* * *
I collapsed once more into the armchair, hard enough to make a small puff of dust rise from the plush. I lay there limp, eyes closed, feeling the cool night breeze wash over me. The hair was damp at my temples, and I could feel my pulse, quick as a bird’s, racing at the base of my throat.
Would he ever forgive me? My heart clenched like a fist at the memory of the knowledge of betrayal in his eyes. “How could you ask it?” he had said. “You, you who know…” Yes, I knew, and I thought the knowing might tear me from Jamie as I had been torn from Frank.
But whether Jamie could forgive me or not, I could never forgive myself, if I condemned an innocent man—and one I had once loved.
“The sins of the fathers,” I murmured to myself. “The sins of the fathers shall not be visited upon the children.”
“Madame?”
I jumped, opening my eyes to find an equally startled chambermaid backing away. I put a hand to my pounding heart, gasping for air.
“Madame, you are unwell? Shall I fetch—”
“No,” I said, as firmly as I could. “I am quite well. I wish to sit here for a time. Please go away.”
The girl seemed only too anxious to oblige. “Qui, Madame!” she said, and vanished down the corridor, leaving me gazing blankly at a scene of amorous love in a garden, hanging on the opposite wall. Suddenly cold, I drew up the folds of the cloak I had had no time to shed, and closed my eyes again.