Joan Wolf Read Free Page A

he has long to live.”
    “Robert’s death took the heart out of him.”
    “I know.” Mark had always known that Robert was his father’s favorite, just as he himself had been his aunt’s golden boy. He smiled at her now. “It is good to see you, Aunt Maria. You at least never change.”
    “I suppose that was meant as a compliment,” she said with dry humor. But she was not feeling at all amused. She was, in fact, alarmed. Something was the matter with Mark. He was almost unnervingly composed. And his smile did not reach his eyes.
    “It was a compliment,” he said decisively. “I have a few days to spare in London. Do you want an escort for any of your parties?”
    Her sharp brown eyes were soft with affection as they rested on his beloved face. The planes of his cheekbones looked harder than she remembered. He had almost completely lost his boyish look. “You don’t want to spend your evenings with an old woman,” she said.
    “Not with an old woman. With my favorite woman.” And this time the smile reached his eyes.
    She was deeply touched. She was also, upon reflection, deeply apprehensive. If she were his favorite woman, where did that leave Caroline?
    * * * *
    After a week Mark went back to Devon, and in mid-June Lady Maria returned to Bath. Two weeks after her arrival home, the news from Castle Dartmouth arrived: Caroline had borne a son.
    They called him Robert, at the Earl’s request, and he was baptized with great ceremony at St. Peter’s Church, where his parents had been married almost exactly nine months earlier. Lady Maria had not seen her brother so happy since before the other Robert’s death. He had presented Caroline with a magnificent set of matched pearls and she wore them around her slender neck on the day of the christening.
    Lady Maria thought that Caroline looked as if childbirth had taken a great deal out of her. She was too thin, too delicate-looking. Her great blue eyes dominated her narrow, pointed little face. She had not been able to nurse the baby, the Earl informed his sister. She was under orders from the doctor to stay in bed and to rest.
    Mark was pleasant, courteous, attentive to his father, his wife, his guests. He did not appear to be overly interested in his son. Lady Maria found something slightly disturbing about his extreme self-possession.
    * * * *
    The Earl of Dartmouth died in August. It was an occasion of sorrow for his family, but it had not been unexpected. Everyone drew consolation from the fact that he had lived to see his grandson.
    It was the death of Caroline Cheney in October, almost exactly one year after her marriage, that shocked the family and the county. Lady Maria posted down to Devon from Bath immediately. It was Mark who gave her the dreadful news. “She killed herself, Aunt Maria.”
    “What!”
    “Yes.” The impression of formidable reserve he had given her on their last meeting was stronger now than ever. His face was absolutely shuttered. “She cut her wrist. I found her lying on her bed. She had been dead for several hours.”
    “Dear God, Mark!”
    “Yes,” he said again. “Quite.” They were sitting in the library of Castle Dartmouth, and now he got up from his chair and went over to look out the window. “I have told the magistrates that it was an accident, that she was opening a letter and the knife slipped. No one believes it, of course, but they didn’t dare ask too many questions. She will be given Christian burial from St. Peter’s. I’ll need you to stand by me, Aunt.”
    Lady Maria stared for a moment at his back. His broad shoulders looked absolutely invulnerable. “Of course I will stand by you, my dear. I am so terribly sorry.”
    He turned back to her. “One can always count on you,” he said quietly. “Thank you.”
    Meeting his steady, unreadable eyes, Lady Maria understood why the magistrates hadn’t been able to ask him questions. His air of remoteness daunted even her.
    They buried Caroline the following