Veronica stared. “Won’t you tell them?”
“No—no, I don’t think there’s any point. I used to think I was a very civilized person, but since Thomas has been in prison, and might have been hanged, I discover that I have a savagery in me that doesn’t think first when I must fight for those I love—love more than I can understand, or control. I don’t know if it’s right, but I think I know how you might have felt.”
“What about Julian? Won’t he—won’t he hate me anyway, because he thinks I’m Cerise, and that I drove Garrard to . . .”
“Then tell him the truth.”
Veronica looked down. She was too exhausted to weep anymore. “He’ll leave me anyway. I killed Robert, and lied for three years to hide it. I didn’t know about Loretta and Garrard, but I don’t suppose he would believe all of that.”
Charlotte took her hands. “If he leaves you then he doesn’t love you as you want to be loved, and you must learn to live without him. Perhaps in time there will be someone else. Losing Robert was not any fault of yours. Nothing was lacking in your love; no woman could have held him. But Julian is different. If he really loves you, then he will still love you even when he knows. Believe me, we all have something to be forgiven. Love that expects perfection—no past with mistakes, pain, learning—is only hunger. No one grows to maturity without acts to be ashamed of; in accepting that, we love not only the strengths but also the weaknesses, and real bonds grow between us. Tell him. If he’s worth it, he’ll accept your past—if not immediately, then in a little while.”
For the first time Veronica lifted her chin. Her eyes widened, and there was a stillness in her; the violence inside calmed and her fear slipped away. “I will,” she said very softly. “I will tell him.”
There was a knock on the door—gentle, requesting permission.
Charlotte stood up and went to turn the key. “Come in.”
The door swung wide and Aunt Vespasia stood there with a tiny smile on her face. She stood aside. Behind her stood Emily, still in her maid’s dress but without the apron, and Jack with his arms round her. Beside them was Pitt, filthy, his face hollow, shadowed round the eyes and marked with bruises. But it was radiant with a smile of joy so intense he looked positively beautiful.
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copyright © 1988 by Anne Perry
cover design by Jason Gabbert
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This edition published in 2011 by Open Road Integrated Media
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