“Yes?” she whispered.
He turned his head until they were face-to-face, then kissed her softly. “Thank you.”
When they returned to bed, he fell into what seemed like a dreamless sleep, while she lay awake, wondering what he’d meant to say, feeling both relieved and mournful that he hadn’t said it.
But Michael didn’t fall asleep as quickly as he’d wanted. He could not believe how easily Cecilia had taken the news that her father had died because of his poor decision. In some ways, he didn’t feel he deserved her understanding, and in others, he was so grateful as to feel ridiculously weak about it. He’d almost shown his gratitude by confessing his love for her, and that would have been a mistake. Their relationship was yet fragile, and its continuation in no way certain. So much depended on the resolution of who was trying to harm her. Michael couldn’t hurry that along without going to the constable, and she would have none of it, not if there was a chance her brother—or even his reputation—could be harmed.
That left Michael feeling frustratingly on the defensive, never on attack, forced to ask inadequate questions and simply wait, hoping to intercept the next attack and discover the truth.
In the morning, he saw his family off and was glad they seemed in good spirits at the thought of exchanging visits. He didn’t discuss his eventual departure for India since so many things were as yet unresolved. But he wouldn’t be having a country squire’s marriage of parties and balls and land management. He and Cecilia both knew it.
When they returned to the house, they discovered Oliver about to leave, as if he could escape his agreement to assume his duties for the day. He complained he was invited to a race, and Michael remained silent, watching with relief as Cecilia held firm in her resolve to begin handing over control of the estate.
“Now I have a meeting with Mrs. Ellison in regard to some renovations in the bachelor wing,” Cecilia said. “You’ll be hosting plenty of house parties when you marry, Oliver. Penelope will want the old castle ready.”
And then she left, escorted by Talbot, who’d already promised Michael he would remain near Cecilia at all times.
Michael turned to Appertan. “Your steward would like to meet with you, my lord. Also, a petty session will be held in Enfield this afternoon, and you can see how the local magistrates handle their duties, for you should be assuming that role as well. Would you like me to accompany you?”
“How else will you report to Cecilia?” he asked grimly.
Appertan followed him to the study, where his steward and secretary waited. The morning went well, and Appertan seemed in decent spirits at luncheon. Cecilia didn’t ask any estate questions, and neither did Appertan, as if a truce had been declared on business discussions.
Michael studied his wife, knowing how difficult it must be for her to relinquish the work she had such pride in. He prayed that she’d be able to find her own useful life when Appertan no longer needed her. Michael thought of the adventures they could have together in India with a sadness that took on more and more resignation.
It was the afternoon in the magistrate’s petty session that turned everything on its head. He and Appertan were observing several cases, and the younger man yawned occasionally to get his point across, though he seemed interested in spite of himself. But during the case of a young husband taken to task for failing to support his wife and child, Appertan suddenly said he’d had enough and left. Gritting his teeth, Michael followed the earl, seeing the looks from offended townspeople, hearing the whispers. As they rode their horses home, he tried to engage the young man in conversation, but Appertan appeared deep into his own troubled thoughts. There could be so many reasons for his behavior.
Back at the Hall, Talbot nodded as they came through the main door. Miss Webster emerged solemnly from the drawing room along with Cecilia, who glanced at Michael with concern. Appertan swore softly under his breath.
Miss Webster, pale and distraught, dropped into a stiff curtsy. “My lord, it seems you have once again forgotten an appointment at my home. My parents were expecting you.”
Appertan smiled briefly at her even as he moved past her into the drawing room, directly toward the decanter of brandy on a sideboard. Cecilia opened her mouth as if to protest, then slowly closed it. Michael hoped she was starting to realize that by trying to be everything to him—sister, mother, guardian—she wasn’t helping.
Appertan turned to Miss Webster. “Forgive me, Penelope. I was seeing to my estates and attending the magistrate’s petty session in Enfield.”
She nodded. “It is your duty, of course.”
“Next time I will consult with my secretary first.”
Michael felt like rocking back on his heels. That would be an improvement. One afternoon watching a father’s irresponsibility had been some kind of last straw? It seemed hard to believe.
Appertan turned to him. “My thanks for your assistance today, Blackthorne. And now, Penelope and I would like to speak alone.”
“Of course,” Michael said, holding out his arm to Cecilia.
She looked as if she would balk but finally linked her arm with his and left. “We’ll leave the door open for Penelope’s sake,” she said quietly.
And then Appertan closed the door behind them.
Cecilia whirled around, outraged that Oliver would be so thoughtless on Penelope’s behalf. She’d just spent an hour consoling the crying girl, and her foolish brother might just make everything worse.
“There’s nothing you can do,” Michael said softly. “Come to the study, where I can tell you what happened today.”
She hesitated, then followed him, gritting her teeth. Once they were alone, she erupted. “You should have seen that poor girl’s face when I said Oliver was gone. Her father is threatening to call off the engagement, even though Oliver is an earl! He spendsnotime with her—why did he even become engaged?”
Michael sighed. “He might want what every young man wants, Cecilia, which with a proper young woman, he can’t have without marriage.”
She winced. “Surely he’s had women before. If he has urges—he could have quietly taken care of that.”
