Even from that distance, Therese could see the charming, almost joyous smile her husband bestowed on the lady. They exchanged a few words, then the lady, all delighted solicitousness, stepped forward, linked her arm with Devlin’s, and led him inside.
He went without the slightest hesitation.
The door closed behind him.
Therese hadn’t thought that hearts could actually break, but in that instant, hers did. A huge gaping wound appeared, and ice poured in, glacier cold, until she—every last emotion she possessed—was frozen over.
She couldn’t feel anything—not her hands, not her feet, nothing of her body or even her mind. Her thoughts had shut down. She couldn’t think.
Beside her, Child softly swore. Her hearing, then, was still functioning.
Warily, fearing she might fall if she moved too quickly, she slowly turned and, with carefully measured tread, started to walk down Southampton Street.
Child walked beside her. She felt his gaze searching her face. They neared the Strand, and he hesitated as if about to speak, but instead, from the corner of her eye, she saw his lips set grimly, and as they halted on the edge of the pavement, he shook his head.
Without a word, he offered his arm. When she stared at it, without inflection, he said, “At least let me see you across the street and to your carriage.”
Gingerly, feeling as if touching any man at that point might see her break, she lightly laid her fingers on his sleeve.
He said nothing more, just guided her across the street and to her waiting carriage, then helped her up and instructed Munns to drive to Park Lane. Then to her surprise, Child climbed up and sat beside her.
She couldn’t summon the energy to protest. Instead, she kept silent, and blessedly, he did the same.
By the time the carriage drew up beside the steps of Alverton House, Therese knew what she needed to do.
Rigidly contained, as soon as Dennis opened the door, she preempted Child and stepped down unaided. Head high, her face a carefully controlled mask with features set in stone, she walked swiftly up the steps and through the door Portland swung open.
She halted in the hall and started tugging off her gloves.
Footsteps had followed her from the carriage.
“Lord Child.”
“Good afternoon, Portland.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, my lord.”
“Thank you.”
Despite Child’s exchange with Portland, Therese knew Child’s gaze had remained locked on her; he was worried, but unsure what to do.Good.
Having succeeded in removing her gloves and bonnet, with them in her hands, she faced both men. “Portland, please inform the relevant staff that I intend leaving for the Priory immediately, on this evening’s train.”
Her tone had Portland coming to attention. “My lady?”
Ignoring the butler’s surprise and spiking concern, she handed him her bonnet and gloves and, her tone even, uninflected, and imbued with an ice-clad iron will, continued, “Naturally, the children will travel with me. Please inform Nanny Sprockett immediately.” She glanced at the clock on the nearby wall. “Send a footman to reserve a compartment. As well as the children, I’ll take Nanny and both nursemaids, Parker, Morton, and Dennis—instruct whoever you send to get tickets for us all. And I suppose Cook had better prepare a basket of food for the children—we’ll be traveling over their dinnertime.”
Portland slid a look at Child, then returned his gaze to her and ventured, “My lady, perhaps—”
“Immediately, Portland.” No one—no one—argued when she gave orders in that tone.
Portland’s expression blanked, and he bowed. “Of course, my lady.” He, too, glanced at the clock.
“I wish to depart the house by five o’clock,” she stated. “I want to reach the terminus in good time to find our compartment and settle the children.” Focusing on the practicalities of the journey helped keep a lid on the tumultuous, turbulent emotions raging inside her.
She couldn’t deal with them, not now, not when she couldn’t even think about what she’d seen without feeling helpless and nauseated and sohurt. So stupid.
So betrayed.
