She stared, dumbstruck, and nodded.
His gaze slipped to Abha, then farther along the street. Tavy followed it to a young man, thick-set and garbed like a dockworker, leaning against the rear wheel of a parked hackney coach.
“I hope you know,” Marcus whispered, returning to her face. He shook his head. “I beg your pardon, Octavia. A thousand pardons for putting you in danger.”
“Danger? But you said that was a story you invented.”
His eyes seemed to grow fraught again. “He did not tell you, then.” His gaze slewed to the lumper down the block once more. “But he—”
“Tell me what, Marcus?”
He gripped her hands. “If he did not see fit to tell you, I cannot.” He reached into his waistcoat and withdrew an envelope. He pressed it into her palm. “Give him this.”
“Lord Doreé? What is it?”
“He will understand. Octavia, my dear, God bless you. And forgive me, please.” He released her and swung away down the crowded sidewalk.
The crisp stationery shook in her fingers.
“Where do you wish to go now?” Abha asked.
“I hardly know.” But she did. Ben had spoken with Marcus, clearly, but he hadn’t told her. Still he kept secrets. But one secret she must learn the truth of finally. “I will call upon Lady Constance.”
Abha nodded. Tavy strode toward the carriage. The young dockworker pushed away from the hackney, falling into her tracks.
“Abha, do you know that man?” Her gaze darted to the stranger as she climbed into the carriage.
“No, memsahib. I do not.”
In the downstairs parlor of the Duke of Read’s town house, Lady Fitzwarren sat ensconced in a gilt-and-white chair. She rose hastily and moved toward Tavy with a heavy exhalation.
“There you are, dear girl.”
At the window, Constance whirled about and threw herself forward to grip Tavy’s hands.
“Octavia darling, I went to your home but you were not there. Where did you go?”
Tavy’s head spun, her heart tangled. The blue eyes glimmered with such affection and concern.
“Constance, I came here to— I—” How could she do it? “I have no way of asking this delicately, but are you increasing?”
The dowager sucked in an audible breath. Constance’s brows dipped into a frown. She shook her head. But this was not sufficient answer for Tavy’s heart.
“Yet you are clearly troubled. At the Saveges’ ball the other night—” She took a steadying breath. “Constance, I must know if you and Ben intend to marry. Please tell me now, without evasions.”
Her blue eyes flickered with a hint of agitation. “We do not.”
Tavy tried to control her quick breaths, but her lungs would not seem to function properly. She glanced at the dowager. Lady Fitzwarren’s pinpoint eyes were direct. She nodded her head once, a spray of purple feathers fluttering upon her bandeau.
Tavy pulled her gaze away. “Did you—” Good heavens, this was equally difficult. “Were you ever lovers?”
“No. Never. Oh, look at me, Octavia.” Constance gripped her fingers. “I said no.”
Tavy jerked her hands away. “But why not? And why did you never marry?”
The beauty’s lips curved into a sad smile. “No doubt it would have made things quite a bit easier for me if I could have convinced him to marry. But he would never agree to it.”
Tavy stared into her friend’s brilliant eyes. “Did you wish to?”
Constance twisted her slender shoulders in a movement that might have been a shrug or assent. “For companionship, yes. Safety and comfort.”
“You never . . . ?”
“Desired him?” Her slim brows lifted. “I tried to kiss him once.”
A lump clotted Tavy’s throat. “And?”
“It was years ago, after that endless period of mourning. I needed to know if we would suit, if I could run away to him and not grow to regret it, or estrange my closest friend by forcing a faithfulness upon him he did not want.”
“What happened?”
“He let me make a fool of myself.” A rueful curve shaped her lips. “He was very kind at first in putting me off, then he said it was like kissing his sister, and I remember throwing something porcelain at him, or perhaps marble.” Her grin crept into a private smile of memory. Then her gaze lifted to Tavy’s. “But sometimes I have found myself wishing it were otherwise, when I look at him and see what you see.”
“What do I see?” Tavy barely whispered.
“A beautiful man in every way. A man without equal upon this island or any other. Octavia, I have known him since he was thirteen and I have never seen him look at a woman the way he looks at you.”
Tavy’s heart ached so hard she was obliged to press a hand to her chest. “He is dishonest with me.”
“His life is a masquerade. But you know that, don’t you?”
“I thought— When you said you had betrayed me, I thought you meant with him.” Her hands twisted in her lap. “I simply cannot go on like this, imagining and fearing and not trusting but wanting to trust. I am not fashioned for that.”
Constance said softly, “I don’t believe he is either.” Her smile was gentle.
Raw hope battered Tavy’s insides.
Constance reached for her hand. “You are more observant than you know. I have been so heartsore. But since I learned of his perfidy, I am more sorry for him than anything else.”
“His perfidy?”
“His lies to Ben, to me, and everyone else.”
“Whose lies?”
Constance shook her head. “Octavia, what—”
“Who lied to you and Ben? Marcus?”
“Lord Crispin? Why, no. It was Walker. I thought you understood—”
“Lord Styles? What did he lie to you about?”
Constance’s eyes glistened. “About the fire at the hunting box seven years ago. Ben did not tell you?”
“No.” But apparently he told everyone else everything.
“Walker set the fire.” Her voice quivered. “The fire that killed Jack and their father.”
“No. Oh.” Tavy could say no more. Her heart ached far too much, for him and for herself. He had kept this from her. How long had he known? Surely this morning when he sent her away from his house. “Why did Lord Styles lie about it? Wasn’t the fire an accident?”
“Ben does not know yet. He intends to discover the truth.”
Tavy’s breath caught, hot and sharp alarm darting through her. Her fingers scrabbled for her reticule and the envelope within.
“Marcus said that I was in danger, but that it was all in Ben’s hands now.” She pulled the letter from her reticule.
“He said you are in danger?” Constance’s face blanched. “But how could Lord Crispin know that?”
“Lord Styles blackmailed him. Ben said he had important business to attend to today, but I was so—”
Icy fingers dug into hers.
“Octavia, I told Walker about you and Ben. I am so sorry.”
“What did you tell him?” Tavy spoke to prevent herself from breaking for the door. She told herself she would know if he came to harm, that something inside her would feel it. But dread blotted out all else. He must have gone to confront Lord Styles.
“I told him of your mutual affection. Walker wishes to use you to hurt Ben.”
“He didn’t need you to tell him that,” Lady Fitzwarren interjected. “Anybody can see it plain as day whenever they are around one another.”