was his son, then. And he clearly knew some things about him. Some fairly recent things. He knew the child was with her grandparents.
“General Sir Edward Pascoe and Lady Pascoe are determined to keep her,” Matilda told him. “They are determined to blacken his name and convince a judge that he is an unfit father. And they are powerful people.”
“More powerful than . . . my son?” he asked her.
“I very much fear so,” she said.
“But what is it you wish me to do, Matilda?” he asked, leaning slightly toward her, his dark eyes boring into hers.
She kept her feet planted where they were and did not take the step back she desperately wanted to take.
* * *
• • •
The following week was not a happy one.
A letter from Mr. Grimes arrived while they were at breakfast the morning after the tea at Elizabeth and Colin’s. In it he informed Lieutenant Colonel Bennington that there would be a hearing one week hence before Judge Burroughs to decide the issue of the custody of Miss Katherine Bennington. The lawyer was confident of success for his client but would appreciate another meeting with him the following day. There was no need to trouble his wife to accompany him. In the meantime Grimes strongly advised that his client gather as many testimonials to his character as he was able. Personal appearances would be better, but, failing that, letters would be desirable.
“With one week to go,” Gil said. “And I know no one, Abby. I would not know where to write to former commanding officers, and even if I did, there would be no time both to send a letter and to receive a reply.”
“There is Harry,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “There is Harry.” And he set his linen napkin down beside his half-empty plate and got abruptly to his feet. He left the hotel dining room without even asking Abigail if she was ready to accompany him.
From that moment on he almost completely retired into himself. He sent her on her way each morning to one member or another of her family, summoning a hackney carriage for her since their own would not be ready for delivery for several more days. She visited relatives, went shopping with them or to the library or a gallery, and smiled cheerfully, pretending to a happiness that was fast faltering.
She did not know how Gil spent the days. When she asked him each day on her return to the hotel, he gave vague answers. When she arrived back early one afternoon and went down to the stables with the idea of taking Beauty for a walk, she found the dog gone. But Gil did not mention later the walk he had presumably taken with her. He did not talk about anything else he did during those days either.
During dinner each evening she always told him about her own activities in exhaustive detail so that there would not be total silence. He made brief comments to indicate that he had been listening, but there were no reciprocal stories. They spent the rest of their evenings reading in the sitting room that was part of their suite. Or, rather, they held books open in their hands and directed their eyes at a page. Abigail even remembered to turn one now and then.
Worst of all, he stopped sleeping with her—and making love to her. He slept in the second bedchamber, which he had used merely as a dressing room for the first few nights.
“I am feeling restless,” he said by way of explanation the first night it happened. “I would not wish to keep you awake, Abby.”
She said nothing and made no protest. For she knew it was nothing personal. She understood that every moment of this week was like a nightmare to him. And she knew him well enough to realize that his first reaction to adversity was always to lock himself up inside himself so that he would not break apart. He had come close to breaking down and weeping, she knew, that one afternoon. She did not know if it would have been good if he had or if it would have spelled disaster. From childhood on he had learned to hide from the world in the only really safe place and the one that was always available to him. He had learned thus to cope alone with all that was bad and threatening.
But oh, she wished he would pull her in there with him. She was