“Do you think he’s coming back?” Suzanne asked.
She hoped Sankara was, for Adam’s sake. He looked as if he wanted to pummel the absent secretary.
She couldn’t blame him. Were she Adam, she’d probably feel the same way. If the person who was responsible for the bridge’s collapse was before her now, she doubted if she would be understanding. Instead, she’d want some kind of justice for Georgie.
The problem was that she honestly didn’t believe George had been a traitor. From what he said, nothing else in his life had meant as much to him as his position in the army. He loved his medals and being able to inspect the troops. He loved being thought of as a general. She assumed it was because he hadn’t done anything to be the Duke of Marsley. Being awarded a position of leadership had required that he convince others he was worthy of the honor.
It was the one thing he’d done on his own.
Granted, he might have been as inept at command as he had been other things. But a traitor? He was related, albeit by some distance, to the Queen. The relationship mattered to him and she couldn’t see him betraying the crown.
However, Sankara’s reluctance bothered her.
Who decreed that nothing bad should ever be said about the dead? Was it just one of those rules in society that everyone agreed to obey? The minute you died a halo surrounded you or, as Sankara said, a shroud of silence.
She would hate if George’s honor was tainted and his reputation suffered, but if he was guilty of what Adam believed, then it would be the price he needed to pay for his treason even posthumously.
Standing, she smoothed down her skirt. She’d worn her at-home hoop only the day before, and the dress was one of her favorites with lace on the shoulders and down the bodice. Still, she was in no condition to be calling on anyone.
She’d worked diligently on her hair using Adam’s military brushes, but she’d been missing a few of her pins and the style was more casual than she normally wore.
Nor was she going to think about the fact that her lips still looked swollen and there was a pink spot on her chin—a mark from Adam’s night beard.
What had Sankara thought of her appearance? The secretary had always been a proper individual and it was quite obvious that she hadn’t been all that proper recently. Surely she should be feeling more ashamed of her behavior? At the very least she should be chastising herself.
How very odd that she wasn’t.
In fact, and it was a confession that she didn’t feel comfortable saying aloud, she didn’t want to return to Marsley House all that much. The house had become a prison of sorts. While she was within it, she was expected to act in a certain way, to be a certain person. She couldn’t be the Suzanne of her youth, but must always be the Duchess of Marsley.
“I never wanted to be a duchess,” she said, moving to the window.
The room was quite oppressive and all these ferns in front of the glass blocked the view.
She hadn’t meant to say that, but now that she had, she turned and faced Adam.
“My father was all for having a title in the family. What was a great deal of wealth, after all, if you couldn’t buy your way into the peerage?”
He didn’t say anything, but his look wasn’t condemnatory. Instead, she saw warmth in his eyes, the same look he’d had this morning in his bed. She smiled at him, suddenly absurdly happy despite the seriousness of their errand.
“The Whitcombs were on the edge of poverty. They had an ancient family name. They had enormous credit, which they used to live on. By the time George came around, the credit was used up and the money was gone. So my father bought me a duke and George got a fortune in return.”
Adam still hadn’t said anything.
“It’s the way of the world, I was told. The law of supply and demand. There aren’t that many dukes, all in all. They cost a pretty penny. I don’t know how much my father paid George, but it was evidently enough.”
“Do you think it was worth it for him?”
“For my father or for George?” she asked.
“Either or both,” he said, smiling.
“I don’t think George cared all that much. I think he was content enough to have his second cousin assume the title at his death. When Georgie came along, everything changed. He was devoted to Georgie. As for my father, his investment hasn’t ended. George might be dead, but he still has a duchess for a daughter. I’m a commodity he trots out whenever he can. I think he was annoyed the first year of my mourning because he couldn’t present me at his dinner parties and gatherings. It would’ve shocked society. But it’s been two years now and he’s all for getting me out of black and parading me around.” She shook her head.
“What if you had fallen in love?” Adam asked. “Would he have allowed you to marry the man of your choice?”
“Only if the union could benefit him in some way.” She turned back to the window, fingering one of the fern leaves. “My father is desperate to be accepted,” she said. “I never realized that when I was a child. Or even when I married George. It was only in the last few years that I’ve become aware of it.”
He didn’t say anything in response. How tactful Adam could be at times.
“As for love, I don’t think I’m that brave.”
“Is love something you need courage for?”
She nodded. “I think that when you love someone, you also invite pain into your heart. You tell it to come in, but sit in the back, because it isn’t needed right now. Then one day, maybe sooner, maybe later, you summon it forward and you tell it, ‘It’s your turn.’”
“That doesn’t always happen, Suzanne,” he said.
“It has for the two of us.”
He stood and walked to her, grabbing one of her hands and holding it between his.
“That doesn’t mean it would happen again.”
“What about you, Adam? Are you ready to marry? To fall in love again?”
He didn’t get a chance to answer, because Sankara entered the room, hesitating at the doorway.
They turned to face him.
Suddenly, Suzanne felt a sense of dread that she had to keep swallowing down.
In his arms he cradled a large volume, one of the journals that George had used to chronicle his days. She’d never known why he had documented everything so assiduously, especially since some of his actions had not been especially laudable. She’d never read any of the journals, unwilling to be privy to his intimate thoughts, especially those dating from the years of their marriage. There were some things she didn’t need—or want—to know.
“I have guarded the duke’s secrets as if they were my own,” Sankara said. “Some of which are detailed here. Even more important, however, there is proof of his innocence.”
Adam strode toward him, but Sankara shook his head. Instead, he approached her and extended the journal with both hands.
“Your Grace, I know you to be an honorable woman. For the friendship and affection I held for His Grace, I beg you to read this with kindness. Do not fault him for his failings. He was, after all, no greater than the rest of us.”
She didn’t quite know what Sankara wanted from her, but she took the journal, and said, “He was my husband and Georgie’s father. For that alone, he gets my loyalty, Sankara. I will leave it up to God to judge George.”
He relinquished the book and stepped back, bowing slightly. “That is as much as I can expect, Your Grace.”
“Why did you take it?” Adam asked.
“To protect George,” Suzanne said. “Did he have another mistress, Sankara?”
The secretary bowed his head before meeting her eyes. “And another child, Your Grace.”
Her stomach clenched. “What does that make? Eight?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
She wrapped her arms around the oversized journal, nodded to Sankara, and looked at Adam.
He startled her by addressing Sankara again.
“Did you speak to anyone at the War Office, Sankara?”
Sankara didn’t answer him, merely regarded Adam as if he’d suddenly sprouted a horn in the middle of his forehead.
“I was told that their informant was someone close to the duke, someone who was disturbed by learning of the duke’s treachery.”
“I know of no treachery, sir. His Grace was not a perfect man, but he was no traitor.”
Adam didn’t answer, only nodded once.
Soon enough, they said their thanks and their farewells, hopefully masking the fact that she was desperate to leave Sankara’s home as quickly as possible. Once they were in the carriage, she clutched George’s journal to her chest and sat back against the seat.
Reason enough, perhaps, to succumb to tears.