Mary Balogh - Secrets of the Heart

He pulled her arm through his, patted her hand, and walked slowly home with her.

"You know, Sarah," he said with an affectionate grin down at her, "you really can be a wild thing when you want, can't you? I didn't realize that you and Gray have that in common. I think you would have killed me back there without realizing what you were doing if I had not restrained you. Silly girl! Just like Gray with that Stanfield boy."

He squeezed her hand and proceeded to talk about other matters. But Sarah's heart felt turned to stone in her breast. Surely that had been a careless remark. Surely it was not a veiled threat. Not from Win! Surely not.

"Have you finished writing your letter, cousin?" Lady Murdoch's voice hissed in a stage whisper from behind Sarah. "This library does not appear to have any interesting novels. And there is absolutely nobody here today. If you need a little longer, dear, I shall sit quietly and wait for you. But really, my rheumaticks are troubling me quite badly. My back aches no matter which way I sit. I have already tried three different chairs to see if I can gain some ease for it."

Sarah looked up with a start and then back to the heavily outlined sentence on the paper in front of her. "Oh, we may leave immediately, ma'am," she said, laying the pen down and hastily folding the paper in two. "I really cannot think of anything to say to my aunt today. Perhaps tomorrow I shall be more in the mood."

"It is perfectly understandable, dear," Lady Murdoch said, still in the stage whisper, "that your head should be too full of the many pleasures in store for you here to enable you to write a duty letter to the viscountess. Maybe after tonight's ball you will have something of more importance to describe." She pursed her lips and nodded knowingly at Sarah.

The rest of the day passed quietly. They returned to their lodgings on Brock Street for dinner. Lady Murdoch decided to forgo the outing that was customary during the afternoon. She preferred to sit at home, she said, and listen to Sarah read to her from the only novel that had seemed at all worth bringing home from the library.

"I am very sensible of the fact that it is an exceedingly dull way for a young lady to spend an afternoon, cousin," she said apologetically, "but I console myself with the reflection that tonight you may be able to do something a little more exciting than sitting and talking with an old lady like me over tea as you would normally feel obliged to do. And really, dear, I am suffering from cruel indigestion. I begin to doubt that those horrid waters are doing any good at all. What do you think?"

Sarah murmured something soothing as she fetched a cushion to prop behind Lady Murdoch's back and a stool for her feet. It seemed to her that the waters would have to perform a miracle indeed to prevent some twinges of indigestion after a meal that had consisted of a large helping of beef and vegetables and two helpings of steamed pudding and custard.

But she said nothing. She picked up the gothic novel from the library and began to read it aloud. Not many minutes passed before the sound of very deep breathing mingled with the tones of her voice. She put down the book quietly when her cousin began to snore and crossed the space between them in order to arrange the cushion more comfortably behind the old lady's head.

She returned to her place and reached for the box in which she kept the purse she was netting in silk. She arranged the work on her lap and bent her head to it. She really was fortunate to have been contacted by Lady Murdoch five weeks before. At first she had been very dubious about going to live with an elderly stranger who was obviously self-indulgent and not a little vulgar. She had expected to be bored at best, to lie abused at worst. Yet there had been no answer to her advertisement for employment as a governess, and she was desperately in need of somewhere to go when the lease on her cottage expired. And she could not go back to Aunt Myrtle's, though her aunt was puzzled and hurt by her refusal to do so.

Could she have done anything to avoid the situation with Winston? she wondered. It was easy now to look back and judge herself harshly, to see her young self as a hopeless weakling. It had been harder at the time. Loving as her aunt and uncle were, she had always been conscious of the fact that they were not her parents and that their home was not hers by right. It had been a lonely feeling to know that she had no one of her very own to whom to turn in trouble. Poor Graham had provided her with more than sufficient brotherly love, but of course he was no confidant.

She had thought of going to Aunt Myrtle and explaining her unease over Winston, but it was easier to say she was going to do so than actually to do it. Aunt Myrtle had a very loving nature. She lavished that love on her orphaned niece, but she positively doted on her stepson. There was no one to match him in her eyes; he could do no wrong. And of course she had good reason to feel that way. Winston was a warm and a charming young man. And Aunt Myrtle led a hard life. Uncle Randolph was frequently sick and not likely to get better as time went on. He was consumptive, and though the disease progressed slowly in him, he did become steadily thinner as the years went on, and his spells of fever and coughing became more frequent. Sarah had found that she just could not bring herself to talk to her aunt and add to her troubles.

And then, of course, there was the other reason that had held her back from talking to anyone, the reason she had feared to admit even to herself. Was it possible that Graham could still be charged with murder if the truth of Albert Stanfield's death became known? Could he be imprisoned? Transported? Hanged? Sarah did not know and had no means of finding out without revealing the secret to someone else. But she had always feared the worst. English law could be very cruel. It perhaps would not take into consideration the fact that Gray was not fully responsible for his own behavior and that he was not normally dangerous at all.

She dared not discover the truth. She dared not do anything to offend Win. One word from him in the wrong ear and Gray's very life could be at stake. And he had alluded to the incident again for the first time in more than a year. By accident? She could not be sure.

So she had borne the burden alone. She had not, in fact, been actively unhappy or frightened of Winston. He had still been the brotherly figure whose company had always brightened her days. She still enjoyed talking and laughing with him. But she had steadily avoided being alone with him after the episode in the pasture. She had not even blamed him entirely for what had happened. She must have done something, she had felt, to give him the impression that she would allow such liberties with h er person and even enjoy them. There would be no more such incidents, she had assured herself, now that he knew he was wrong.

She had avoided for a whole week being alone with him, but inevitably the time came when she could avoid him no longer. She had been doing an errand in the village for her aunt and was returning home along a country lane, swinging her reticule and singing quietly to herself. She was on foot, from choice, as the distance was only two miles and the weather cool but pleasant. Graham, who usually accompanied her on such journeys, was at home with one of his colds.

She decided suddenly that she would take the shortcut up over the hill to her right .and through the woods to the pasture before her uncle's house. It was not that he wanted to shorten the distance, but the walk was so much prettier than that along the lane.

She was at the top of the hill, just about to move downward again into the trees when she heard a shout behind her. Winston was below on the lane, and he was turning and urging his horse up the grassy hillside toward her. Sarah felt an icy thrill of fear. It was too late to turn back to the relative safety of the lane. She had time only to master her panic and try to behave casually.