November 19th, 1808
Whiteoaks, Wiltshire
Whiteoaks was slowly emptying, his brothers, sisters, cousins and their assorted spouses, children, nursemaids, abigails, and valets departing. When Bernard told him he was leaving that morning, Lucas suppressed a silent Thank God. When Tish told him she was leaving, too, he felt the opposite emotion. “Must you?”
“Yes,” said Tish. “Come to the library; I need to talk with you.”
“Sounds ominous,” Lucas said. “Should I be worried?”
Tish didn’t reply. She led him briskly to the library, closed the door, and stood with her back to it, her eyes intent on his face. “How are you?” she asked bluntly.
Lucas gave an inwards flinch. He fixed a smile on his face. “Never been better.” He strolled to one of the tall windows.
Tish followed him. “Truthfully, Lucas. How are you?”
“Never better,” Lucas said firmly, looking out at the winter-bare rose garden. “Do you think it will rain? I hope not. That painting’s still not quite finished.”
“Lucas, the truth.”
He turned his head and looked at her, still smiling. “I told you—”
“I can hear when you’re lying.”
Lucas’s smile froze. He looked away, out the window. Memories slid over one another in his head like a deck of cards being shuffled—and halted at one he’d long forgotten: Tish the day after her twenty-first birthday, eager to show him and Julia a new trick she’d learned: how to tell truth from lies.
He hadn’t believed it. Julia hadn’t believed it. They’d spent two hours trying to prove that she was wrong, that it was impossible—but Tish had caught every lie he and Julia had attempted. Every single one.
And then she’d never mentioned it again, and that memory had been buried by a thousand others.
“So you can still do that trick?” he said, finally.
“Yes.” Tish took his hand and interlaced their fingers. “Truthfully . . . how are you?”
Lucas stared out at the gray clouds, the leafless rose bushes, the raked gravel paths, and thought about Julia, and how much he missed her. “I’ve been better,” he said finally. “But don’t worry about me, Tish. It takes time, is all.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Lucas smiled at her. It came out lopsided. “No, love. But thank you.”
Tish didn’t release his hand. “I’m glad Tom’s back.”
“So am I.”
“Does it help?”
Lucas thought about how Tom made him feel: the terrifying mix of panic and elation, the sense that his life was spinning out of control. Should he say Yes, or No? Both would be the truth.
But that wasn’t what Tish meant; she was asking about Julia’s death.
“It helps a lot.”
Lucas stared out at the winter landscape and tried to find a word for what Tom was to him. More than friend. More than lover. When Tom was with him, he no longer had the sense of having lost a limb. He felt whole again. Was there a word for that?
Savior. I think he’s my savior.
With a sense of shock he realized he’d uttered those last words aloud: “I think he’s my savior.” God, how would Tish interpret that? Lucas laughed hastily and tried to make a joke of it: “Or perhaps my ruin.”
And that was the truth. He and Tom were surely destined to be each other’s ruin if they didn’t halt this mad, dangerous affair.
Tish didn’t return the laugh. There was a frown on her brow.
“Tish, don’t worry about me,” Lucas said firmly. “I’ll be all right.” And then he wondered whether that sounded like a lie to her, because he wasn’t at all certain that he’d be all right once Tom left. It would be like Julia’s death all over again. Oh, God, how will I cope?
Tish didn’t look completely content with this answer, but she nodded and let go of his hand.
Lucas turned towards the door, glad the conversation was over. “When are you leaving?”
“At ten.”
“I’m going to Cornwall next month.” Lucas held the door open for her. “Tom hasn’t seen Pendarve yet.”
Tish halted in the doorway. Her expression was serious.
“Tish?”
“I love you,” Tish said, her voice almost fierce. “And if there’s ever anything I can do for you—anything—I hope you will tell me.”
“Of course I will. Honestly, Tish, don’t worry about me.”
Tish stepped close and hugged him briefly. “Be careful!”
Lucas blinked. “I’m always careful.” And then a shiver of premonition crawled up his spine. Does Tish know about Tom and me? He tried to look puzzled, not alarmed. “Tish? What’s this about?”
“Nothing. Good-bye!”
Lucas stood in the doorway and watched her walk briskly down the corridor.
Tish didn’t know. She couldn’t know.