clamped shut as she contemplated St. Ryne’s last statement.
“I have no doubt of it,” her husband said, rising from his chair. “Thank you for coming, Tunning. I’ll see you on my return.”
At that, Tunning had no choice but to rise also, make his bows, and leave.
Elizabeth looked questioningly at St. Ryne, a slight look of wonder and openness on her face. Suddenly there were so many questions tumbling around in. her mind waiting to be voiced. Unfortunately they faded quickly as memories of the humiliations she’d suffered at his hands also came to mind. She closed her eyes, lifting her hand to her forehead as if to push away the confusion and clear her mind.
“If you will excuse me, Justin, I would retire. It has been, as you stated earlier, a long day.”
“Of course, my dear,” he said, offering his arm to walk her to the door. Pointedly she ignored his gesture, murmured a goodnight, and brushed past him.
St. Ryne crossed to the tray to refill his glass. He had seen her open, avid look and had hoped she was ready to open up to him. Disastrously, he also saw it fade to be replaced by a cool aloofness. Perhaps he was making it too difficult for her to be open with him. That was one of the reasons he was returning to London. Branstoke was correct. He was walking a tightrope, but there was no turning back.
This is the way to kill a wife with kindness . . .
—Act III, Scene 3
Elizabeth’s fingertips drummed restlessly, the only outward sign of her agitation. Before her on the gleaming desktop lay a short missive from St. Ryne. He had been gone two days and one night. Idly she speculated on the gossip his presence in London engendered. None to her advantage, she was convinced. Of course, the viciousness of the gossip depended entirely on whether or not St. Ryne really was in London and not elsewhere in the arms of some fair Paphian. It was particularly galling to realize she did not know her husband well enough to know if he had leanings in that direction, let alone whether he currently sported a mistress.
The letter, at least, indicated he’d seen to some business in London for he spoke of the various tradesmen and craftsmen she was to expect to descend like locusts upon the morrow. It appeared, therefore, that he had every intention of restoring Larchside to whatever pretentions of bygone splendor it might have possessed. She wondered at his efforts. Larchside was not an overly large manor house, and she surmised he possessed several finer establishments to say nothing of his expectation, not that she was one to live upon expectations for she’d never had any in her life, monetarily or emotionally.
Such thoughts, of course, always brought her full circle to the mystery of their marriage. Despite his recent eccentricities, St. Ryne had always been referred to in her hearing as a man of great address and elegance of manner, not in the least condescending. All in all, the polite world considered him an ideal catch.
Why he had never married was a large question in Elizabeth’s mind, though larger too was the question, why her? She was very much alive to the fact that it was not a match his family condoned, for his parents had been conspicuously absent from the wedding. The marriage became more and more curious when she fully assimilated that distressing fact. For herself, she had to own, she was strangely content. Even fencing with St. Ryne was more enjoyable than living at Rasthough House had ever been. Here, too, she was mistress. Her brow descended and a slight frown bent her lips. Unfortunately, it did not appear that the Atheridges or Tunning saw her in quite the same light.
Tunning would be here soon.
She turned slightly in her chair to look out the tall windows. The ivy that had almost obscured the glass had been pulled away that morning. Now she could look out onto the small park surrounding Larchside. The late afternoon shadows were lengthening, and the two men sent to scythe the lawn were dark silhouettes, their blades catching the sun’s light on the upswing then descending into shadow in a rhythmic dance. Watching the cadence of their motion calmed her, and she could once again view her accomplishments objectively.
Although still somewhat shabby, Larchside was now clean. Elizabeth had made careful inventory of the manor and the condition of each room and its furnishings.