“I’m looking for you!” Chris replied. “What the hell is going on? You totally disappeared last November. You don’t answer your phone or your e-mail. Then I see the fall teaching schedule and you’re not on it! I had to get the chair of the history department drunk before he spilled that you were on medical leave. I thought you were dying—not pregnant.” Well, that was one less thing I’d have to tell him.
“I’m sorry, Chris. There was no cell-phone reception where I was. Or Internet.”
“You could have called me from here,” he said, not yet ready to let me off the hook. “I’ve left messages for your aunts, sent letters. Nobody responded.”
I could feel Matthew’s gaze, cold and demanding. I felt Fernando’s attention, too.
“Who is this, Diana?” Matthew asked quietly, coming to my side.
“Chris Roberts. Who the hell are you?” Chris demanded.
“This is Matthew Clairmont, fellow of All Souls College, Oxford University.” I hesitated. “My husband.”
Chris’s mouth dropped open.
“Chris!” Sarah waved from the back porch. “Come here and give me a hug!”
“Hi, Sarah!” Chris’s hand rose in greeting. He turned and gave me an accusatory look. “You got married?”
“You’re here for the weekend, right?” Sarah called.
“That depends, Sarah.” Chris’s shrewd glance moved from me to Matthew and back.
“On?” Matthew’s brow rose in aristocratic disdain.
“On how long it takes me to figure out why Diana married somebody like you, Clairmont, and whether you deserve her. And don’t waste your lord-of-the-manor act on me. I come from a long line of field hands. I am not impressed.” Chris said, stalking toward the house. “Where’s Em?”
Sarah froze, her face white. Fernando leaped up the porch steps to join her.
“Why don’t we go inside?” he murmured, trying to steer her away from Chris.
“Can I have a word?” Matthew asked, putting his hand on Chris’s arm.
“It’s all right, Matthew. I had to tell Diana. I can tell Chris, too.” Sarah’s throat worked. “Emily had a heart attack. She died in May.”
“God, Sarah. I’m so sorry.” Chris enveloped her in a less bone-crushing version of the hug he’d given me. He rocked slightly on his feet, his eyes screwed tightly shut. Sarah moved with him, her body relaxed and open rather than tight and full of grief. My aunt had not yet gotten over Emily’s death—like Fernando, she might never get over that fundamental loss—but there were small signs that she was beginning the slow process of learning to live again.
Chris’s dark eyes opened and sought me out over Sarah’s shoulder. They held anger and hurt, as well as sorrow and unanswered questions. Why didn’t you tell me? Where have you been? Why didn’t you let me help?
“I’d like to talk to Chris,” I said softly. “Alone.”
“You’ll be most comfortable in the keeping room.” Sarah drew away from Chris and wiped her eyes. The nod she gave me encouraged me to tell him our family’s secret. Based on the tightness of his jaw, Matthew was not feeling as generous.
“I’ll be right here if you need me.” Matthew raised my hand to his lips. There was a warning squeeze, a tiny nip on the knuckle of my ring finger as if to remind me—and him—that we were husband and wife. Matthew reluctantly released me.
Chris and I passed through the house to the keeping room. Once we were inside, I slid the doors shut.
“You’re married to Matthew Clairmont?” Chris exploded. “Since when?”