“I started to, but—”
“But?”
“You left, and by the time you got back I’d decided it would be better if you didn’t know who I really was.”
“And. Why. Was. That. Pray?” Maddy sat on her hands to stop her fingers curling into fists. Did he have no idea of the damage he’d done her? Did he think nobody would find out that for all these days—and nights!—she’d had the lord of the manor in her bed?
“I wanted to find out what Harris was up to.”
She snorted. “And I would have done everything I could to prevent you finding that out, of course.”
“In a way. You’d have wanted me to leave.”
“Hah! So I was right all along—it was a bribe—a bribe to let you stay on here!”
He looked puzzled. “You knew that.”
“No! I thought it was because you didn’t want to stay with the vicar—your oft-vaunted allergy to clergy and all. But that doesn’t wash!” Too angry and hurt to stay in the same room with him, she got up and stalked to the door. “You didn’t have to go to the vicar’s; you could have gone to your own house, to Whitethorn Manor, not two miles away, with a dozen beds to choose from and a handful of servants to take care of you.”
She wrenched open the door. “Instead you chose to hide your identity from me, bribe me, and then, after all our secrecy, you must reveal yourself to the one person in the village who wishes me ill!” She grabbed her cloak from the hook and left, slamming the door behind her.
She ran into the garden, battling tears of rage and frustration. And hurt.
He didn’t need to give her that ten pounds. He’d let her sweat over that letter to his brother, when all the time he’d known there was no need. He could have solved all her problems with a wave of his hand.
And that ridiculous charade about his brother’s address and Debrett’s—how he must have laughed up his sleeve at that one!
He’d even poked through her most private things and she’d forgiven him, eventually—the poor man who’d lost his memory!
What a fool she’d been, a stupid, trusting fool! It would be all over the village soon that he’d jumped from her bed, half dressed and without his boots! And in broad daylight! Defending her honor!
Her honor! That was rich! The Honorable Nash Blockhead had no idea of the fix he’d put her in.
Nobody would believe she was innocent, that nothing had happened between them. Except that foolish Maddy Woodford had gone and given her heart in exchange for a few tender kisses. Heartbreaking kisses!
Kisses for a foolish, gullible girl from a lying rake!
The villagers would think the worst. Everyone would believe she’d tried to trap the lord of the manor into marriage. And failed.
The man never suffered, was never blamed. It was always the woman.
She’d been walking—storming along—with no thought for where she was going. Now she came to a sudden, sickening standstill. Without thinking, she’d headed for her favorite place to take her troubles to—the beehives.
The empty hive spaces were still charred and sticky from the fire. A sick feeling welled up in her. There were no bees to tell her troubles to. Grand-mère was dead. She didn’t even have a child to hug. And her life was in ruins.
She burst into tears.
She sat on the cold, stone seat, tears of anger and misery and betrayal pouring down her cheeks. How long since she’d cried, really cried? She couldn’t remember. When she’d buried Grand-mère probably. Or when she’d closed up their cottage for the last time. Not for Papa. His death had been a blessed release.
She wept until she had no more tears.
She took a deep, shuddery breath and stood up, calm and weary. The storm of tears had done her good, like a rainstorm that washed away the detritus, leaving everything clear.
She scrubbed the tearstains from her cheeks and took the path next to the forest. It was a favorite walk, the still, silent forest on one side, green rolling hills on the other, and it led to the top of the hill, where you could see for miles in several directions.
She loved that view, loved knowing herself a tiny creature in a huge landscape. It always put her problems into perspective, that view.
The trees were already budding with green tips. In the fields, snowdrops bloomed in drifts, their dainty heads nodding like shy maidens. Several fields over, a couple of lambs, bright white against the grass, stood on long, ungainly legs, drinking from their mothers, their tails wiggling in delight. Spring was all around her.
