Suzanne didn’t say anything, only went to his desk and put the journal on it, opening the book to the pages revealing the traitor.
“You and I really should not be here alone,” he said. “It was one thing in my lodgings, but here gossip spreads quickly.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do, for your sake. Don’t be foolish, Suzanne.”
She looked at him. “We have more important things to discuss, Adam, than whether the staff is talking about us.”
He motioned her to the chair in front of his desk and closed the door. She sat, staring at the journal. She’d read it straight through.
Adam finally sat and faced her.
“You’ve been crying,” he said.
“How do you know?” She’d examined herself in the mirror before leaving her sitting room.
“Your eyes look luminous when you’ve been crying.”
She didn’t admit to her tears, but he was right.
“I didn’t love George, but I could have dealt well with him for the rest of my life. He was my husband, after all. But I think he was lonely, and for that I’m sorry I didn’t feel more for him. I’ve known what it was like to be lonely surrounded by dozens of people. It’s not an emotion I would wish on anyone.” She looked down at the journal. “All he had to do was to give me a little notion of what he was feeling and everything could have changed. But he didn’t.”
“Some men can’t,” he said. “They’re content to worship from afar. Or they’re afraid that their affections will be rebuffed. I read a poet not too long ago and the last lines were, ‘For of all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are these: it might have been!’”
“Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if Rebecca had lived?”
“Not anymore. In the first year I did, but I think it was partly because I refused to believe that Manipora had really happened. Time gives you a finality as nothing else can.”
He reached over and placed his hand on hers.
She cleared her throat before speaking. “What are you going to do about Roger? And don’t tell me it’s War Office business, please.”
She’d been shocked at the words she’d read, but probably not as much as Adam.
There was no doubt, in my mind at least, that what my visitor said was the truth. It made perfect sense that Roger Mount might be the one who conspired with the rebels to overrun Manipora. He had been familiar with the rebel leader, having done business with him in the past. A sorrowful thing, but one that must be addressed.
She was certain he was about to speak when there was a knock on the door. She quickly stood.
He pointed toward his bedroom and she nodded, slipping into the room and pressing herself close to the door, listening.
“Mr. Bora didn’t look surprised to see me, sir,” Thomas said. “In fact, it was like he was expecting me.”
“Did you get the answer?”
“He wrote it down right away, sir, and sealed it up.”
Adam thanked Thomas. A moment later she heard the door close.
She peered into the room to see Adam tearing open an envelope. She opened the door fully and he turned to her, his face a mask.
“What is it, Adam?”
He handed her the envelope. There, in Sankara’s swooping handwriting, were the words: His Grace visited the War Office.
Adam’s face was expressionless, but there was a look in his eyes that she’d seen in her own mirror: disbelief mixed with a feeling of betrayal. The same look she’d worn when first learning that her husband was not interested in maintaining his marriage vows.
“You didn’t want George to be right, did you?” she asked.
He smiled faintly. “No, I didn’t.”
She understood that feeling—when everything you’d based your life on crumbled into dust. Or when you realized that you’d been hopelessly ignorant until that moment.
“What does it mean, Adam?”
Hopefully he wouldn’t treat her like George had, preferring to put his thoughts and feelings on paper instead of voicing them.
“Evidently, the duke visited Roger, no doubt to let him know what he’d learned.”
She stared at him. “Why would he do something like that?”
Adam looked at her. In his eyes was an expression she’d seen before, something close to pity but warmer.
“Perhaps he thought that Roger would confess to his actions and that he’d be lauded for capturing a traitor. It’s a bit naive, if not dangerous. Any man who was willing to sacrifice the people of Manipora wouldn’t hesitate to silence your husband. The duke probably told Roger that he’d written it all down, thinking that would keep him safe.”
She turned and walked, stiff-legged, back into Adam’s bedroom.
He was very neat, no doubt a result of his army background. The coverlet on the narrow bed was squared. The sheets were pulled tight. Even the pillow was aligned just so on the mattress. A bowl of potpourri smelling of sage sat next to two silver-backed brushes atop the dresser. The wardrobe was closed, but even from here she could smell the cedar shavings in the bottom. He was probably very organized there, too, his shirts and jackets in militaristic order.
She sat heavily, staring at the painting on the wall. She’d seen it before. It had hung in the hallway in the north wing once. Nothing was ever lost at Marsley House. They circulated furniture and artwork throughout the rooms. Up until this moment she hadn’t known that some of the works found their way to the third floor. She was glad, though. Someone else should enjoy the depiction of rust-colored flowers against a brighter background.
All she had to do was keep looking at the porcelain vase in the painting and she would be able to keep her emotions together. That’s all. A simple task, really.
“Suzanne?”
No, not now. She really couldn’t answer any questions right now. That would shatter her. Speaking would ruin this false poise.
“Suzanne.”
He was determined, wasn’t he? The same persistence had no doubt made him a hero after Manipora. Yet he hadn’t been able to save all those women and children. All those young, innocent lives. His determination hadn’t meant anything then, had it? Was that why he’d pursued George with such insistence?
He came and picked her up as if she weighed no more than a feather, then sat again, with her on his lap. She’d never sat on anyone’s lap in her entire life. At another time, it would have been a novel experience. Right at the moment she couldn’t concentrate on anything but the refrain repeating in her mind.
She was so cold that it felt like January in this third-floor room. January without a fire going in the nearby grate. January and she was standing atop the roof again.
“The accident. The bridge. It wasn’t an accident, was it? Is it because of what George knew?”
“I don’t know.” But the knowledge was there in the tone of his voice and the fact that the pity in his eyes had warmed to something else.
She felt like her insides were being crushed by a weight heavier than anything she’d ever known.
He pressed her cheek against his chest. His heart was beating loudly, proof that he was alive. She needed life at the moment, especially when she felt so cold and nearly dead.
Survival and stubbornness, that was Adam. He’d fought her and challenged her and now at this, another dark hour, he was with her, warming her, holding her when she felt like she was going to split into a thousand pieces.
“We may never know, Suzanne. I doubt it’s something that Roger will admit to doing.”
She nodded. “Would it be something he’d do to protect himself?”
For the longest time she didn’t think he would answer her, but finally he did, the one word so soft and low and so horrible that she almost asked him to repeat it.
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. It shouldn’t matter if it had been an accident that had taken Georgie’s life or an intentional act. The result was the same. Her darling son had died. But it did matter. When she said as much to Adam, he nodded.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Confront him. We have the journal as proof and Sankara might be willing to give a sworn statement as well.”
“Would that be enough?”
“Yes.” This time the word was strong and assertive.
“I want to go with you.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea, Suzanne.”
“I’m the Duchess of Marsley,” she said. “The title opens some doors, Adam. Even at the War Office.”
“I’m certain that you’re right, but I don’t think it’s going to matter in this case. Besides, it might be dangerous. He’s not a man to underestimate.”
“Please.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d begged someone for something. It might have been as a child. She’d learned that it was better to keep silent than to allow herself to appear vulnerable or needy. Now, however, she had no qualms about letting Adam see exactly how she felt.
“I want to see his face when you ask him about the bridge.”
“Suzanne.”
“I’ll know,” she said. She pressed her hand against his chest. “I’ll know if he’s lying.”
He didn’t say anything, but she wasn’t foolish enough to think she’d won this battle. Adam was capable of simply leaving Marsley House without any notice and carrying out his mission without her.
She pulled back and looked at him. “I have to do this. For Georgie. For George. Just like you had to come after George for your wife. Not vindication, Adam. Justice.”
“There’s every possibility that Roger would look you in the face and lie.”
“I’d know if he was lying,” she said again, feeling a certainty she couldn’t explain.
“All right.”
She nodded, allowed herself to sink back into his embrace, putting her head on his shoulder.
Tomorrow, then. All she had to do was get through the night.