Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
April sat in the garden, her gaze drifting over the low hedges and bursts of summer roses. The sun filtered gently through the leaves, dappled light flickering across the tablecloth. At a short distance, Everett and Samuel darted between the trimmed yews, brandishing sticks as swords and laughing.
“You do not mind them romping about like that?” came Loretta’s voice.
April turned. Loretta was descending the stone steps with a deliberate grace, her red parasol swinging idly, her eyes already assessing the setting.
“Not at all,” April replied. “They are children, and the gardens are meant to be enjoyed.”
Loretta’s lips pressed into something like a smile. “Hmm,” she said, settling into the chair opposite April. “I did not sleep well. The room is rather small, and it does not overlook the gardens. One would expect a better view.”
April kept her tone even. “I shall have your rooms changed immediately, then.”
Loretta waved a hand. “Do not trouble yourself, Your Grace. We leave tomorrow. It is a trifling matter.”
Then why mention it at all?
April folded her hands in her lap, watching the boys tumble and shout with gleeful abandon.
“You must find Stone Hall dreadfully quiet,” Loretta said after a pause. “After all the bustle of Town, it must seem like living inside a painting.”
“It has its peace,” April argued. “I find that refreshing.”
Loretta gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “Ah yes, rustic serenity. Gregory attempted to find such tranquility on our tour of the Continent, but he could not resist showing me off in every piazza and promenade.”
How exhausting that must have been—for the Continent.
“He adores me of course,” Loretta continued, adjusting the ring on her finger. “Still, he carries this notion that I might be stolen from him. As if I were Helen of Troy.”
If you are Helen, then I pity the Greeks.
April offered a smile, tight but polite. “That must be flattering.”
Loretta tilted her head, watching her closely. “Well, he never quite got over the fact that Theo courted me.”
The words landed like a blow. April raised her chin slowly. “I beg your pardon?”
Loretta’s expression remained placid. “Theodore and I. He was quite taken with me in those days. Always finding excuses to visit. Lurking in our drawing room. Quoting dreadful poetry. I found it all rather sweet.”
April blinked. “You courted?”
Loretta gave a small shrug. “Oh yes. It wasn’t widely known. Lady Darnell was fond of me, and she encouraged it. But Theo… well, he was not quite ready.”
Why would he not mention this?
“And your reputation?” April asked. “I imagine it might have suffered—had people known.”
Loretta laughed. “Not everyone is privy to such things. And not everyone would understand.”
Including me, evidently.
Loretta leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice just enough to force intimacy. “Theo is a fickle man, Your Grace. He will look at a woman as though she is the only star in the sky, and then, once she begins to orbit him, he seeks a new constellation.”
April’s pulse quickened. “So that is what he did to you?”
Loretta’s smile didn’t falter. “I was the exception. He will return to me. I know him. We left things unresolved. And men rarely forget their unfinished pleasures.”
April stood. Her hands trembled at her sides. “He is married now.”
Loretta’s batted her lashed and smiled. “When has marriage ever stood between a man and his passions?”
“Honor and dignity do, though I doubt you are familiar with the meanings of such.” April turned without giving Loretta the chance to respond . Her breath constricted her chest, a tightness spreading as she walked away. She did not stumble. Her steps were smooth, but inside, a storm raged.
She is lying. Or she is mistaken. Or perhaps she is neither, and I have been a fool.
At dinner, April sat stiffly, acutely aware of every glance from Loretta and every silence from Theo.
“The baths in Greece,” Loretta said, swirling her wine, “are nothing like the tepid affairs in Bath. Marble columns, warm mineral water, the scent of oranges in the air. One truly forgets oneself entirely.”
April’s fork stilled above her plate. Gregory shifted. “Loretta,” he said through clenched teeth, “are you having too much sherry again, my love?”
“What?” she asked innocently. “I was merely sharing the delights of travel. Theo, do you recall the sketch I showed you? The one of the statues in Delphi?”
Theo’s face remained unreadable. “I do.”
Loretta’s smile widened. “You said the sculpture reminded you of a goddess.”
April focused on her vegetables as if they might rescue her from madness. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her knife. Theo offered no reply to Loretta’s words.
Gregory cleared his throat. “Theo, how fare the stables in Gloucestershire? Still aiming for the Derby next season?”
Theo turned, grateful for the shift. “We have a colt named Pharos who may be ready. He has strong legs and a clever temperament.”
“Does he start well?” Gregory asked. “Many of them don’t hold at Epsom.”
Theo nodded. “He has potential, but I’m waiting to see how he takes to the tighter turns. He’s bred from Hades, actually.”
Loretta leaned closer. “Such dangerous names. You’ve always favored the dramatic.”
“The horse earned it,” Theo said. “He never spooks. He only charges.”
April did not miss the way he turned slightly away from Loretta, toward Gregory. A small mercy, but her appetite had vanished.
She endured the rest of the meal in silence.
Later that night, she stared at the canopy of her bed, her chest tight. If she was not good enough for him, then I have no hope.
April was haunted by jealousy of all things. The thought echoed louder each time she tried to close her eyes. She sat up in bed, tossing the covers aside as restlessness pressed in on her.
Her thoughts, jagged and scattered, clung to Loretta’s voice, her insinuations, and the confidence with which she spoke of Theo’s past affection. Of her own allure.
April wrapped herself in her cloak and left her chambers, the silence of the manor deafening. She walked the hallway, the tap of her slippers echoing against marble. Her heart thudded in her chest. I should not be out. This is folly. But I cannot lie still and let her voice echo in my skull.
She took a turn and followed the hallway down toward the gardens. The darkness greeted her like a blanket, moonlight spreading faint silver over stone and grass. She inhaled deeply, hoping the night air would calm her. As she neared the pond, her steps slowed. She hesitated. I should turn back.
But pride pushed her forward. It is only water. I can walk beside it. I am not a child.
The surface of the pond rippled in the faint breeze. Shadows clung to its edges like secrets. April stepped carefully, her arms wrapped around her waist. Foolish to come this way. Foolish to come out at all. But even more foolish to let her unnerve me.
A faint rustle behind her made her pause. She turned, scanning the path she’d come. Nothing.
It is only the wind. Stop being fanciful.
Still, her breath came quicker. She quickened her steps. The air felt colder. Heavier.
Then a sharp shove came, and she stumbled forward with a gasp, her arms flailing. The edge vanished beneath her feet, and icy shock enveloped her.
Water closed over her head.
She could not breathe. She could not swim.
Panic clawed up her throat as she thrashed wildly, screaming, her limbs heavy, her skirts pulling her under. She swallowed water, choking, coughing beneath the surface. Her mind reeled. I am going to die.
And I have not even kissed my husband.
The water blurred everything. Light. Sound. Hope.