“Oh, I do,” she assured me. “I’m just wondering why you aren’t writing to him. Or for that matter, why aren’t you writing to ‘Hal’？ Since you’re on first-name terms, I mean.”
Damn. I couldn’t outright lie; questions of honesty aside, she’d detect it instantly. Stick to the truth as much as possible, then …
“Well, it’s Jamie,” I said reluctantly. It was, but I felt some scruples about dropping him in it with Bree. “He had a falling-out with the Greys a little while ago. They’re not on speaking terms, and if I were to write to John or Hal, he’d … take it amiss,” I ended, rather weakly.
Being her father’s daughter, she instantly put her finger on the crux of the matter.
“What sort of falling-out?” she asked. The analytical look had gone, subsumed by curiosity.
Well, that was it. I could either say, “Ask your father,” and she bloody would, or I could bite the bullet and hope for the best. While I was still trying to make up my mind, though, she went on to the next thought.
“If Da would mind about your writing to Lord John, why wouldn’t he mind me doing it?” she asked reasonably. She’d laid the drawing on the counter, where I could see it clearly. The little apes all looked like Mandy.
“Because he theoretically wouldn’t know I’d told you there was a falling-out to begin with.” And with luck, he might not find out you’d written it. The room was warm with sunlight, but I was feeling uncomfortably hot, my clothes prickling and wilting on my skin.
“Okay,” she said, after a moment’s thought, and reached for a quill. “I’ll do it right now. But”—she said, pointing the quill at me—“unless you tell me what this is all about, I’m asking Lord John. He’ll tell me.” He bloody well might. He’d told Jamie, for God’s sake …
“Fine,” I said, and closed my eyes. “He married me, when we thought Jamie was dead.” Total silence. I opened my eyes to find Bree staring at me, both eyebrows raised, her face completely blank with incomprehension. And then I remembered my conversation with Fanny. I thought she would keep quiet about the conclusions she’d drawn. But if she didn’t …
“And I slept with him. But it’s not what you think …”
At this inauspicious moment, Jamie walked past the window with Sean McHugh. They were talking, both of them looking upward, Jamie pointing at something on the upper story. Brianna made a noise as though she’d tried to swallow a pawpaw whole, and Jamie glanced in at us, startled.
I felt as though I had swallowed a hand grenade, but I hastily pounded Brianna on the back, making an “It’s nothing” gesture at Jamie. He frowned, but McHugh said something and he glanced away, then back at me, still frowning. I waved him away more firmly, but he said, “A moment, a charaid,” over his shoulder to Sean and strode toward the window.
“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ,” I muttered under my breath, and thought I heard a strangled laugh from Brianna.
“Is the lass all right?” Jamie asked, thrusting his head through the window and lifting his chin at Bree, who was huddled on her stool, gasping a little.
“I—fine,” she croaked. “Swallowed s-something …” She waved feebly at the counter, where a mug of something sat among the scatter of dried herbs and crockery.
He lifted one eyebrow but didn’t pursue the matter, instead turning to me.
“Can ye come up? Geordie’s smashed his thumb wi’ a hammer. He says it’s naught, but it looks sideways to me.”
I felt as though I’d just run a mile on a full stomach.
“All right,” I said, wiping my sweaty palms on my apron. I glanced over my shoulder. “Bree—I’ll be right back.” The scarlet was fading from her face.
“Mm-hm.” She coughed and took a deep breath. “Don’t fall off the roof.”
BRIANNA PICKED UP the sketch of a potential schoolhouse and stared at it for a minute, but she wasn’t seeing windows and benches. She was—with a mixture of horror and profound curiosity—envisioning her mother in bed with Lord John Grey.
“How on earth did that happen?” she asked the sketch. She set it down again and turned to look out the window, now empty and tranquil, with its view of the long slope that fell away below the house, filled with flowering grass and clumps of dogwood. “And how in bloody hell am I ever going to be able to look John Grey in the eye next time I see him?”