August looked down at his hands. “I accused her of terrible things. Things I am not even certain I believe.”
“Then why did you say them?”
“Because I was angry. And frightened. And because believing the worst was somehow easier than hoping for the best and being wrong.”
“Then you will have to earn her forgiveness. But August, you must let her in. You must allow her to walk beside you, not behind you. Every man of greatness needs a good woman with him, and from what I have seen, Eliza is more than capable if you will let her.”
August thought of Eliza’s face when he had thrown that letter at her. The shock, the hurt, the way her expression had shuttered when he refused to believe her.
He thought of their kiss. The way she had gripped his coat, the small sound she had made when his mouth found hers. The way she had looked at him afterward, vulnerable and wanting and terrified.
She had been honest with him. Always. Even when the truth was painful, even when it cost her something to share it. She had told him about her mother, about the orphanage, about the fear and hunger and cold that had shaped her childhood.
And he had repaid her by believing the worst.
The letters were planted. They had to be. Someone was trying to drive a wedge between them, and he had let it work because he was too afraid to trust his own wife.
Thirty
“You are not fooling anyone, you know.”
Eliza looked up from the path she had been pretending to admire. April stood with her hands on her hips, her expression caught between concern and exasperation. May hovered beside her, gentler but no less observant.
“I have no idea what you mean,” Eliza said, resuming her walking. “I am simply enjoying the fresh air.”
“You have walked past the same bench three times,” May pointed out. “And you nearly collided with that nursemaid and her charges because you were not watching where you were going.”
“I was distracted.”
“Precisely our point.” April looped her arm through Eliza’s and steered her toward a quieter section of the park. “What hashappened? And do not tell me nothing because you look as though you have not slept properly in days.”
Eliza wanted to deflect, to maintain the fiction that everything was perfectly fine. But the concern in their faces, the genuine worry in their eyes, undid her carefully constructed composure.
“August and I had a disagreement,” she said finally.
“What sort of disagreement?” May asked.
“The sort that involves wildly inappropriate accusations and slammed doors.”
April and May exchanged a look that suggested they had suspected as much.
“He can be rather pigheaded when he chooses,” April said, “but he usually comes round eventually. Give him time to realize he is being absurd.”
“I am not certain time will help in this instance.”
Before either sister could respond, a familiar voice called out behind them.
“What a delightful coincidence! I was just thinking how dull my walk was becoming, and here you all are to rescue me from my ennui.”
Lady Wilhampton approached and smiled warmly at all three women, but her gaze lingered on Eliza.
“Duchess, you look positively radiant. Marriage clearly agrees with you.”
Eliza managed a polite smile. “You are too kind, Lady Wilhampton.”
“Not at all. I pride myself on observation.” She turned to April and May. “And how are the Duke’s charming sisters? I understand you have been quite busy with your various pursuits.”
April responded with appropriate pleasantries, and May joined in, but Eliza found herself studying the Marchioness more carefully. The way she watched Eliza from the corner of her eye. The subtle curve of her mouth that suggested she knew something Eliza did not.