to avenge themselves on Harrison.
As she walked slowly to the dock, she wished that someone else could do this terrible duty. Yet there was no one close enough to Gordon. No one but her. She didn’t want to cause him pain, but she must, simply with the news she brought him.
At least she was here, to offer whatever comfort she could.
Gordon heard the tap of shoes on the dock and knew immediately who it was. He closed his eyes, wishing he had more time to prepare himself.
“Gordon.”
Had her voice always been that low and sensual?
“I’d like to be alone, Jennifer.”
“Then you know,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry, Gordon.”
He turned slightly, looking at her over his shoulder. “Know what?”
Know the secret that would forever separate them? Know the truth of his birth? Know that nothing would ever be the same again?
She startled him by kneeling on the dock, her arms reaching out to hug him. He stood, moving away from her before she could touch him.
“Gordon?” She remained on her knees looking up at him. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, but took several steps away from her.
She stood. “I’m so sorry, but at least you were able to see him before he died.”
“Sean’s dead?”
She nodded. He stared at the water, the surface of it brightly lit by the sun. A dozen thoughts cascaded into his mind, chief of which was the realization that he wouldn’t be able to get a witness to Sean’s revelations. No one but him would hear the story of Betty’s perfidy.
“Gordon?”
She was too damn close. He couldn’t bear to smell her perfume, see the tears welling in her eyes, or her face melting into a look of compassion. He could only tolerate so much, and he’d reached his limit.
When she would have reached out for him again, Gordon took another step back, almost as if he didn’t want her to touch him.
No doubt it was a reaction to the news she’d brought.
“I’ll come with you to see him.”
“No.”
That was a surprise.
“It’s all right. He looks like himself, only more peaceful and at rest.”
“Death does not imbue anyone with virtue, Jennifer. Sean is Sean whether alive or dead.”
He turned and started to walk away from her. He didn’t stop to apologize for his behavior. Nor did he offer any explanation for it. She could only assume that grief was causing him to act as if they were strangers to each other, that they hadn’t declared their love for one another just yesterday.
Later, after he’d had time to adjust to the news of Sean’s death, she knew he would come to her. Until then, she’d wait.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the next two days, every maid, footman, and stable boy came to Sean’s cottage to extend their condolences, and to stand in mute testimony of the fragility of life beside his coffin.
The cottage hadn’t been empty since Sean’s death. Because Gordon was his only close relative, the staff at Adaire Hall had taken up the duties of family. Sean’s body was never left alone but was watched over by two women taking turns. In the morning Sally and Moira surprised him as the next to be Sean’s guardians.
Gordon heard countless tales of Sean, vignettes of memory that painted the man as kinder than the person Gordon had known. Someone with a sense of humor that he’d rarely seen. He couldn’t help but wonder if the stories had any basis in truth, or if people conjured up something nice to say about Sean McDonnell for his sake.
He thanked each one of them, never saying what was in his mind: that whatever he learned about Sean couldn’t offset his greater sin. He didn’t care about the man’s sense of humor, or his fairness to underlings, or how he’d always personally selected the flowers for the countess’s morning table. For three years—or longer—he’d kept a terrible secret safe, and for that Gordon would never forgive him.
Most people who entered the cottage asked him if he’d heard the dead jack. Evidently, the sound, similar to the ticking of a watch, was an omen known to be present prior at most deaths. He hadn’t.
Sean’s body had been washed and wrapped in a winding sheet and laid on the strykin board provided by Adaire Hall’s carpenter. The long flat board was wider and longer than any table in the cottage and would hold the body until the coffin was ready. The front room furniture had been rearranged, the strykin board supported on two chairs, and this was