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Christmas Eve
Simon walked into the parlour, his eyes naturally looking over the crowd until he found Ellen. She stood in the corner, helping her younger sisters hang the greenery and holly berries around the room. He had not had a chance to speak to her all afternoon, and even though he had tried to hint at Lady Genevieve that he wanted to be left alone, she had clung to his side through the rest of the escapade.
No wonder Ellen was upset. At least, he thought that he understood her jealous looks. He wanted to set things right between them, but with the dislike he felt pouring from her gaze anytime their eyes did happen to meet, he lost his nerve. He did not want to make a scene in front of their family and friends.
He shook his head and changed course, heading to the mantel where Everett was standing, watching the festivities. Everett nodded to him as he approached, holding up a glass of spiced apple cider. “Lovely afternoon, Simon.” He took a sip of the cider and let out a satisfied sigh.
“Thank you,” Simon said tightly. He turned his back on Ellen and stared into the fire.
Everett raised a brow. “Is there trouble in paradise?” he asked low. “I have not seen you and Lady Ellen exchange one word this whole afternoon. You did not seem to be able to stay more than a foot away from her when you attended my gaming party a few nights ago.”
“We were inseparable, yes?” Simon asked. He felt like he was going crazy trying to remember. It felt like a lifetime ago. “I seem to have upset my wife, but I do not know how. She will barely look at me, let alone speak to me. I am afraid I have unwittingly brought her anger down on me, and I do not know how to fix it.”
“Well, perhaps it is high time you asked her?” Everett suggested.
Simon sighed. “I suppose my father can play host while we step out for a moment. Everyone else will not have failed to see that things are not as they should be.”
Everett nodded. “I assure you, the tension has been almost palpable,” he said. “Now go. I shall help if your father needs anything.”
“Thank you,” Simon replied. He took a steadying breath and turned around. He wove through the furniture and around their guests until he was at her side. Beatrice cleared her throat and nodded in his direction when Ellen refused to turn around. Even when she was made aware of his presence, she still did not meet his gaze.
Simon placed a hand on her lower back, and he felt her tense. He took his hand away but remained steadfast where he stood. “Ellen. May I have a word?” he asked softly.
Ellen turned her around, her gaze filled with fury. She said nothing.
“Perhaps we can go out into the hall and talk?” Simon suggested. Beatrice seemed very embarrassed that she was a party to their little marital spat, but Ellen would not budge. Finally, after a second’s pause, she nodded.
“Not the hall,” she said, her tone icy. “Something more private—your room.”
Simon raised a brow at this, and his ire rose. What had he done that elicited such coldness? He said nothing of his feelings and motioned that she should lead the way. Once in the hall, he tried to say something to her, but she hurried on, lifting her skirts and almost running up the stairs. He stayed a few paces behind her, wondering what on earth could have set her off so badly.
Once they were in his room, she went straight to his desk, rummaged through his books, and snatched a piece of paper out of the bottom one. She turned on him as he closed the door and waved the paper in his face. “I found this earlier this afternoon, Simon. Rest assured, your sins will always find you out!” She turned and began to pace.
Simon was shocked that his marital distress was down to a measly note. “What are you talking about?”
“I found the letter, Simon. There is no need to pretend anymore.” She gave a short laugh, continuing to pace. “I was such a fool. To believe that you were genuine in your behaviour toward me—Hah!” she exclaimed. “Well, I know that truth now, Simon. There is no need to pretend any longer.”
She waved the note in his face again, and he did his best to remain calm. “May I see the letter?” he asked.
She stopped, narrowing her eyes at him.
“As if you do not already know,” she glared. However, she stepped over and thrust the note into his hand. He unfolded the crumpled thing and began to read. Even as he did so, his heart began to thunder in his chest, realising the danger his relationship was in. His face fell.
“I did not write this, Ellen,” he said.
“I do not know how or why, but someone must have forged my handwriting—Lady Genevieve, most likely. But I cannot understand why she would do such a thing.”
“A likely story, Simon. Just admit it. You are caught now, and there is no reason to continue this charade,” Ellen said. She crossed her arms, her face with rage. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and he wished there was something he could do to take them away.
“Ellen, I should have realised how dangerous Lady Genevieve was before now. But I did not think she would go to such lengths to tear us apart. I assure you, I never wrote that letter. You can compare the handwriting to my journal if you like. And while the handwriting is similar, it is not the same. I will tell you again. I did not write it.”
He tried to defend himself as calmly as possible, but he could see from her stance and the look in her eyes that she did not believe him.
“Do not insult my intelligence, Simon. You are only trying to cover your tracks. Now that you are discovered, you are trying to make me out to be the one imagining things. Well, I am not going to fall prey to your tricks again.”
She turned, crossing her arms over her chest. Her shoulders shook slightly, and he knew she was trying to hold back the flood of tears. He grew angry.
“I cannot believe after all this time—after all we have shared—that you still do not trust me. Indeed, did you ever trust me?”
