her from the dining room. Whatever it was, she was about to find out.
Sin paused at the door to his mother’s apartments, turning to his wife. “Remember, no speaking. I will speak for you.”
Her full lips took on a mulish moue, but she surprised him with her acquiescence. “I understand.”
Undoubtedly, she did not like the notion of holding her tongue. But he could not afford to take the chance that she would upset or confuse Mama. Hell, he was not even sure he could trust Callie with the information that his mother was frail-minded. If she were to unleash her poison pen yet again, she would have the world believing he would soon descend into madness as well.
He had been biding his time, wanting to wait until he was more assured of his standing with his new wife, to make the revelation. But she had forced his hand, and he knew her well enough to suspect she would sneak into his mother’s chambers alone to investigate if he continued to evade her questions and bar her from entering the apartments.
Once more, she had left him without a choice.
He opened the door and gestured for her to proceed him into Mama’s sitting room. Miss Wright was within, seated with her needlework as she had been earlier in the day. This time, however, she bore the appearance of someone who had dozed off. She blinked slowly and rose as if doing so required an elaborate effort.
She curtseyed, and Sin could not help but to note the glazed quality of her gaze, the dilated pupils. “My lord, my lady.”
“Miss Wright, I would like to introduce you to my wife, the Countess of Sinclair,” he said. “My lady, this is Miss Wright, my mother’s companion and nursemaid.”
His wife’s shocked inhalation was the only indication of her surprise.
She smiled warmly, however, her countenance elegant and composed. “I am pleased to meet you, Miss Wright.”
“It is my honor, my lady,” said Miss Wright.
Her speech sounded lucid enough, though he remained suspicious of her.
“Is my mother awake?” he asked. “Lady Sinclair would like to meet her as well.”
“She would not take her dinner this evening,” Miss Wright said, frowning. “I saw to it that she swallowed some broth and a bit of tea, but she may be sleeping now.”
“There has not been much change since my earlier visit, then?” He already knew the answer, but this question was for his wife’s benefit rather than his.
“I am afraid not, my lord.”
He inclined his head. “If she is sleeping, we will not disturb her. Thank you, Miss Wright.”
Sin did not often visit his mother after dinner. Nights were typically worse for her, he had discovered. It was as if the happy veil that enshrouded her mind was replaced. She became angry and sometimes closed herself off. He preferred the happy Mama who thought he was Ferdy and relived the magic of her youth.
But he was not making this visit for himself.
He was making it for the woman at his side, so that she could be reassured. So that she could understand the magnitude of the secret he had been keeping from her. Because—God help him—he cared what she thought. He cared about the tentative, fragile truce they had formed since becoming husband and wife.
Fool that he was.
He led Callie to his mother’s chamber, cursing himself for his weakness where this woman was concerned. Telling himself he had already had the devil’s own marriage and a wife who had made an art of causing him misery. He had no reassurance he could trust the woman at his side.
And he was about to introduce her to the most beloved person in his life.
The door clicked open to reveal Mama was not in her bed but rather standing at the window in her night rail. Her white hair was a knotted, matted mess, revealing what he had not seen during his earlier visit. A sharp arrow of anger found its home in his gut. Miss Wright ought to have been brushing her bloody hair instead of napping into her needlework.
As if sensing his anger, Callie slid her hand from his elbow and tangled her fingers in his. Her touch was gentle, reassuring. And Sin was suddenly grateful, so damned grateful, for the woman he had married in desperation and fury. There was far more to her than he had supposed. She was a complicated woman, but he was beginning to see that she was not the vicious, heartless shrew he had once