“Well, of course he didn’t.”
“And neither did you.” He looked at her. “How many times have I tried to tell you this? Your family died in a terrible accident. Today your husband was attacked. These two things have nothing to do with each other, and neither one is your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“But if these terrible things keep happening around me, no one should ever be around me.”
“That isn’t the way this works. People get to choose whether or not they want to be around you.”
“Not if it could kill them.”
“No, listen. Your husband didn’t have to add an unknown herb to his tea without bothering to find out what it was. You didn’t force him.”
“Are you saying it’s his fault?”
“Of course I’m not saying that. I’m simply saying that bad things happen to people, and there’s no explaining or preventing them sometimes. And that’s all right. That’s a part of life.”
It was very like something Thomas had said to her once when she had worried about the ladies of theton. He had told her theyneededto think she was cursed because believing otherwise would have meant accepting that terrible things could happen to anyone at any time.
That was what Uncle Joseph was saying now. That terrible things had happened, but they weren’t her fault. That it was just natural and not something she needed to blame herself for.
She wondered if she could accept that. If she could really allow herself to believe it at last.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
Two days passed.
Thomas did not come to Kellet.
He did send a footman. Uncle Joseph sent him away. “You don’t want to know what he has to say?” he asked Madeleine.
“There’s nothing he could say I would want to hear.” That wasn’t true at all, and by the way Uncle Joseph looked at her, he knew it wasn’t true. But Madeleine was afraid of what the message would be. If Thomas was telling her he didn’t want her back, her heart would break. If he was telling her that hedidwant her back, she thought she might go, and she couldn’t face the idea of going back there while her thoughts were so jumbled.
She thought of his kiss. But then, before she could enjoy that memory, she was plagued with the thought of how he’d looked prone on the floor after drinking the poison. Of his face when he had been taken to bed, pale and waxy. He had looked near death. She would have believed it if she had been told that he was.
“Your Grace.” It was Mrs. Florence, the housekeeper. “You have a guest.”
Her heart beat wildly. Was this it? Had he come for her at last?
“I don’t want to see him,” she said faintly, but already she knew it wasn’t true. She wanted badly to see him. She wanted to run into his arms, kiss him, and reassure herself that he was all right. She wanted to return to Westcourt and forget that any of this had happened. At a word from him, she knew she would do just that.
But Mrs. Florence was shaking her head. “It isn’t the Duke,” she said. “It’s someone else. A young lady. She says she’s a friend of yours.”
Who could that be? With the exception of Rachel, Madeleine couldn’t think of any young ladies she would have counted as friends. And though seeing Rachel would have made her indisputably happy, she knew it couldn’t actually be Rachel. Mrs. Florence had met Rachel. She would have just announced her by name.
Curiosity got the better of her. “Show her in,” she said, getting to her feet to greet her visitor.
Mrs. Florence went back to the door and reappeared with a young lady in tow—
Madeleine gasped. “Lady Deborah? What brings you here?”
She didn’t trust this. Not for a moment. Why would Lady Deborah have come to see her? Lady Deborah hated her!
Her heart skipped a beat. Could she have heard about what had happened to Thomas?
“I thought we ought to speak,” Lady Deborah said. “May I sit down?”
Madeleine wanted badly to tell her no. She wanted to order Lady Deborah from the house. And she could do it, she knew. This was her home, after all, and Lady Deborah had come over unannounced. And besides, she might have walked away from Thomas, but in the eyes of the law, she was still a duchess. If she had Lady Deborah removed from her home, Lady Deborah would have no choice but to comply and leave.
But her curiosity was piqued. What had brought this lady—who despised her so completely—to her door? What could have made her want to speak to Madeleine?
