Murder on Cold Street (Lady Sherlock #5) - Sherry Thomas Page 0,117

ask,” said Charlotte, “as you left number 33, did you close the front door behind you or did you leave it open?”

“I closed it. Carefully pulled it shut.” She plucked at her reticule some more. “Can we leave now? Or do you still have other questions?”

Charlotte gazed at her a moment. “Are you all right, Mrs. Sullivan?”

Mrs. Sullivan laughed as her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know. Even with all his lies and cruelty—perhaps particularly because of them—he was the center of gravity in my life. I revolved around him as the moon does around the Earth. What happens to the moon when the Earth is no more?”

Charlotte closed the distance between them and pulled the drawstring of Mrs. Sullivan’s reticule into a tight knot. “My understanding of physics is very shallow, but I imagine the moon will continue to fly through space, and eventually settle into its own orbit around the sun. Now shall we find our hostess and bid her good night? It’s time we delivered you home, Mrs. Sullivan.”

Nineteen

Charlotte had expected to see Lord Ingram. Still, her heart leaped at the sight of him standing beside Mrs. Watson’s town coach, his posture straight and perfect, a slight smile about his lips. He did not let his hand linger on hers as he helped her into the carriage; all the same, heat vaulted up from her gloved fingers.

They had been apart for less than twenty-four hours. There was, therefore, no reason for her to react so extravagantly. But how could she mind, when those extravagant reactions were also so pleasurable?

The ride, beyond initial introductions between Mrs. Sullivan and Lord Ingram, and the latter’s murmurs of condolences, was silent.

At her own front door, Mrs. Sullivan turned around and waved to Charlotte, still in the carriage, and Lord Ingram, who stood by the carriage door, having helped Mrs. Sullivan descend a moment earlier. They both inclined their heads.

When he climbed back inside, he did not immediately approach Charlotte—not with the carriage curtains still open.

The coach left the curb. He closed one curtain. And Charlotte’s heart leaped again.

But she did not let herself get carried away. “What was marriage like for you?”

He stilled, obviously not having expected that question. “You observed it, didn’t you?”

“I have made my observations, yes. But I’ve never heard your thoughts on the matter, except once, shortly after your honeymoon.”

“Ah, when I was still in thrall to the wondrous newness of it all—and even recommended marriage to you, of all people.” He had been reaching toward the other curtain, but now he dropped his hand to his seat. “Why are you asking the question now?”

She had delved too deeply into Mrs. Sullivan’s marriage today. Yet with regard to his, she had often felt as if she stood on the street in front of a shuttered house, not getting any glimpses inside except on the rarest of occasions, when a window was accidentally left open.

“I have—” She stopped, surprised by how reluctant she was to make this confession. “I have long wished to know. But it’s only recently that you’ve become forthcoming.”

His brow lifted, as if he, too, was taken aback by her admission. His thumb slid back and forth across the dark velvet of the carriage seat.

It was an intrusive question. He would be within his rights not to answer. And yet, as seconds dripped past, she felt her stomach tighten at the prospect of his refusal.

“In those years when my wife and I were estranged, I thought very little of our marriage,” he said quietly. “What was the point? The mistake had already been made. The situation was permanent. My main concern was for the children, who needed to be shielded from the worst aspects of a marriage gone bitter.

“But after Lady Ingram left, after I learned the full extent of what she did while we still lived under the same roof . . .” He looked at her. “You can probably guess where my mind went.”

She exhaled, relieved that he chose to trust her, after all. And she did indeed know where his mind had gone. “To your own culpability in the matter.”

“To how much damage I’d inadvertently inflicted upon her.” He turned his face to the window. “For a long time, I saw myself as her knight in shining armor. But given that her parents allowed her no choice except to marry a rich man, to her I was but her buyer and everything that happened between us, a transaction. Even after the