?” He squeezed her hands. She really was cold. “Let’s go in.”
“If you were cast out of society because of me, I couldn’t forgive myself.”
“My social position is unassailable.” Daniel smiled, trying to tease her out of the dismals.
His lightness had no effect. “If you wanted me to, I would go,” she added. “You could have the marriage set aside, say it was a mistake.”
“It was not! And I donotwant you to go!” He dropped her hands and pulled her close. “You vowed till death do us part.”
“Yes, but Daniel—”
“No buts. You are my wife.” He felt her tremble within his arms. “And I’ll take care of the blasted Foreign Office.” Wondering why he hadn’t yet had a reply to his letter to Macklin, and whether he would have to return to London himself, he pulled her to her feet. “Now come in and get warm.”
Penelope let him lead her along the path and into the drawing room. She didn’t object when he ordered a fire, though her chill was more spiritual than physical. She drank the tea he ordered for her as well. But the exuberance he so loved was not restored. Had it been a constant before the last year ground her down? The idea filled him with anger and regret. The government agents had much to answer for. “I have a plan,” he said. “This situation will soon be resolved.”
“You’ll give up the notebooks?” It seemed the only solution.
“On my terms, not theirs.”
“What terms? Men like that don’t listen, Daniel.”
“Let’s be sure my scheme works first.”
“Scheme? It’s no good bargaining. They take it as an admission of guilt.”
“I understand. I’ll take great care. Will you trust me?”
Penelope met his earnest gaze. He was so dear to her. She wanted to trust. She could remember a time when belief in others had been automatic. But so many people had let her down since then—believed the worst, enjoyed the spectacle of her disgrace, drew back as if she was contagious. Daniel wouldn’t do that. He was steadfast. But his plan might fail. She’d made plans this last year, and so many of them had collapsed.
She had to blink back tears. When she came to Rose Cottage, she’d thought there could be nothing worse than to be dragged back into the orbit of her questioners. But there was. Seeing Daniel there, ready to throw himself against the stone wall of suspicion.
“Penelope?”
She nodded. What else could she do? That was the question, she realized. Was there anything she could do?
Nineteen
Foyle came to see Penelope the following day, a nearly unprecedented occurrence. “Is there a problem at Rose Cottage?” she asked when he was ushered into the drawing room.
“No, miss. Lady Whitfield, that is. Well, except those daft dogs and their goat. They herd the creature into the garden to eat the veg, and when Bob tries to chase them off, they snarl at him and offer to bite.”
“Bite?”
“They haven’t bit him yet,” Foyle said. “He thinks they will though, which is their point, isn’t it? Wouldn’t you think a gardener could outface a couple of hounds?”
Penelope suppressed a smile. “Jip and Jum are…eccentric dogs.”
Foyle looked aggrieved. “It’s my belief they’re not right in the head, my lady. They wouldn’t hunt, would they? What kind of foxhound refuses to hunt?”
“An odd one, apparently.”
“Huh.” Foyle looked as gnarled and crotchety as ever. And yet there was something different about him. “Another thing I wanted to speak to you about,” he added.
“Certainly. Will you sit down?”
