“Thank you.” Ralph too leaned back in his chair. “You have not told the story quite this way to Chloe?”
“No!” Muirhead spoke quite emphatically. “She must not know that there is any doubt. She is my daughter. I do not love her any the less . . .”
“But she knows there is a doubt,” Ralph said. “She has known it since last year. She believes your denials and protestations because she wants to believe them. And yet part of her does not. And she is tortured by the necessity of believing what at heart she fears and suspects is not the truth.”
“She has told you this?”
“No,” Ralph said. He did not add more. He did not need to. Muirhead would have to be a fool not to know it himself.
Sir Kevin tipped back his head and covered his eyes with the heels of his hands. He exhaled audibly.
“I cannot tell her, Worthingham,” he said. “It would destroy her.”
“The not knowing is coming near to destroying her anyway,” Ralph told him. “Are you afraid of losing her?”
“No.” Sir Kevin’s hands came down from his face and he looked wearily at Ralph. “Yes, of course I am afraid. Can you not see how unfair all of this is? I have been her father all her life and even before she was born. I have provided for her and loved her. I would die for her—for any of my children.”
“Will you not trust her to understand that?” Ralph asked.
“It is better that she does not know,” his father-in-law insisted. “And it is not certain, anyway. Perhaps I am her father. Perhaps she was prematurely born. Perhaps there is a red-haired ancestor in my past.”
There was nothing more to say. But could the man not see that he was losing Chloe anyway? Why did he think she had left home to come and live here indefinitely with her mother’s godmother?
Sir Kevin got to his feet. “You have given me your word, Worthingham . . .”
“I have, sir,” Ralph told him. “And I will keep it.”
“Thank you.” The older man hesitated for a moment and then turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
* * *
Her father was the first person they ran into—almost literally. He was hurrying up the stairs as they were making their way down.
“Pardon me,” he said, glancing up. Chloe stopped at the suddenly arrested look on his face. “Oh, your poor hair, Chloe. It looks very pretty, though, I must say. Very pretty indeed, in fact.”
“You should have seen it an hour ago,” Sarah said, and laughed gleefully.
“Papa.” Chloe set both hands on his shoulders—he was standing two stairs below her—and kissed him on the cheek. He was looking strained, she thought. “You are leaving tomorrow? We must find time to spend together today.”
“Yes, indeed,” he said, “though I expect your new duties as duchess and hostess of a number of guests will keep you busy.”
And he patted one of her hands on his shoulder, nodded to the other ladies, and continued on his way upstairs. Chloe gazed after him for a few moments before resuming her descent with the others. It had seemed almost as if he did not want to spend time with her after coming all this way because of her.
Viscount Ponsonby was standing down in the hall with Lord Trentham and Viscount Darleigh. Lord Darleigh’s dog was seated alertly beside him.
“Gentlemen,” Gwen said, laughter in her voice as she made a sweeping gesture with both hands, “allow me to present the new Duchess of Worthingham.”
Chloe felt horribly self-conscious. She felt half naked without the weight of her hair.
“You look very dashing, Duchess, I must say,” Viscount Ponsonby said, extending one hand and then carrying hers to his lips.
“Short hair suits you, lass,” Lord Trentham said, “just as it does Gwendoline.” He beamed at his wife, lifted one arm as though to set it about her shoulders, looked suddenly sheepish, and patted her awkwardly on one shoulder instead before lowering his arm to his side.
“You look beautiful, ma’am,” Lord Darleigh said, smiling sweetly and gazing almost directly into Chloe’s eyes.
“And how would you know that, sir?” she asked him.
“I chose the wrong verb,” he said. “You are beautiful, ma’am. I can tell by your voice. And I am glad. Ralph needs the very best. He has been unhappy.”
Chloe gazed at him in some astonishment. Viscount Ponsonby clapped him on the shoulder.
“We are g-going out, the three of us,” he said, “to find the waterfall. Vince could hear it yesterday from the graveyard. I cannot say I noticed it myself, but then I am handicapped. I do most of my noticing with my eyes. Vince will use his ears to find the f-falls, and Hugo and I will use our eyes to stop him from falling over them and getting wet. Together we make a perfect team.”
“I do not need your protection, Flave,” Lord Darleigh protested, “only your company. I have Shep to keep me safe. He has never let me down yet, have you, boy?”
The dog panted alertly up at him.
“You do not mind our going, Agnes?” Viscount Ponsonby asked his wife.
Chloe could feel any vestige of resentment melt away. She liked these men, her husband’s dearest friends, along with the Duke of Stanbrook and the other two who were not here.
“Even so, Vince,” Ralph said as he came out from the study, “let Hugo and Flave keep an eye on you, will you? For my sake? The path beside the rapids and the falls is a rough one.”