Chapter 2

 

Elizabeth had heard it said that at the point of death one’s entire life passes before the eyes in an instant. She was now able to give some confirmation to this belief. She was not quite fortunate enough to expire, however. Nor was it an entire lifetime which she recalled in that incredible moment. It was but a single night, eight years ago - full eight years, almost to the day. Yet every detail of that fateful meeting flooded her mind with such force that it might have happened mere hours before.

It had all begun so innocently, rather in the manner that an unsuspecting visitor in some Alpine pass might call out to a friend, only to bring an avalanche crashing down upon their heads.

She had been returning from a visit with Dorinda. Rain began to fall, which was no uncommon occurrence in England. On a particularly difficult stretch of road, as her carriage rounded a sharp bend, the vehicle swerved suddenly and her coachman was unable to hold it steady. There was a loud crack as the wheel broke, a moment of utter confusion as everything turned topsy-turvy, and the body of the carriage slid sideways, coming to rest in a shallow ditch.

After the initial shock, Elizabeth realized that she had survived the accident unscathed. She was half lying on top of her maid, Janet, who was not so fortunate. The poor girl had been thrown up against the side as they tumbled over, and was moaning loudly. It did not take long to discover that Janet had injured her arm. Indeed, Elizabeth was much afraid that it was broken.

Helping her maid out of the overturned vehicle with as much care as their precarious position allowed, Elizabeth surveyed the damage to their vehicle. Her main concern was to seek medical attention for Janet as soon as possible.

Her coachman, Robert, made a quick but thorough inspection and reported that the rear left wheel had been damaged and the left door cracked. He had already seen to the horses, who had been rearing and neighing loudly in fright. Miraculously, they had managed to avoid serious harm.

The baggage, however, was another matter. Standing in the rain beside Janet, Elizabeth saw that both her trunks had broken loose from the force of the jolt and had burst open on the rocky verge. Her clothes - everything from gowns to stockings - were scattered in the mud and draped over the bushes beside the road.

‘Oh, milady!’ Janet wailed at the indelicate sight. ‘All your lovely frocks....’

‘Never mind, Janet,’ Elizabeth interrupted her. ‘What is more important is that we are all alive. Clothes may easily be replaced.’

‘But what shall we do?’ The maid continued to cry softly, holding her right shoulder with her left hand. ‘We’ll likely catch our death of cold out here!’

The girl was shaking, even as she spoke, and her teeth were chattering, although it was not excessively cold. Fearing that she might be on the verge of hysterics, or worse, Elizabeth turned to Robert. Masking her own fears, she forced herself to address him in a calm and rational manner.

‘Robert, is there anywhere nearby where we might find shelter for the night?’

Her coachman nodded, obviously appreciating her stoicism. But after all, someone had to remain clear-headed enough to make decisions, and her rank dictated that she must be the one to take the lead and see to the needs of herself and her servants.

Robert informed her that there was, if he were not mistaken, a village named Upper Tredleigh not more than a mile ahead. There they might find suitable lodgings for the night, someone to mend their carriage - and, most importantly, someone to mend Janet.

‘Fetch Janet’s travelling-bag and my jewel case from inside, Robert,’ Elizabeth commanded briskly. ‘We had better get started at once.’

They started to walk. Robert was ahead with the horses, to which he had tied the bag and jewel case. Elizabeth, trudging behind him along the slushy road, supported the much-agitated Janet. That walk in the rain seemed endless, although it was actually not much more than half an hour before they reached the edge of Upper Tredleigh. A small cluster of rustic buildings appeared dimly through the silver curtain around them.

As they approached the main street, the rain stopped abruptly. The sky remained overcast, however, and Elizabeth suspected that it would not be long before another shower descended upon them. Luckily, there was an inn, and it was not many minutes before they had passed through the entrance.

‘We must look like a trio of half-drowned rats,’ Elizabeth thought, as she marched up to the rather stout, red-faced man who appeared to be the landlord. He was obviously surprised at the rain-soaked apparitions before him, and seemed none too eager to admit them. But as soon as Elizabeth began to speak, he became intensely solicitous. He did not need to be informed that she was the Countess of Dansmere, nor to be acquainted with the details of their accident, for it was perfectly plain to anyone with even a modest portion of intellect that a member of the gentry stood before him.

The inn was small, boasting only a half-dozen bedchambers, but Upper Tredleigh was not a much-frequented place, and all the rooms were at that time unoccupied. Elizabeth easily procured lodging for herself and her servants, while the fat landlord, Mr Shymes, directed Robert to a nearby blacksmith’s shop where he might find the nearest equivalent to a good wheelwright. He also offered to summon the local physician to attend to Janet.

Elizabeth got Janet up to her room and helped her to undress. It proved to be a slow and painful process because of her poor arm. Mercifully, the rain had not penetrated her travelling-bag, so all the maid’s garments were dry. Elizabeth got her into her sleeping-gown and into bed, to await the arrival of the doctor.

‘I fear I must trouble you for one of your gowns, Janet,’ she began, extracting a plain grey poplin one from the bag.

‘Oh no, milady!’ Janet cried, starting up from the bed at this scandalous suggestion. ‘You cannot wear one of my dresses. I have nothing near good enough—’

Elizabeth gently but firmly restrained the poor girl before she could inadvertently do further injury to herself.

‘Do not be nonsensical, Janet.’ She turned back to the bag. ‘I cannot possibly remain in this wet gown tonight, and my others are in no fit state to be worn.’

Janet still looked distressed at what she plainly considered to be nothing short of sacrilege. ‘It isn’t fitting, ma’am. It’s not right.’

‘I assure you, I do not mind in the least. In fact, I will be most grateful to you.’ She hoped that this would mollify the girl. ‘Thankfully, we are much the same size.’

‘At least let it be my white muslin,’ Janet pleaded, accepting the inevitable. ‘It’s my very best dress, ma’am - my church dress.’

‘Very well.’ Seeing that Janet was likely to worry herself into a fever, Elizabeth thought it best to humour her. She looked about in the bag and easily discovered the plain white gown amongst the meagre belongings inside. She also selected a pair of stockings which she remembered having given the girl at Christmas time.

‘I have instructed the landlord to send the doctor to you as soon as he is able.’ Janet looked a little apprehensive at these words. ‘Should he arrive before I have done changing, tell him I shall be here directly to settle his bill.’

With what she hoped was an encouraging smile, Elizabeth left her and went next door to her own chamber. It was only slightly larger and better furnished than Janet’s, though Mr Shymes assured her it was the best he could offer.

She washed herself in a large basin of tepid water before donning the simple muslin, which was so much easier to manage than the elaborate creations of Elizabeth’s London mantua-maker. Then, brushing her hair with quick, brisk strokes, she arranged it very plainly in a tight coil at the nape of her neck. It was all she could do without Janet’s assistance.

Eyeing herself critically in the small mirror perched atop the dressing-table, she smiled to see herself decked out in her maid’s apparel. What was it like, she wondered idly, to be someone of Janet’s class and position? Janet was poor, with few prospects of ever bettering her condition, yet she seemed contented and even happy with her lot in life. A pert redhead, she was always smiling and high-spirited - with the exception of the present day, of course.

Janet was being courted by the young footman, James. Elizabeth had, on occasion, overheard the other servants quizzing one or the other of them. She could not help but be amused at how tongue-tied and distracted James became whenever Janet was present. The girl would be looking forward to seeing him again when they returned.

It must be a wonderful feeling to have a handsome young lover eagerly awaiting one’s return. She thought of Gerald and sighed softly. Her visit to Wiltshire had been an all too brief reprieve from the cold, forbidding isolation of the castle and the repressive company of her husband.

It was not so very many years since she had dreamed of finding a daring young lover - of loving and being loved by someone. But persons of her station could rarely afford such a luxury, and reality had a way of destroying dreams very thoroughly. Youthful hopes must be left behind, however reluctantly, to be replaced by the claims of duty and the compromises demanded by the less pleasant circumstances of life. But it was difficult not to envy Janet at this moment. Her situation might deprive her of many privileges, but still she had the very real possibility of finding love and fulfilling dreams which others had been forced to abandon.

In order to put a stop to such uncomfortable thoughts, Elizabeth returned to Janet’s room. Dr Setchwick, a rather gaunt and funereal man, was already with her and had just completed his examination of the patient.

‘No bones broken,’ he reassured them both, ‘but it is quite possible that the shoulder is cracked a little - which can be just as painful, I’m afraid. It is certainly badly bruised.’

‘Is there anything that can be done to relieve the pain?’ Elizabeth asked.

The doctor pursed his thin lips and paused, considering the question. ‘I’ll give her a sedative draught for tonight, and perhaps enough for the next day or two. Otherwise, only time and rest are of any real value.’

He soon had the girl more comfortably settled. Elizabeth judged him to be rather more capable than many members of his profession, and felt reasonably confident that he knew what he was about, despite his morose manner. After she had paid him and thanked him gravely for his help, she went down to confer with Robert, who informed her that the carriage was already being brought into town. The wheelwright promised to have it ready this very evening.

‘Begging your pardon, ma’am,’ Robert said diffidently, ‘but I ventured to tell ‘im that ‘e’d be paid ‘andsomely if ‘e finished tonight.’

Elizabeth smiled. ‘Quite right, Robert. We will leave first thing in the morning, then. His lordship will be most annoyed if we arrive very late.’

‘Just so, ma’am,’ the coachman replied, with a speaking glance.

Elizabeth returned to Janet’s room to see how she was faring. Under the influence of Dr Setchwick’s sedative, the girl was fast asleep.

Going to her own room, Elizabeth tidied herself a little and applied a dab of scent. On a sudden impulse, she removed her ornate gold wedding band. Perhaps tonight she could forget that she was a wife and a countess, and pretend - if only to herself - that she was a simple country lass like Janet. On this pleasantly absurd thought, she went downstairs once again to partake of a light supper.

Her landlord was all obsequious attention, which would certainly have been most inappropriate for a maid. The meal was a good one, however, if very plain: some cold ham, hot soup and buttered bread, washed down by a surprisingly fine wine.

Afterwards, Elizabeth retired to a corner of the room with a lamp, a well-worn copy of Marmion, and her wineglass, which she had brought along in lieu of a flesh-and-blood companion.

The rain had begun again, accompanied this time by the low rumble of thunder and occasional flashes of lightning. Under such circumstances, it was unlikely that she would be able to sleep, and reading was a pleasant way to pass the next hour or two. Her host seemed eager to frustrate her plan by constantly asking after her comfort, and pressing her to try any and every concoction which would procure her a sound sleep. With a few choice words, she eventually managed to make it plain to him that she needed nothing but solitude, the remainder of her wine, and her book, and he took himself off for the rest of the evening.

For some time she remained alone in the quiet semi-gloom of the parlour. Shortly before ten o’clock, however, a gentleman was ushered into the room, and sat down at once to eat his supper. Apparently, another guest had arrived at the inn.

* * * *

At first the man did not notice her sitting quietly in the shadowed corner, so Elizabeth was able to observe him at her leisure. He was not much older than herself - about five-and twenty perhaps - tall and slim, with crisply curling chestnut hair cut fashionably short. As he was neatly but not richly dressed, she judged him to be a member of the commercial class - possibly the son of a country solicitor or some such thing. No landlord waited upon such a lowly person, of course, and he was attended to by a plump, middle-aged serving-wench.

Suddenly, he seemed to become aware of Elizabeth’s presence, and she found her curious gaze being returned with equal interest by a pair of hazel eyes which held a distinct twinkle. Her own eyes she lowered at once, aware that she was blushing at having been discovered staring at a total stranger in a common inn. It was most unfair, she thought ridiculously, that he should be so exceptionally good-looking. What on earth must he be thinking of her?

O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, she read silently, vainly attempting to concentrate on the printed page before her. But how could she, when a man who might have been the model of Lochinvar himself was seated but a few feet away from her?

She reached for her glass, and was surprised to find it empty. It had been her second tonight. She rarely drank more than one glass. Perhaps that explained the curious fluttering in her stomach.

As the stranger across the room continued to eat his supper, she found her gaze returning more than once to his handsome profile. More than once, too, as she looked up, she saw that he was surreptitiously studying her as well. For more than half an hour this exchange of glances - advance, engage, retreat - continued. Finally, she heard a scraping of the floor as the stranger pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. She knew with absolute certainty that he was going to speak to her.

‘That must be a most interesting book,’ his attractively deep voice declared, somewhere above her head.

Though she had fully expected this, Elizabeth gave a start which was quite genuine. ‘I - I beg your pardon, sir?’ she stammered, feeling remarkably foolish.

‘I merely enquired as to the nature of your book.’

‘It is - it is Marmion, sir.’

‘Ah! So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,’ he quoted blithely, ‘there never was knight like the young Lochinvar.’

Elizabeth felt her colour deepening and knew not which way to look. He could not possibly have guessed...!

‘I hope you do not think me too presumptuous,’ the gentleman spoke into the uncomfortable silence. He appeared contrite, though she thought she could detect a faintly quizzical gleam in his eyes. ‘The truth is, I am much in need of company, and as you appear to be the only other guest here at the moment, I felt emboldened to seek your acquaintance. I am Nick Markham - at your service.’

It was obvious that, in her plain gown, she had been mistaken for a servant: a lady’s maid or a governess, perhaps. She had best make him aware of her true position at once, before he became too familiar. Then she caught her breath as the most outrageous thought occurred to her. What would it be like if he did become familiar? What if she were a lady’s maid? What if she were Janet? She had amused herself with such imaginings earlier. Now she was presented with the opportunity to discover, in some small way, the reality. After all, what harm could it do? He was a stranger to her. She would never see him again.

Before she could even stop to consider the consequences of her actions, she found herself responding to Mr Markham’s audacious words.

‘I am Bess, sir - Bess Newcombe.’ She used her mother’s maiden name. And from that moment she became Bess, and it was as if Elizabeth, Countess of Dansmere, had never existed.

‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Newcombe,’ he said gravely. ‘May I be permitted to intrude myself upon your solitude for a short time?’ Bess smiled and nodded towards the seat opposite, which he immediately took possession of, adding, ‘I fear I have the advantage over you.’

‘In what way, sir?’

He laughed. ‘Why, I already know all about you.’

For a moment she actually paled, and the spell she had fallen under was all but broken. Surely he could not know the truth!

‘Do not be alarmed, Miss Newcombe,’ her companion entreated, observing her reaction, but mistaking its cause. ‘I am not a sorcerer, I assure you. And perhaps I exaggerated a little. It is merely that the whole inn was in a buzz with the news of your unfortunate accident when I arrived earlier. But I see the report of your injury was not strictly accurate. I suppose,’ he added with a raised brow, ‘that the countess is not well enough to come down herself? Or is it beneath her dignity?’

‘I -1 could not say, sir,’ Elizabeth (or was it Bess?) answered, not knowing which way to look. If he had confused the mistress with the maid, it was no wonder.

‘Your loyalty does you credit, I’m sure.’ He inclined his head and leaned forward a little. ‘I cry pardon, and will not say a word against your mistress - except that, peeress or no, she could not be half so lovely as her maid.’

Bess knew that she was blushing again. She also knew that she should stop this bold gentleman at once. But his nearness was having the strangest effect upon her. Or was it only the wine that made her feel so curiously light-headed? Whatever the reason, it was impossible to miss the warmly admiring look in those hazel eyes. That, and the sincerity in his voice, was very pleasant indeed.

‘Please, sir—’ she began, aware that her protest was not as strong as she would have wished.

‘Forgive me,’ Mr Markham said softly, ‘but, to tell you the truth, you are much more my idea of what a countess should be. Do you never envy your mistress? Do you never imagine what it would be like if you were a countess yourself?’

‘I would not be this countess for anything in the world!’ she cried, so vehemently that he looked at her in obvious surprise.

‘Is your mistress unhappy, then?’ he enquired. ‘I should have supposed, with her rank and fortune, she would have no cares worth the name.’

‘There is more to life, Mr Markham,’ Bess said seriously, ‘than a fine home, jewels and pin-money. When there is no love - no respect...’ Her voice trailed off as she became aware that she was about to say far too much. Mr Markham did not press her, however.

‘Perhaps,’ he said with a shrug, ‘I have worked in a counting-house too long. But I must admit that, to a humble clerk like myself, a larger income would certainly increase my happiness.’

‘Perhaps it would,’ Bess conceded, trying to imagine what this man’s life must be like as a clerk in a London business. ‘I do not say that it is not pleasant to command the luxuries of life. I merely meant that it is perfectly possible to be happy without them - and that possessing them is no guarantee of contentment.’

‘I could never doubt your word, Miss Newcombe,’ he said. ‘The mercenary spirit of the world has not touched a heart such as yours.’ He reached across as he spoke and clasped her hand in his. Bess felt the power in that hand. It was most improper, of course. She should have given him a sharp reprimand and withdrawn her own hand at once; but she did not.

For hours they talked, and never had Bess felt so much at ease, so perfectly content, in anyone’s company. Nick - she was already beginning to think of him as that - told her something of himself and his ambitions. He would have his own business someday, he said. In the meantime, he had his widowed mother and a maiden aunt to support, and a younger brother who had recently gone into the army and of whom great things were expected. His mother was the niece of a clergyman and the sister of a bookseller. He was more well-read than many of his class, and Bess soon discovered that they shared a similar taste in books.

Her own remarks were more guarded, of course. She told him that she was an orphan and that she had a younger sister who lived in Wiltshire. They discussed music and dancing, and she related a few of her childhood adventures with her sister, which he seemed to find highly entertaining.

They were both more than surprised when Nick took out his watch and exclaimed, ‘Good heavens! It is half past eleven already. What gabsters we are.’

‘Oh dear!’ Bess said, realizing how the hours had slipped away and that her dream was drawing to a close. ‘I really should go up now.’

‘Of course. Your mistress may have need of you.’

‘I - I do not think so, sir,’ she said, not sure if he were quizzing her again. ‘The doctor has given her a sedative, which should make her sleep through the night.’

‘Then why the haste?’ he asked, then sobered suddenly. ‘But you have had a very trying day, by all accounts, and must be quite fatigued. It is selfish of me I to keep you here.’

‘Oh, no!’ she protested softly.

‘But I am selfish,’ he insisted, with a self-deprecating curve of his well-shaped mouth. ‘I have been enjoying your company so much that I do not want the night to end. No doubt I have been imposing dreadfully upon your kindness with my endless prosing.’

‘No, indeed!’ she assured him. ‘It has been the most wonderful evening—’ She caught herself, afraid to say more, afraid of the way her heart was pounding in her breast. She did not want the night to end, either.

‘Do you leave tomorrow?’ he asked intently, his fingers resting once more on her hand.

‘Oh, yes,’ she answered, breathing with some difficulty. ‘As soon as it is light, I believe.’

‘Do you think that we shall ever meet again, Bess?’

‘It is hardly probable, Mr Markham.’ She could scarcely believe the pain she felt at the thought of never seeing him again. She hardly knew the man. It was madness!

‘I must see you again.’ His voice seemed to vibrate with the intensity of his emotion, and his gaze locked with hers as he spoke. She was both excited and afraid at what she was feeling.

‘It - it is growing late....’

‘And high time that a respectable young female were in bed,’ he finished for her, regaining his composure. His tone was lighter, but his look was still darkly disturbing. His reluctance to end their tête-à-tête was perfectly obvious.

Side by side, they ascended the staircase, each with a single taper. No one else was about. They reached the door of Nick’s chamber first.

‘Goodnight, Miss Newcombe,’ Nick said, adding rather stiffly, ‘parting is indeed sweet sorrow.’

‘Goodnight, sir,’ she replied. The words came with unaccustomed difficulty from her suddenly dry throat. They both knew that this was also goodbye, but neither could bring themselves to speak the word.

She began to walk away, hearing his key turn squeakily in the lock as she went. She had moved only a few paces when his voice halted her in a loud whisper.

‘Miss Newcombe.... Bess....’

She turned at once. His face seemed strained, uncertain in the candlelight. He hesitated a moment, and then, as if the words were forced from him, said, ‘Don’t go, Bess. Stay with me.’

Every principle which Bess had ever been taught, every precept she had ever believed, urged her to walk away. What he asked was impossible! If only she could look away from his eyes - those beautiful hazel eyes, which said so much more than mere words ever could. They spoke to her now, and her heart heard what ears could not.

Bess had seen desire in a man’s eyes often enough. Certain gentlemen in London - some of them calling themselves her husband’s friends - had wanted more from her than just friendship. They were hunters: men who pursued a woman as they did a fox, for the sport. But she had no wish to be their prey, for she knew instinctively that they would take far more from her than they could ever give in return.

But this man’s eyes were different. There was a light in them which promised something wonderful. He did not wish to take but to share - to give as well as receive pleasure. For the first time in her life, Bess saw more than mere lust in a man’s gaze.

There was an instant, even then, when she almost withdrew. But when he held out his hand - neither demanding nor begging, but simply offering - she took it. When he drew her into the shadowed chamber and closed the door softly behind them, she made no protest. And when his lips closed gently but with compelling warmth over hers, she gave herself up to him with a completeness which later astonished her, but seemed perfectly natural then. She went into his room, into his arms and into his bed with equal abandon.

Never had a man’s touch stirred her so. Never had she experienced this apotheosis of pleasure. Only with this man - a stranger, with whom she would have had no dealings in the ordinary way - had she learned how beautiful the physical union of man and woman could be. She would not let herself think beyond the moment. But the moment was more than enough.

It was only later, as Nick lay sleeping with his head on her breast, that Bess awakened slowly and painfully from her dream world. Tonight she had permitted herself a dangerous indulgence. But here it must end. He was not of her world, and even if he had been, she was not free. For once in her life, she had forgotten duty and decorum, had lost herself in a romantic interlude which was as ephemeral as it was beautiful. Now the dawn was coming; the night was all but over.

Carefully, so as not to disturb the man sleeping beside her, she slipped from the bed. As she did so, he murmured her name - Bess - and smiled faintly in his sleep. Impulsively, she leaned over and kissed his forehead, half fearing and half hoping that he might awaken. Dressing hurriedly, she left the room and went to summon Robert.

Startled and confused, still half asleep himself, the poor coachman was none too pleased to be roused at such an hour and told to seek out the carriage. He could hardly refuse, however. By the time he returned with the news that all was prepared, Elizabeth had already helped Janet dress and discharged their debt to the landlord, who was not only curious, but also quite annoyed at the eccentric behaviour of the British aristocracy.

So it was that, as the first faint fingers of dawn caught hold of the sky, the Countess of Dansmere bid farewell to Upper Tredleigh and to a handsome clerk who lay sleeping peacefully at The Lamb and Lion Inn.

* * * *

The weeks that followed were a kind of exquisite torture for Elizabeth, and she sometimes feared that she might go mad. At first she was terrified that Gerald would guess, by some word or sign on her part, what she had done. But, although he was annoyed at her late arrival, he remained mercifully unconscious of any alteration in her manner.

Most disturbing of all was the incomprehensible state of her own emotions. She had lain with a strange man, without any real sense of guilt or shame. Yet now, whenever her husband shared her bed, she was almost overcome by a disgust stronger than any she had experienced since the early days of her marriage. She felt, absurdly, that she was betraying Nick. Yet surely it was Gerald whom she had wronged!

When she discovered that she was going to have a child, she was even more profoundly disturbed. She never doubted for a moment that Nick Markham was the father, but she could hardly confess such a thing to Gerald, who was so proud of having at last got himself an heir that Elizabeth was almost in danger of believing her sinful secret to have been an act of divine providence!

It was certainly nothing new for a woman of the ton to pass off her lover’s child as that of her husband. She had always despised those who were a party to such sordid arrangements. Now that she was forced into the same sort of deception, she had nothing to do but despise herself as well.

Yet the next few years were the happiest Elizabeth had known for a long time. Gerald no longer displayed any interest in the intimate side of marriage, much to her relief. Now that he had an heir, he seemed perfectly satisfied. It was no wonder, Elizabeth supposed. The Dansmere family line stretched back before the Conquest, but Gerald was the last of them. He was determined that his ancient lineage should not die with him. As his wife, she could not deprive him of the comfort of knowing that his name would continue, although she alone knew that his blood would not.

Gerald lived only two years more. In that time, he was content to be a doting father to little Nicholas, and was far more indulgent with his young wife. At his death, Elizabeth was even conscious of a certain sadness, although she was now truly free for the first time in her life.

She was a widow with a young son who was - in name, at least - the new Earl of Dansmere. She was young, pretty, and indecently rich. The possibilities were endless.

But those who expected the widowed countess to indulge in those pleasures and privileges which she had so far been denied were doomed to disappointment. The lady had little taste for the frivolous world of London, spending most of her time quietly in the country. The only male whose company she sought was her own son.

If Elizabeth ever dreamed of a certain handsome clerk, no one but herself knew of it. Certainly she was never allowed to forget her momentary madness, seeing that her boy was the image of his father. How often she had wondered what Nick’s feelings must have been when he awoke that morning to find her gone. She regretted, sometimes, that she had not at least left him a note. But what would she have said, and what good could it have done? No, it was better as it was.

She never expected to meet Mr Markham again in this life; now here he stood in her sister’s drawing-room. His eyes were hard and accusing, reminding her of a shared secret which could utterly destroy the fragile peace she had managed to achieve over the years.