you cannot say why?”
He bent his other leg and rested both arms on his knees. “I’m afraid you will have to accept it. Besides, ’tis all in the past.”
A mulish expression covered her face, and she pulled on several pieces of grass. “Were you happy?”
Had he been happy?
“If I had my way, I would poison your food. Smother you in your sleep. The worst thing I ever did in my whole life was tell my father you were the father of my child. I thought we would live in London, go to balls and parties. Instead, you’ve had me stuck here in this hell since our return from Gretna Green two years ago.”
“I’ve told you many times, Priscilla, I will not return to London and flaunt our marriage to the ton . You got what you wanted—a titled husband. What I did was shameful, and I refuse to hurt Lady Abigail or her family any more than I already have.”
“My, aren’t you the gentleman.” She sneered and poked him in the chest. “I deserve expensive jewelry and new gowns. I deserve lovers who fawn all over me, who buy me things. And what did I get? You!” Priscilla’s eyes flashed with anger, her face flushed. She’d been at the brandy bottle again, and it was only ten in the morning.
She picked up her empty glass and hurled it at his head. “Get out. Get out of here. I hate you!”
Redgrave picked up the glass that had missed his head and bounced off the chair, landing on the carpet. “I will see you at dinner. Have a pleasant day.”
He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memory. “Are any marriages truly happy?”
Lady Mary looked at him with surprise. “Yes. My family is full of happy marriages.”
The unspoken words, that Abigail had found happiness after his perfidy, rang in the air. “Then why haven’t you joined the parade of happy couples?”
She sucked in a breath, apparently shocked at the turn in the conversation. Once again, uneasiness flashed across her face.
Redgrave reached out and touched her cheek. “What is it, Mary?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
He cupped her chin and turned her head so she had to look at him. “Yes, you do. Something happened to you. Something frightening, and if I’m correct, it involved Claremont.”
Mary tugged her chin from his grip and stood. “I think it’s time we returned to the others. They will wonder where we got off to.”
He studied her for a minute, then rose. He picked up his jacket and shook off the grass. Shrugging into it, he rested his hands on her shoulders, leaning in close. Her face was flushed once again, but he was certain not from the exertion of searching for the little girl. Her eyes shone bright. With tears?
“One day you will tell me,” he said gently.
She withdrew, then turned to head back to the group, lifting her skirts as she walked over the uneven ground. “As soon as you answer my question.”
Redgrave straightened and followed close behind. “We both seem to have our secrets, do we not, Lady Mary?”
Once they arrived back at the picnic area, the children all sat in a circle around Miss Abernathy, who kept them entertained with a story. The cook and teachers picked up the remnants of the day’s activities and stored them in baskets. The men took care of loading everything into the carriages, and soon it was time to leave.
Tired children climbed into the hackneys, the day a resounding success. Redgrave felt a sense of satisfaction at giving these children something so rare to them, yet so common to children of his rank.
He’d been home and at his desk for only about ten minutes when Mathers arrived in his office. “My Lord, a person at the door wishes to speak with you. His name is Mr. Charles.”
Despite his butler’s disapproval of the Bow Street Runner Redgrave had hired, he told Bedford to show Mr. Charles into his office.
The man was tall, bulky, and sported a nose that had been broken more than once. He settled into the chair in front of Redgrave’s desk and opened a notebook.
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