Chapter Fourteen

S ally sighed and put aside her embroidery. She’d never been much good at needlework, and she’d only picked it up this afternoon because every other distraction had failed to…distract her. She lifted the cup of tea her butler had poured half an hour ago.

“Ugh.” It was ice cold. She blinked back tears. Over the last week, everything made her cry, even something as trivial as a cold cup of tea.

“For pity’s sake, you look as down in the dumps as Meg does.” Wearing a disapproving expression, Morwenna appeared in the drawing room’s doorway. “This house has turned into a dratted mausoleum lately.”

“I’m sorry. I’m a little blue-deviled,” Sally said, mustering a smile for her friend. “You, on the other hand, look marvelous. Is that a new dress?”

She struggled to sound the way she used to, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Even in her own ears, the attempt was an abject failure.

Still, it was cheering to see Morwenna in such fine fettle. Tonight her friend wore a rich azure taffeta gown that matched her lovely eyes, and her silky, ruler-straight black hair was dressed with pearls and roses and ribbons. Sally recalled the grieving wraith from last November who had reluctantly agreed to join in the London adventure.

“Yes, it is. Lord Garson is taking me to the opera.”

“Lucky you.” Sally glanced out and noticed that twilight had crept in. She must have been sitting in here brooding alone for hours.

Another gray day had passed, with her barely aware of anything beyond her own wretchedness. Every day lately was gray, whatever the weather was like.

The worst of her unhappiness over losing Charles would fade with time. That was how life worked, wasn’t it? Nothing lasted forever. They could now get on with forgetting each other.

In the meantime, she just had to endure. She’d endured a disagreeable marriage. Surely her love for someone she’d known a mere matter of weeks would eventually change from present anguish to wistful memory.

Morwenna came into the room and sank into a brocade chair opposite the sofa where Sally sat. “You’re welcome to join us if you like.”

“I’m not dressed to go out.” She indicated the sprigged muslin she’d put on this morning.

“Garson won’t be here for another half hour. You have plenty of time to change.”

“No, thank you. I feel like a quiet night.” At the opera, she’d have to pretend she was still witty, sparkly, insouciant Sally Cowan. Worse, at the opera, she was likely to see Sir Charles Kinglake. She’d rather take her embroidery needle and poke out her eye than risk that.

Impatience lit Morwenna’s eyes to sapphire. “You’ve felt like a quiet night ever since you got back from Shelton Abbey a week ago.”

Sally shrugged. “Now I’m not chaperoning Meg to any parties, there’s no great necessity for me to dance the night away.”

“Do you really mean to send her home tomorrow?”

“She’s lucky I didn’t send her home the day we returned to London.”

Sally had relented enough to let Meg stay to say goodbye to her friends. Sally had even allowed her to attend the theatre, a musicale, and a ball – although not the one given by the new Duchess of Sedgemoor. She didn’t want people commenting on the girl’s sudden withdrawal from society, and perhaps seeking some scandalous reason to explain it.

Like a coward, instead of accompanying her niece, she’d made sure Fenella or Helena kept her on a short rein. But given Meg’s continuing flood of apologies, she was almost sure the girl had learned her lesson and wouldn’t do anything outrageous.

“Are you ever going to tell me what happened at the house party?” Morwenna’s expression was concerned. “I’ve left you alone so far, because it was clear you were in a state when you arrived back. But you’ve been in a funk for a week now, and it might help you to talk about what’s upset you. I’ve asked Caro and Helena, but they claim ignorance.”

Sally rose on a surge of temper. “You have no business prying.”

“I do when you’re so unhappy, and Meg’s going back to Hampshire.” Morwenna remained calm under Sally’s glare. “And Sir Charles Kinglake, who has been a constant presence in our lives since he came to London, hasn’t been seen in public for a week, and now the word is that he’s closing up his house and going to Italy.”

“Italy,” Sally said on the ghost of a sound, forgetting all about her squabble with Morwenna.

“That’s what people are saying.”

“Oh,” Sally said shakily, turning away toward the window so Morwenna wouldn’t see her silly tears.

It was the height of capriciousness to regret that Charles was leaving England. She’d said no to his proposal. She’d sent him away. He’d been gentleman enough to heed her. And so far no whisper of scandal had emerged about their dalliance. Apart from the jagged wound in her heart, the matter was concluded.

But something about the thought of him so very far away made her want to cry her eyes out.

“Sally?” She felt Morwenna’s cool touch on her arm. “Did Sir Charles and Meg do something terrible in Leicestershire?”

“No.” Although they had. Meg had played a stupid, childish trick, and Charles had lured Sally into finding a pleasure she’d never known. Worse, he’d said he loved her.

Right now, that seemed the cruelest cut of all.

Morwenna’s tone remained gentle but uncompromising. “Then why are you sending Meg back to her father, and why have you turned into a hermit, and why is Sir Charles moving to the Continent?”

Sally fumbled for her handkerchief and avoided Morwenna’s gaze. “There’s nothing to tell.”

“Obviously there’s lots to tell, or you wouldn’t be crying. Don’t you trust me?”

Why the devil were people always asking her that? The only person she really didn’t trust was herself. “Of course I do.”

“Then?”

On a shuddering sob, Sally gave up the struggle. “It’s so hard to explain.”

“Try.”

She straightened and drew an unsteady breath. “Everything is a complete mess.”

“Let me guess.” Morwenna led her back to the sofa and sat beside her, holding her hand. “Meg and Sir Charles were caught in a compromising position, and he refuses to do the right thing and restore her reputation.”

Sally’s brief laugh was devoid of amusement. “No, it’s much worse than that.”

“Worse?”

“Yes. It turns out I had everything wrong, from the very beginning. He doesn’t want to marry Meg, and she doesn’t want to marry him.”

Morwenna sighed with relief. “I’m glad. To me, they never seemed right together. In fact, you and Sir Charles always seemed a better fit.”

For one horrified moment, Sally stared at her friend. Then she released a choked breath and burst into the tears that had hovered all day.

How humiliating. Where was the proud woman who had kept up appearances all through her awful marriage? Love had turned her into a complete wreck. She buried her wet face in her shaking hands and struggled to control this outburst, but it was impossible.

“Oh, Sally, I hate to see you so miserable,” Morwenna said, passing her a handkerchief.

Her friend’s sympathy finally shattered Sally’s reticence. In confused, broken sentences, she confessed the events of that trip back from Leicestershire, with the exception of her fall from grace on the chaise longue.

Sally wiped her stinging eyes and dragged in a broken breath. When she bit her lip, she tasted the salt of her tears. “So you can see why I have to send Meg away.”

Morwenna’s gaze was searching. Something in her expression hinted that she’d guessed more than conversation had taken place in the isolated hunting lodge. “She’s behaved disgracefully, I agree. But on the other hand, you’d never have given Sir Charles the chance to declare himself if Meg hadn’t taken a hand.”

Sally stiffened and tried to summon her anger, but crying had left her weary to the point of exhaustion. Crying, and barely a wink of sleep over the last week. Whenever she drifted off, her mind returned to those rapturous, heartbreaking moments when Charles had moved inside her. She’d rather spend the night staring up at the ceiling and calling herself every name under the sun for her stupidity than revisit that passionate interlude.

“I didn’t want him to declare himself,” she muttered. She tore savagely at the lace handkerchief between her hands.

“Why not?” Morwenna cast her an unimpressed glance. “You’re head over heels in love with him. Aren’t you glad that he loves you, too?”

“I’m not…” She hadn’t confessed her feelings for Charles either, but Morwenna knew her too well. Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, all right, yes. I do love him. But it’s completely out of the question.”

Morwenna shook her head in disbelief. “Sally, I think you’re a lunatic.”

Sally stood up and began to pace. “Didn’t you listen to me? I’m older than he is.”

“Only a few years. Not enough to matter. You’ve convinced yourself you’re past the age of romance – I think because you can’t bear the thought of being hurt again, after the hell Norwood put you through.”

Sally stiffened. She hated to hear people refer to her failure as a wife. “His lordship was all that was correct.”

Morwenna made a dismissive noise. “I didn’t know Lord Norwood. But everything I’ve heard tells me he was a narrow-minded bully, too beef-witted to appreciate the wonderful wife fate placed in his care.”

“I don’t want to marry again,” Sally said, too upset to call up any stronger defense of her late husband. Anyway, Morwenna was right.

“I can understand you feel like that. But you need to start looking at the facts. Sir Charles isn’t anything like Norwood. For a start, Charles loves you.”

“Stop saying that.”

Morwenna stood up and faced her. “Why? It’s true.”

“He can’t marry me.” Sally stopped her restless marching about and scowled at her friend. “I’m barren.”

Morwenna shrugged. “You said when you told him that, he wanted you anyway.”

“I clearly said far too much.”

Disgust weighted Morwenna’s sigh. “Well, I’ll tell you something, Sally Cowan. Right now I’m ashamed to own you as my friend.”

Sally stepped back, startled at this sudden severity. “What?”

Morwenna made a sweeping gesture with one hand. “You’re acting like a craven coward – when something I always admired about you is your indomitable spirit. You want that man, and he wants you. Yet you’re too lily-livered to reach out your hand and seize your happiness. Instead you’re wallowing in endless excuses. You’ll end up drowning in them before you’re done. And meanwhile, poor Meg goes home under a cloud, and Sir Charles packs up his broken heart and trudges around Florence and Venice, trying like the devil to forget you.”

Sally’s hands clenched at her sides. “What right have you to criticize me?”

Morwenna’s face went pale, and the gloss of happiness melted away. Sally realized with a sick feeling that was all her friend’s gaiety had ever been – a gloss hiding a wound that would never heal.

“Because real love is a gift beyond price and it’s worth every risk. Because you’ve got a chance at finding happiness, and you’re turning your back on it, without recognizing how inordinately lucky you are.” Morwenna’s voice trembled with overpowering emotion. “Because I had real love and I lost it, not because of anything I did, but just because that’s the way the world turns. Honestly, Sally, I could give you a good slap.”

Sally, jolted out of her self-centered dejection, stared aghast at Morwenna. “I’m so sorry. I hoped…”

“That I’d recovered from Robert’s loss?” Morwenna’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “I know that would make life more comfortable for everyone. Probably for me, too. But you don’t forget a man like Robert Nash, and real love doesn’t easily let you go. If at all. Think about that, Sally, as you turn your back on Sir Charles.”

Sally curled her hand over Morwenna’s. Her friend was shaking with the force of her feelings. “But you and Lord Garson –”

“Get along well.” She mustered a smile. Not a very convincing one. “He’s a kind and good man, and I like him.”

“I’d hoped you might find happiness again. These last weeks…”

Morwenna drew away and squared her shoulders. To her mortification, Sally acknowledged that the only truly courageous person in this room was Morwenna Nash.

“If Lord Garson asks me to marry him, I’ll say yes. Kerenza needs a father, and I’m lonely and seeking a purpose beyond bringing up my daughter alone. I’d like more children. I’d like companionship and a man in my life. Nobody will ever replace Robert. But he’s been gone more than four years, and I’m still young. I need to keep living. For Kerenza’s sake, if nothing else.”

Tears rose to Sally’s eyes, and she pressed Morwenna’s hand. “Your bravery puts me to shame.”

Morwenna’s eyes sharpened. “I hope so. Because having had love ripped away from me, I can’t abide seeing you blithely tossing your chance to the side.”

“I’m not…I’m not doing anything blithely.”

Morwenna’s expression softened with compassion. “I know, Sally.”

The butler appeared at the door. “Lord Garson has called for Mrs Nash, my lady.”

Morwenna’s lips tightened, and she spoke in a low tone so the butler wouldn’t hear. “Stop letting past miseries rule you, Sally. You’re scared, I know, but fear makes for a cold bedfellow.”

She tugged on her long satin gloves and mustered a smile when Garson came in and bowed to both of them. But as Sally watched her friend flirting with her openly bedazzled admirer, she couldn’t help but play Morwenna’s words over and over in her head.

Real love was worth every risk.