But pity the young man who caught her.

The woman in front of him was no lamb to be led anywhere, but she also wasn’t aware of how magnificent she was. And she didn’t know him at all.

“After everything that has passed between us, that’s what you think of me?” He kept his tone quiet. He didn’t want to fight with her, but he wouldn’t let her assumptions stand. “That I would be callous enough to do that to you?” He walked to the door between their rooms, careful not to shuffle, though he felt ancient and frail. Today had drained him of everything he had.

On his side of the threshold, he turned back to face her. It felt wrong to see her this way, to leave her alone. “I’m sorry that your father has disappointed you, Annabel, but I’m not him.” His fingers tightened on the latch. “Not everyone in your life wants to hurt you.”

He made himself close the door, and he made himself stay quiet when the floorboard creaked as she approached—only to twist the key in the lock.

And later, as he lay in the dark in his cold bed and stared at his boring ceiling, he balled his fingers into fists as his wife cried herself to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The London garden was too small to provide much of a distraction, so Annabel took her time in examining each stalk before pruning it and second-guessing whether a weed was actually a weed. However, pondering every decision allowed her to consider every decision.

Not everyone in your life wants to hurt you.

Yet he’d still been in Claudette’s room. The look on his face, like a child caught sneaking a forbidden treat, had flayed her heart to pieces.

“It’s your own fault,” she muttered as she uprooted a weed, ferreting out all the sprawling tendrils to prevent its return. “You told him to keep going as he had been, and he has.”

She stripped off her gloves to dig her fingers in the dirt. It was easier to follow the roots’ paths and determine if they’d tangled with useful plantings. “And his enjoying you in bed doesn’t prevent him from enjoying other women.” She dug under the errant plant and lifted it away, shaking the usable dirt back into the hole. “Or vice versa.”

The weed landed in the bucket with a soft whump. “If peers with mistresses ceased sleeping with their wives, there would be no one in Lords by now.”

Jasper’s pale face had been grooved with pain, and he’d held himself awkwardly. She’d had a doll once that, if twisted, lost its head. She’d treated it with care, cradling it in her arms. She’d wanted to do the same with her husband.

I overdid it while you were gone.

He and Claudette had been apart for months.

Not everyone sought to hurt people, but they were hurt all the same.

She moved to the next rosebush, dead-heading the faded blooms and checking for pests. They had been honest about their reasons for marriage, and he’d lived up to his side of their bargain. Fairness demanded she do the same.

But she loved him too much to knowingly share him with someone else. She would have to make plans to leave. Annabel blinked to clear her vision before she lifted her clippers to a stray stem.

“Lady Ramsbury?”

Annabel dropped her tool, and the stem whipped forward, driving the thorn into her thumb. The tears she’d been ignoring trickled down the edge of her nose. “Blast.”

“I am sorry to interrupt,” Claudette said in her soft voice with its musical lilt. “If you would prefer, I can wait inside until you are finished.”

I would prefer you go back to bloody Paris and wait until hell freezes over. Annabel paused. None of her etiquette lessons had taught her to how to behave when having her husband’s mistress as a houseguest. Spiteful and hateful would be easy, but looking herself in the mirror would be difficult.

The Warren family was always kind to others, and she was a Warren for a little while yet.

“It’s too lovely this morning to stay inside.” Annabel looked up to the sky, noticing the sunshine for the first time. “There is coffee on the table.” She motioned toward the tree where Barnes had insisted on setting the service.

“Will you join me?” Claudette asked. She sounded impossibly young.

“I believe I will.” Annabel stopped short of thanking her for the invitation. This was still her home. Instead, she washed her hands in the nearby basin and used a cloth to clean her nails.

She joined Claudette at the table. “How do you prefer it?”

“Two creams and three sugars.” Claudette grinned. “Jasper teases that I like it so my spoon stands up on its own.”

“That sounds like something he would say.” Annabel handed the cup to her guest without tipping it into her stupid French lap. “Did you sleep well?”

“Eventually.” Claudette sipped her coffee. “I can never sleep aboard ship for fear we will sink, but the exhaustion worsens my cauchemars. Sleep is elusive most days.”

“Why not come over land, then? Surely Lord Warwick—”

“Kit says the sea is safer because there are fewer people and narrowed avenues for attack, but I believe he simply likes it.” She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “I tease that he and Gareth would have been happier in the navy, though we likely never would have met.”

“They were stationed in Paris?”

“Oh no. My father represented the French government in Egypt. I met them in Cairo during the Ottoman War.”

“It must have been frightening.” Annabel had been in danger only a handful of times. She couldn’t imagine living in a country where death was a constant threat. No wonder the young lady had nightmares.

“At times.” Claudette gave her a sideways glance. “But it also had its thrilling moments.”

Annabel’s fingers tingled with the memory of firing the pistol and the thrill of watching her prey retreat. Nothing had prepared her for that feeling, or for how alive she’d felt when they were out of danger. “Most things in life have two sides.”

“That is true.” Claudette refilled her coffee. “My friends in Paris are always shocked when I tell them Egypt was the happiest time of my life.”

“Because of Gareth?”

The other woman nodded. “I had traveled Europe with Father for several years, so each post had begun to resemble the others. Gareth had never been farther from Wales than London, so he was eager to see everything as his time allowed. In between, he and Kit told me stories of growing up in Cardiff surrounded by his father’s horses and the fun they’d had with Jasper.” She was quiet for several moments, lost in her memories. “En chemin, je suis tombé amoureux.”

Love did happen when it was least expected, for better or worse. “You married after the war?”

“No, during. My father was…livide, but he eventually gave us his blessing. I believe he didn’t want any harshness between us when I followed the regiment to stay near Gareth.”

“You followed him onto the battlefield?”

“As close as I could be. He insisted I stay at the rear, but I wanted to do my part. I volunteered in the hospital, helping with surgeries and praying I would never see Gareth—or Kit—on the surgeon’s table.”

Jasper had said Gareth survived the war. Despite her better judgment, Annabel wanted to know how Claudette had gone from happy bride to widowed mistress. “You came back to Wales after the war ended?”

“We settled in Paris. Gareth’s family was not happy with him for marrying a French girl.” She stared at her folded hands. “For five years, they returned every letter he wrote to them. And so he decided to go to Cardiff and confront them. He never returned.”

Annabel put herself in Claudette’s place. What would she have done if Jasper left and never returned? What if he’d been attacked while he was alone and bled to death in the street? “You came looking for him.”

Claudette nodded. “Kit met me on the docks in his very solemn way and brought me here to meet Jasper.” A small, quick smile flitted across her face. “He is so like Gareth. He thinks more than he says, and his body races to keep up with his mind.”