A supper party with London society sounded unbearable—especially given how close to tears I’d felt all day. It was impossible to entertain the idea. “I’m sorry, but I really am so tired,” I said, not trying to hide the warble in my voice. Let her think it was traveling exhaustion and not my broken heart.
She responded to me immediately, her face turning into a concerned pout. “Of course! You poor dear. We will wait until tomorrow then—the Hermanns from Vienna are having a garden party. Do you have a proper afternoon dress? No? I thought not. The solicitor who helped me find you told me about how my nephew gambled away all your money. Shameful. Not to worry though. I have plenty of money for the both of us, and we shall go shopping this week. Now, to your room! You must tell me if you like it, or if you would like anything changed, or even if you want to switch rooms—there are plenty in this house.”
The maid came into the room bearing tea, but Esther pushed past her, my need for fortification apparently forgotten. I didn’t mind much—the swaying motion of the train and the violent emotions I couldn’t suppress had left me feeling a little queasy.
We went upstairs, Esther chattering the whole way. I learned that she was the product of a late marriage between my grandfather and a diplomat’s daughter, whom he had met while traveling for business. When he’d died several years back, he’d directed that the shares of his company went to his daughter, and so Esther was quite the heiress. Perhaps a year ago, I would have felt resentful that my grandfather hadn’t thought to bequeath any money to the children from his first marriage, Violet’s father and my own. But now I hardly cared. After all, if things hadn’t happened they way they had, then I would have never gone to Markham Hall. I would have never fallen in love with Mr. Markham.
And I couldn’t regret any of that. Not yet.
Esther pointed me to a door and we entered what was to be my room. How Esther could ever imagine I could complain about it, I had no idea. If anything, it was too luxurious, hung with richly colored portraits and dominated by a massive canopy bed. Everything was upholstered in silks and damasks, a
ll deep plums and vivid greens.
“I had it done up as soon as I bought the house, knowing that you would have to come live with me, circumstances being what they are. I did not know your taste, but I did my best and—darling, is that a ring?”
I had placed my hand on the back of the low sofa in front of the fireplace, and the sunlight pouring in from the window caught my engagement ring, sending gleams of light around the room. I had not made any effort to hide it; in fact, I had been under the impression that my aunt knew about my engagement.
“Yes,” I said, feeling a low flicker of amusement at Esther’s gaping mouth, a sort of joyless mirth that vanished immediately. “I thought perhaps Solicitor Wickes would have told you…?”
“Why, certainly not!” Color was rising in Esther’s cheeks. “Can you imagine? He knew and he didn’t tell me, when he knows I have not a soul in the world to lay claim on! But my dear, if you are engaged, when are you to be married? And when shall I meet this man? Tell me, is he quite handsome? And his figure—what is it like? I prefer the ones who are broad in the shoulder, the ones who can carry me, which let me tell you, is not every man.” She raised her eyebrows, tapping a small foot under her dress. “Answer me, my dear. When are you to be married?”
I had not answered because I found I couldn’t. There was a peculiar ball at the back of my throat, and if I spoke, it would turn all of my words into quavering tears. But I couldn’t stop them anyway, and they started to fall hot and fast down my cheeks.
“Oh my,” Esther clucked, coming toward me and folding me into another crushing hug. “What did he do, the cad? Did he reject you because of your poverty? Or lack of breeding? Or did he—” her eyes danced with pre-emptive righteous anger “—did he carry on with another woman? What a beastly scoundrel! Well, not to worry, my dear, you are here with me now, and I guarantee you that if I did not know of this engagement, then society does not know of it, and your reputation will come out unscathed. And you are so young and pretty and with me at your side—yes, we will find you a proper husband in no time.”
In a way, I liked how Esther didn’t need me to respond to her. I could allow her to do all the talking while I struggled against these unreasonable tears, these tears that refused to dissipate no matter how many of them I cried. But I had to tell her that it wasn’t what she thought. I had to defend Mr. Markham.
“He didn’t do anything like that,” I said, hating how sniffly my voice sounded. “He—I just. It’s complicated. I thought I could stay here for a while, you know, while I thought about things.”
Esther forced my head onto her shoulder. “You take as long as you need, you understand? You can stay right here, and I will take care of you.”
“Thank you,” I said into her dress. It felt wrong to be taken care of in this way. It won’t last, I promised myself. I’d make myself useful, or at the very least, self-sufficient.
Why hadn’t it felt wrong for Mr. Markham to take care of me, emotionally and sexually and in all the other ways I needed? Was that further evidence of how corrupted I was?
“You must tell me his name, at least,” my aunt insisted. And she took my shoulders and pushed me back from her so she could look me in the eye. “Ivy. Who is this man?”
There was no point in avoiding the question—she would either keep asking or find out through some other means. “Julian Markham,” I said, my voice cracking. “Julian Markham of Markham Hall. In Yorkshire.”
Her eyebrows knit together for a moment. “Markham…” she said, as if trying to recall where she’d heard the name before.
“Violet’s husband,” I supplied dully.
“But Violet died only a few months ago, did she not? How on earth did he manage to court you in such a short time? You should have both been in mourning!”
Her outrage over the breach of etiquette seemed so petty next to everything else. How outraged would she have been to learn that Julian had punished Violet by making her watch as he fucked another woman? How worried would she be if she knew that Julian had long been suspected of Violet’s murder? Whatever she thought she could assess about the situation, she didn’t know the half of it.
“I had to live with him—I had nowhere else to go,” I said. “And then…it just happened.”
It just happened. Nothing was further from the truth. It had been weeks of longing, of desire, punctuated with heady kisses and caresses. It had been desperate and perfect and all-consuming; it had been the only time I'd felt truly alive. Nothing about it was “just.” Nothing about it simply happened by chance.
Esther regarded me, the kind of hungry look that I’d grown used to from Mrs. Harold, the rector’s wife. A look hungry for information, for stories, for juicy details. But unlike Mrs. Harold, Esther also radiated an affection and a compassion that—while shallow—was still kindly meant. When she saw that I wasn’t going to say any more, she patted my arm. “Don’t worry. I will take care of everything. You take tonight and rest. If you want, I can stay home from Lady Haverford’s…?”
There was a bit of reluctance at the way she offered, and I saw her sigh of relief when I told her, “That is kind, but there is no need. I plan on sleeping most of the evening away—I wouldn’t notice if you were here or not.”
“Well, don’t hesitate to ask for anything while I’m gone. And I’ll be sure to check in on you when I come home!”
With a swift kiss on the cheek, Esther departed and I finally had the room to myself. And in the silence, all of the thoughts and worries and pains came flooding in. How Julian had kept my aunt from me. How viciously he had tormented Violet the night she died.
