He tipped his head to one side and regarded her closely. The smile was gone from his lips, though it was still in his eyes. "What are you talking about?" he asked.
Elizabeth clamped her teeth together and glared back at him.
"I believe she is referring to that letter you had your secretary write," Louise said timidly.
"Carson?" he said, frowning and turning his gaze on Louise.
She nodded.
"You have had a letter from Carson?" he asked Elizabeth, looking at her closely once more.
She continued to stare stonily at him.
"Why did he write to you, love?" he asked gently. "I was unaware that he even knew of your existence." He turned to Louise when it became obvious that Elizabeth was not going to answer him. "Do you know what this is all about, Louise?" he asked.
She looked hesitantly, first at her sister-in-law and then at her husband. "After Elizabeth had written to ask you to come here," she said, "she had a letter from your secretary to say that you were too busy either to write or to visit, but that you would write as soon as you were able."
"You asked me to come?" he said, turning back to Elizabeth in wonder.
When she still did not answer, the rest of what Louise had said seemed to penetrate his mind. Unexpectedly, he chuckled. "Carson was my father's secretary," he explained. "He was more like a parent to me when I grew up than my own father was. Now he seems to feel that every female has designs on my title and my fortune, not to mention my person. He has taken it upon himself to protect me. This is not the first time I have had evidence that he has discouraged bold females in my name."
"You mean you knew nothing of Elizabeth's letter?" John asked stiffly.
Hetherington looked at Elizabeth as if it were she who had asked the question. "Do you not know me well enough," he asked, "to know that I would have come to you as fast as horse could gallop at any time I had received such a letter from you in the last six years?"
Elizabeth looked blankly back into his now entirely sober face.
"After I saw you at Mr. Rowe's house," he said,, "I returned home for one night. I have been traveling ever since. I have not been home at all. Please believe me, Elizabeth."
John rose to his feet. "Come, Louise," he said, "our presence is not needed here."
Elizabeth whirled on him. "I do not wish to be left alone," she said. "I have nothing to say to the Marquess of Hetherington. And I have a great deal to do. I leave for Yorkshire tomorrow morning with Mr. Chatsworth. He has hired me."
"Elizabeth," John said, and his voice was unusually stern, "if I have to lock you in this room, I shall force you to speak with Hetherington this time. It seems to me that the two of you have had your marriage blighted by misunderstandings and suspicions and missed opportunities. This time, talk! At least then, if you continue with this idiotic notion of moving to the wilds in order to teach other people's children, it will be a decision made out of sanity and common sense."
Elizabeth, stunned, looked to Louise for help. But her sister-in-law merely gave her a nervous little half-smile and reached for her husband's arm so that she could be escorted from the room.
Neither of them broke the silence for a while. Elizabeth stood, still facing the door. Hetherington stood a few feet behind her. He spoke first.
"Why did you wish me to come, Elizabeth?" he asked.
She did not turn. "It was nothing," she said. "It does not matter."
"It does matter," he insisted. "Whatever it is, it was important enough to you a week ago that you sent for me. And I know you well enough to realize that, to do that, you would have to go against all the pride you have built up in the last years. Do you not believe me when I say that I know nothing of your letter? Is that it?"
"I am weary, Robert," she said, turning to face him, "so weary of the misunderstandings, the waitings, the confrontations. I have trained myself since losing you to avoid strong feelings and unpredictable circumstances. I have learned to value tranquillity."
"And have you been happy?" he asked gently.
"Happy?" she repeated, eyes flashing. "Happy! Happiness is a much-overrated emotion, my-lord. I was very happy once and I ended up more miserable than I knew it was possible to be. I am not interested in happiness. I wish to be left in peace."
"With your Mr. Chatsworth?"
"Yes, with Mr. Chatsworth and his wife and sons. I can start a new life there and forget again. Oh, God, I want to forget."
"Elizabeth!" he said with such quiet tenderness that her eyes flew to his face and her senses reeled for one unguarded moment. He pushed himself away from the mantel and walked past her.
"We were so young, were we not?" he said, walking to the window and gazing through it. "I cannot now believe that we allowed all those things to happen to us without blazing a trail back to each other. I cannot quite understand why I did not fight my way through hell, though God knows I believed I had done all I could. I was so damned young."
Elizabeth had moved only enough that she could watch him where he stood by the window. She did not say anything.
He turned to look at her. "If you will not tell me why you summoned me, may I tell you why I came?" he asked.
"It seems I have no choice but to listen," she said, but there was no hostility in her voice. She moved to the wing chair beside the hearth and sat quietly on the edge of the seat.
"I knew when I spoke with you last," he said, "before I left you, that you had spoken the truth. I knew what must have happened. All I could think of doing was reaching my uncle and forcing the truth out of him. That proved a most difficult and most frustrating task."
He walked across the room and took the chair opposite Elizabeth. He watched her downcast eyes as he spoke.
"I went home for one night and then went to London. The man he had left there to care for his house told me that he had gone fishing in Scotland with friends, though he did not know the exact location. It took me almost two days to discover who the friends were and where exactly they had gone. I was weary enough when I arrived there, but when I found the place, the friends informed me that my uncle had returned home just two days before. Somehow I had missed him on the road. To cut a long story short, I finally ran him to ground in Paris less than a week ago."
Hetherington paused and looked expectantly at Elizabeth, but she did not say anything or raise her eyes.
"I discovered the truth," he said.
"That my father took the money," she said very quietly, "that the two of them conspired against us, my father for money, your uncle for family pride."
"You know, then?" he said.
"Yes."
"And that is why you called me?"
She did not answer.
"Did you know," he asked, getting restlessly to his feet, "that my uncle intercepted your first few letters to me and that your father intercepted mine to you? Afterward, they had an agreement to stop our letters at their source. Most of your letters never left this house and most of mine did not leave London."
Elizabeth had her hands over her face.
Hetherington went down on his knees in front of her. "Did you know," he asked, "that I came here, that I ranted and raved to your father, begging and demanding to see you, threatening him even? He gave in in the end and went to find you, but he came back to repeat what he had said all along, that you would not see me." He covered her hands gently with his own, cupping her face.