Ralph stared at her and then at Harding.
“I think, my boy,” Harding said sadly, “we had all better start assigning blame where blame is due. I have blamed myself for permitting Thomas to have his commission, and you have blamed yourself for putting the idea into his head. It was war that killed him, though. We must not blame even the French. They were trying to kill you just as you were trying to kill them. They were just ordinary boys, like you and Thomas and Max and Rowland. It was war that was to blame, or rather the human condition that leads us to believe that we must fight to the death to settle our differences.”
“You are extraordinarily kind,” Ralph said. “Sir Marvin Courtney and Lord and Lady Janes may see things differently, however. They may—”
“Oh, no,” Lady Harding said. “The deaths of our sons drew us close in our grief. And we all felt the same way about you. Lord Janes went to call on you after you were brought home, but he was turned away at the door. You were not receiving visitors. Neither were your mother and father, who were distraught over your condition, I daresay. He did not go back. Lady Courtney wrote a letter of commiseration to your mother but did not receive any reply. Your mother, I suppose, was too busy watching over you to read her letters, or at least to answer them.”
She fumbled for a handkerchief, and Harding handed her one of his.
“Lady Courtney died a few years later,” she continued after she had dried her eyes. “I think her heart was broken, though she still had her daughter left, and a sweet young lady she was too. But I never heard Lady Courtney breathe one word that would suggest she blamed you, Ralph. Or any of the others either. Quite the contrary. We all felt dreadfully sad for you. You had lost your three best school friends all at once, and it seemed very possible that you had seen them . . . die. Did you?”
“Yes,” he said. “Ma’am, they were cheerful and brave. They were—”
“Yes,” Harding said. “We knew our son.”
“Chloe,” Lady Harding said, getting to her feet and pulling on the bell rope, “you have not said a word. You have not had a chance to say a word. We have been depressing you with all this talk about our sad history. We have been told that your name was Muirhead before you married Ralph. Thomas had an earnest young friend of that name at school. Is he related to you?”
“Graham,” Chloe said. “He is my brother, ma’am.”
“Ah,” Lady Harding said. “He was a likable boy. Our son was very fortunate in all his friends. He enjoyed his school years. It is a comfort to remember that. What has become of your brother?”
And, incredibly, for the next half hour they all drank tea and nibbled on cakes and conversed on a variety of subjects. Viscount Harding told them about his twin brother with whom he had always enjoyed an extraordinarily close relationship. The brother had married late and had a growing family of three boys and two girls. It was very clear to Ralph that both Harding and his wife doted upon their nieces and nephews and saw them frequently. The eldest boy was, of course, Harding’s heir after the boy’s own father. The nephews and nieces would never replace the Hardings’ own son, of course, but it was clear that they were a consolation.
Lady Harding told Chloe that Miss Courtney, the young sister of Ralph’s friend Max, had just married a clergyman from the north of England.
“We were at the wedding,” she said, “and a very pretty one it was too. The bride glowed. It was understandable, I must say. Her husband is a well-set-up young gentleman and more handsome than any clergyman has a right to be. It was very clearly a love match—the very best sort, would you not agree, Chloe?”
“I would, ma’am,” Chloe said and smiled.
“You must not be strangers,” Harding said when Ralph got to his feet a short while later. “Now that we have seen one another again and got over the awkwardness of a long silence, we must keep in touch.”
“We will send you an invitation to our ball at Stockwood House,” Chloe said. “Please come. Graham will be there. He will be delighted to see you.”
Five minutes later they were walking home, Chloe’s arm drawn through Ralph’s. He had dismissed the carriage when she had assured him she would enjoy some fresh air. They walked in silence for several minutes.
“I like them,” Chloe said eventually.
“What?” He paused to toss a coin to a young crossing sweeper who had cleared some horse droppings from their path. “Oh. Yes. They are very pleasant. They always were.”
“I hope they come to the ball,” she said.
“Mmm.”
They did not speak again until they reached the house. He could not seem to unfreeze his brain.
“Chloe,” he said when her foot was on the bottom stair.
She turned to look back at him.
“Thank you,” he said, “for changing your plans and coming with me.”
She smiled. “It was my pleasure.”
“I could not have done it without you,” he said.
She smiled again and continued on her way.
Ralph let himself into the library and shut the door behind him. He had something to think about, though he could not at the moment imagine what it was exactly. But whatever it was, it was something he needed to do in private.
* * *
Ralph had not gone out. The butler reported that he had shut himself in the library upon his return with Her Grace and had not come out again—or rung for any service. He had not gone up to his room to change for dinner. Burroughs reported that he had waited with His Grace’s shaving water and evening clothes, but he had waited in vain.