“His reputation is tarnished beyond redemption. He is a drunkard. A profligate.”

“You know nothing about who he is,” Phoebe said with a touch of weary exasperation, “or what he’s made of himself. Let’s not discuss him, Edward, there’s something far more important for us to deal with.”

“I saw him at soirée once. His behavior was indecent. Staggering about drunkenly, fondling and flirting with married women. Insulting everyone around him. A more vulgar, sneering display I have never seen. The host and hostess were humiliated. Several guests, including myself, left the soirée early because of him.”

“Edward, enough about this. He’s gone now, and it’s over. Please listen to me—”

“He may be gone, but the damage has been done. You are too naïve to understand, my innocent Phoebe, what jeopardy you’ve put yourself in by allowing him to stay here. People will have already begun to repeat the worst interpretations of the situation.” He took her stiff hands in his. “You and I will have to marry without delay.”

“Edward.”

“It’s the only way to contain the damage before you’re ruined.”

“Edward,” she said sharply. “I know about Ruth Parris and little Henry.”

His complexion turned bleach white as he looked at her.

“I know about the house,” Phoebe continued, gently drawing her hands from his, “and how you used funds from the loan company to pay for it.”

His eyes were dilated with the horror of someone whose darkest secret had been exposed, his protective veneer shattered. “How . . . who told you? Ravenel has something to do with this, doesn’t he? He’s trying to poison you against me. He wants you for himself!”

“This has nothing to do with Mr. Ravenel,” she exclaimed. “This is about you and your . . . I don’t know what to call her. Your mistress.”

He shook his head helplessly, standing up from the settee and pacing in a tight circle. “If you only knew more about men, and the ways of the world. I will try to explain in a way you can understand.”

She frowned, remaining seated as she watched his nervous movements. “I understand that you borrowed money on behalf of my son’s estate to set up a young woman in a household.”

“It wasn’t stealing. I intended to pay back the funds.”

Phoebe gave him a reproachful glance. “Unless you married me, in which case the money would have become yours anyway.”

“You’re insulting my character,” he said, pain contorting his face. “You’ll try to make me out to be a villain on the level of West Ravenel.”

“Were you ever going to tell me, Edward, or did you plan to maintain Ruth Parris and her child in that house indefinitely?”

“I don’t know what I planned.”

“Did you consider marrying Ruth?”

“Never,” he said without hesitation.

“But why not?”

“She would be the ruin of my future prospects. My father might disinherit me. I would be a laughingstock, marrying someone so lowborn. She has no education. No manners.”

“Those things can be acquired.”

“Nothing can change what Ruth is: an honest, sweet, simple girl who is utterly wrong as a wife for a man of my position. She’ll never be a society hostess, nor will she ever be capable of making clever conversation or telling the difference between the salad fork and the fish fork. She would be made miserable by requirements she could never satisfy. Any concern for her is unwarranted. I made no promises, and she loves me too well to make a wreck of my life.”

“But what have you made of hers?” Phoebe demanded, outraged on the girl’s behalf.

“Ruth is the one who insisted on keeping the child. She could have given him to someone else to raise and gone on with her life as before. All the choices that led to her current predicament were made by her—including the choice to lie with a man outside of marriage in the first place.”

Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Then the blame is all hers, and none of yours?”

“The risk of an affair is always greater for the woman. She understood that.”

Could this really be the Edward she had known for so many years? Where was the highly moral, considerate man who had always shown such indelible respect for women? Had he changed somehow without her notice, or had this always been mortared in among the layers of his character?

“I genuinely loved her,” he went on, “and in fact I still do. If it makes you feel any better, I’m deeply ashamed of my feelings for her, and of whatever coarseness in my nature led to a relationship with her. I’m suffering as much as anyone.”

“Love is not born of coarseness,” Phoebe said quietly. “The ability to love is the noblest quality a man can possess. You should honor it, Edward. Marry her and be happy with her and your son. The only thing to be ashamed of is the belief that she’s not good enough for you. I hope you’ll overcome it.”

He seemed painfully bewildered as well as angry. “One cannot overcome facts, Phoebe! She is common. She would lower me. That opinion would be shared by everyone in our world. Everyone who matters would censure me. There would be so many places we wouldn’t be welcomed, and blue-blooded children who wouldn’t be allowed to associate with mine. Surely you understand that.” His voice turned vehement. “God knows Henry did.”

Now it was Phoebe’s turn to fall silent. “He knew about Ruth? And her baby?”

“Yes, I told him. He forgave me before I could even ask. He knew it was the way of the world, that honorable men sometimes yield to temptation. He understood it had no bearing on my character, and he still thought it best for you and I to marry.

“And what was to become of Ruth and her child? What were his thoughts about that?”

“He knew I would do what I could for them.” Edward returned to the place beside her, reaching out to cover her hands with his. “I know my own heart, Phoebe, and I know I’m a good man. I would be a faithful husband to you. I would be kind to your boys. You’ve never heard me raise my voice in anger, have you? You’ve never seen me inebriated or violent. We would have a clean, sweet, good life together. The kind of life we deserve. I love so many things about you, Phoebe. Your grace and beauty. Your devotion to Henry. It agonized him that he wouldn’t be able to take care of you, but I swore to him I would never let harm come to you. I told him he would never have to worry about his children, either: I would raise them as if they were mine.”

Phoebe tugged her hands away, her skin crawling at his touch. “I can’t help but find it ironic that you’re so willing to be a father to my sons, but not your own.”

“Henry wanted us to be together.”

“Edward, even before I knew about Ruth Parris and the loan money, I had already decided—”

“You must overlook her,” he interrupted desperately, “just as I will overlook any indiscretions on your part. It can all be forgotten. I’ll perform any penance you ask, but we will put this behind us. I’ll have the boy sent abroad and raised there. We’ll never see him. He’ll be better off that way, and so will we.”

“No, Edward. No one would be better off. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Neither are you,” he retorted.

Perhaps he was right: thoughts were colliding in her head. She didn’t know whether to believe him about Henry. She had known Henry so well, his sweetness and forbearing, his concern for others. But he had also been a man of his class, raised to respect the boundaries between high and low, with a full understanding of the consequences should the order of things be disrupted. Had Henry really given his blessing to a future union between his cousin and wife, in full knowledge of poor Ruth Parris and her chance-born child?

Then, almost magically, the turmoil and distress subsided, and everything became clear.

She had loved and respected her husband and had always heeded his opinions. But from now on, she would trust her own sense of right and wrong. The sin was not love, but the lack of it. The thing to fear was not scandal, but the betrayal of one’s own morality.

“You are I are not going to marry, Edward,” she said, actually feeling a bit sorry for him, when he was so obviously making ruinous choices for himself. “There will be much for us discuss in the coming days, including a tangle of legal matters. I want you to resign the executorship of the will, and step aside as trustee of the estate—and I beg you not to make the process difficult. For now, I would like you to leave.”

He seemed aghast. “You’re being irrational. You’re going against what Henry wanted. I will take no action until you’ve calmed down.”

“I’m perfectly calm. Do as you see fit. I’m going to seek the counsel of solicitors.” She softened as she saw how distraught he was. “I’ll always be fond of you, Edward. Nothing will erase all the kindness you’ve shown me in the past. I would never vindictive, but I want any legal association between us terminated.”

“I can’t lose you,” he said desperately. “My God, what is happening? Why can’t you see reason?” He stared at her as if she were a stranger. “Were you intimate with Ravenel? Did he seduce you? Force you?”

Phoebe let out a short sigh of exasperation and left the settee, striding rapidly to the threshold. “Please leave, Edward.”

“Something has happened to you. You’re not yourself.”

“Do you think so?” she asked. “Then you’ve never known me at all. I am wholly myself—and I will never marry a man who would want me to be any less than I am.”

Chapter 32

“Good God, Ravenel,” Tom Severin commented as West entered his carriage and took the seat opposite him, “I’ve seen better groomed whorehouse rats.”

West responded with a surly glance. In the week since he’d left the Clare Estate, primping and self-grooming had not been a high priority. He had shaved recently—a day or two ago—maybe three—and he was more or less clean, and his clothes were good quality even if they hadn’t been pressed or starched. His shoes could use some polishing, and yes, his breath was a bit rank, as one would expect after days of drinking too much and eating too little. Admittedly, he wasn’t a fashion plate.

West had been staying at the terrace apartment he’d maintained even after having taken up residence in Hampshire. Although he could have made use of Ravenel House, the family’s London home, he’d always preferred to maintain his privacy. A cookmaid came once or twice a week to clean. She had been there yesterday, wrinkling her nose as she’d gone from room to room, picking up empty bottles and dirty glasses. She’d refused to leave until West had eaten part of a sandwich and some pickled carrot slices in front of her, and she had scowled when he’d insisted on washing it down with some fettled porter.