Trial by Desire (Carhart #2)(12)
“I what?”
“You needed time to sort through matters.” Jenny reached over and adjusted his lapels in some invisible manner.
“Christ,” Ned swore.
All those years ago, Jenny had been the one to observe the sum total of his youthful foibles. When he’d made a hash of his life, she had helped him pick up the pieces. She was like a sister to him, and one who had quite literally saved his life. Perhaps that was why she sat here, protecting him, as if he were still that fragile child in need of mollycoddling.
“Next time,” he said quietly, “tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Harcroft’s voice boomed behind Ned, and he turned reluctantly. “Are you telling us that you had great success in your venture abroad?”
“If by ‘success,’ you mean, did I discover the truth? Yes.”
Gareth looked up and leaned forward. “That bad, was it?”
“Worse than even the discussions in Parliament indicated. If matters have not changed, John Company is currently shelling villages at the mouth of the Pearl River, all because China refuses the privilege of purchasing India’s opium. This is not Britain’s finest hour. When we’ve resolved this other matter, we’ll have to have a discussion about what can be done in the Lords. I’ve made notes.”
“And did you find it easy to take those notes?”
“Easy enough.” Ned smiled briefly. “Once I stopped letting the officers push me about.”
Harcroft waved a hand. “We can speak more of that later. For now, we’ll need a plan. The first thing that we must organize is—”
“I thought we were going to wait for Kate to return,” Ned interrupted in surprise. He’d never known Harcroft to be downright rude before. And imposing on Kate’s hospitality, while starting the conversation without her, seemed the height of rudeness.
Harcroft made a disparaging sound in return. “Why bother? What do you suppose she could do to assist us? Go shopping?” He shook his head. “If my wife were hidden on Bond Street, I might turn to Lady Kathleen for assistance.”
Ned’s hands balled at that implied insult.
“Yes, yes.” Harcroft waved a dismissive hand in Ned’s direction. “I know. You feel duty bound to complain. But do be serious. Some women just don’t have the head for anything except frivolity. She’s good at a great many things, I’ll give you. Planning parties. Purchasing of a great many hats and gloves. Trust me, Ned. We’ll all be happiest if Lady Kathleen restricts her assistance in this matter to choosing the menu.”
At that precise moment, Kate came back into the room, followed by a servant with a tea-tray. She didn’t meet Ned’s eyes. She didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. She didn’t say anything about the conversation. She didn’t say anything at all. But Ned could tell, by the careful way that she concentrated on the distribution of delicate, gold-edged cups and cucumber sandwiches, that she’d overheard those last few words. And they’d hurt.
Worse, nobody had leapt to defend her. Not even him. And by the way she fixed her gaze on the teapot, she knew that.
When she sat down, she took the chair farthest from their company, as if she were outside the enterprise. Harcroft began outlining his plans for questioning villagers and hiring searchers, and Kate sat in silence, staring into her teacup. Ned could put no words to the prickle of unease he felt watching her. She was dignified and pleasant, every inch the duke’s daughter he’d married.
She was also hurt. And looking at her, he could not help but feel as if…as if, perhaps, he’d forgotten something.
Not her; he’d never forgotten Kate. Not their vows; he’d struggled long and hard with how to both cherish Kate and keep her safe from the darkness he knew lurked inside him.
No. After what she’d said in the hall, he was certain he’d not done well by her, and he was not sure how to patch matters up. If he could even do so. She had said their marriage might blow away with one gust of wind; he had no idea how to bring it to life. He wasn’t sure if he could do so, without also resurrecting his own dark demons alongside. But what he did know was that if he kept silent now, if he did nothing to try to mend the hurt she’d just been given, he wouldn’t be able to look himself in the mirror any longer.
He stood and walked to her. Behind him, Harcroft was still nattering on. “These days,” he was growling, “nobody gives a fig about the husband’s rights. Too many newfangled notions interfering.”
Standing above his wife, Ned could see the fair lines of her eyelashes. She didn’t darken them, and as she gazed down into her teacup, those fine, delicate hairs fluttered. Without lifting her eyes to Ned—he wasn’t sure if she was even aware of how close he stood—Kate blew out her breath and added another spoonful of sugar to her tea, followed by another.
The time they had together had been damnably short. But those days spent breaking fast with Kate had been time enough for Ned to know that his wife never took sugar in her tea.
“In fact,” Harcroft was saying behind them, “the very notion of Britain is founded on the rights of a husband.”
“Husbands’ rights,” Kate muttered. “In a pig’s eye.”
“Kate?”
Kate jumped, her teacup clattering in its saucer. “That is the second time you’ve come up behind me in as many hours. Are you trying to do me an injury?”