The next morning, Neil came to Richard's room before breakfast, looked down at him, and said, bluntly, "What are you going to do with her?"

Richard looked up groggily from his pillow. "I don't know. Go away."

"Is she going to stay here?" Neil demanded. "She can't. You've got to get rid of her. It'll ruin your political career."

Richard groaned and folded his pillow over his face. "Go. Away."

"No." The bed dipped as Neil sat down on its end. "When the papers hear of this there will be no end of trouble! A woman staying alone under a bachelor's roof?"

"A woman slept under your roof once," Richard said sleepily. "You married her."

"And if you married Laura, it'd be worse trouble!"

Despite himself, Richard laughed. He let the pillow fall back and sat up and looked at Neil.

"I'm not going to marry her."

He was clear on that now. He could not marry a woman he did not trust, and he did not trust Laura. Not after she had betrayed him to Fordham. He had only been able to force himself to ask her last night because he was fairly confident she would again refuse.

"And what of your career?" demanded Neil.

"My career will survive," Richard said drily. "At the very least, I'll know whereof I speak now, when it comes to discussing adultery bills."

Neil fixed him with a skeptical look. Richard shrugged.

"She won't be here long. A few days, perhaps a week or two. I'll think of something." An idea came to him. "Jane is in New York now. She might take Laura under her wing. And Americans will forgive anything for a title, even a courtesy one."

"That'll take months to organize, even by steamer post. And I doubt either will be willing. They were never friends."

"It's worth a try. I'll write to her today." That reminded Richard. "And her father — we have to tell him that she's been found and is safe. Can you run down to Leamont today and do it in person? While you're there, you could ask for some of her old clothes."

"I could ask for him to take her back."

"She won't go."

"Between the two of you, you could make her."

Richard hesitated. "Perhaps. But I'm not sure I should. He's different to our father, but in his own way, I think just as cruel."

Neil chewed his lip thoughtfully. "You might be right. But what if he wants her back, when he knows where she is?"

Richard shrugged. "Then he must want."

As it happened, he didn't want. Neil returned home with a carpetbag full of Laura's oldest clothes and a curt message from Lord Brocket: Better Albroke than me. Laura, called down to Richard's room in a nightgown borrowed from a housemaid, flinched when she heard it but said nothing. In silence, she grabbed the carpetbag and went back to her room. Neil and Richard were left staring at each other.

"And not a word of thanks," Neil grumbled. "I had a job to persuade Brocket to give me anything of hers at all. He says he bought them, so they're his, not hers."

"She's probably upset."

"That's no excuse to be rude," Neil said more firmly. "What was it like with her today?"

"It wasn't." Richard shrugged. "Her maid says she didn't leave her room."

Neil looked surprised. "Not even to come down and ask if you needed anything? Not even to say hello?"

Richard shrugged. "I suppose she didn't feel like company."

She didn't seem to feel like company the next day either. But Neil must have had a word with her about it, for the next afternoon and every one thereafter she came down to Richard's room and sat with him for a little while. Her conversation was desultory and tinged with bitterness. Often they were left sitting in an uncomfortable silence. If Neil was there too, there was certain to be conversation, and Laura was certain not to participate in it. It made Richard uncomfortable to see her watching and listening silently, and it was always a relief to him when she got up and left.

Richard took to inventing errands to keep her running up and down the stairs, or asking her to read to him, so they would be spared the burden of silence. It was twice the burden for him, for in the silence he found himself looking at her, and trying not to be caught looking. Even in faded cotton day dresses, even in bitter silence, even without trying, she tantalized him. Once, when she was leaning over him to arrange his pillows, he found his head almost at her breast, his forehead brushing her shoulder. The scent of her hair, freshly washed with rose oil, clouded around him. It took his every effort of will not to wrap his arms around her and pull her closer.

Neil, even if he would not let her ignore them completely, did not like having her in the house. He annoyed Richard by constantly suggesting other places Laura might go: to their sister Elizabeth's house; to be a companion for Miss Dalrymple; to Laura's cousin in Ireland; to their friend Prothero in France, who needed a governess. They were having an argument about it one morning when the sound of piano music floated up from the drawing-room below. Richard broke off mid-sentence.

"It must be Laura," he said.

For a moment, they listened without speaking. It was a sonata, full of brassy notes, but quickly, lightly played.

"I'll have to get the piano tuned," Richard said. "It's been years since anyone's played it."

"Jane's letter will come in a few weeks," Neil said. "Laura might be gone as quickly. Is it worth the bother?"

Richard hesitated. "Jane might not agree to take her. She might not agree to go."

"And then she must go somewhere else." Neil narrowed his eyes. "You can't let her stay forever. It simply isn't done. Every paper in town is reporting that she's your live-in mistress."

Richard was silent. On the one hand, he knew Neil was right. On the other, he hadn't yet dared bring up the matter with Laura yet. He had realized through their brief conversations that she was under the impression that this was a permanent arrangement. He did not know how to explain to her that he was already looking for a way to safely get rid of her. Not that she was happy to be here; there was unhappiness in her every motion, every word, every glance. But he had a suspicion she would be even less happy when she was told she had to leave.

"Richard?" Neil pressed.

"The piano needs tuning anyway," he dodged.

Neil frowned and said nothing. That night, however, as Richard was lying in bed after dinner, he heard the footsteps creak in the bedroom above and the murmur of voices: Laura's and Neil's. He sat up to listen, but they were too indistinct for him to make out any words, except for once when Laura cried out, "No, no, no!"

A moment later, Neil came back down the stairs and went into his own room. Richard waited for a while, thinking that Laura might come down and speak with him, but there was no further motion or sound, and soon he fell asleep.

The next morning, Richard was getting dressed when his door opened suddenly. Richard turned to see Laura standing in the doorway, hand on the knob, staring at him, her eyes wide and face pale. He looked at the mirror, saw his own form, which he had never liked, covered in a rainbow of fading bruises, which did not improve it. Even two weeks after the accident, he was still more bruise than flesh.

"I'm not Louis the Fourteenth," he said. "I don't need an audience to dress."

Laura stumbled backwards out of the room, her white cheeks burning red. "No. No. I didn't..."

She shut the door without finishing what she had started to say. Richard turned back to his valet, who was holding out his shirt and looking perhaps amused. But the sight of his master's bruises had long since ceased to shock him.

Laura avoided him the rest of the morning. Richard suspected she wouldn't come in the afternoon either. He debated with himself over attempting to climb the stairs and find her — he was able to hobble about a little now — but in the end decided it would be a lot of effort for what was probably going to be a lot of trouble. But he was mistaken anyway, for she came down in the late afternoon, when he was wrapped up on the couch and feeling rather drowsy after an early dinner.

She sat down on a chair nearby and he began to sit up.

"No, don't get up," she said, in a low, flat voice. "I won't be long if you're tired."

He eased himself back down, rather thankfully. If she wasn't going to stay long, then she couldn't be about to start an argument over what Neil had said to her last night.

He was wrong about that too. After a moment she said, in the same flat voice, "Neil told me you are planning to have me go and live with Jane in New York."

"I sent her a letter. We thought it would be suitable for you."

Richard waited for her appeal or censure, but it did not come. Instead she only said, "Oh," and fell silent.

"Would you... be happy with that?"

She raised her shoulders slightly and then dropped them, a flinch more than a shrug.

"It will take some time to arrange, of course."

"Neil said I could go somewhere else in the meantime. Perhaps my cousin's."

"If you would like to."

She met his eyes, and by the look in them, he knew quite well she didn't like. But rather than speak, she got up and stoked the fire, which had fallen low. When it was going again, she stayed there looking down into it, poker in hand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He almost did not hear and at first did not understand. But she came back over and dropped to her knees on the floor by his couch so their faces were level.

"I meant to say so before," she said, in a trembling voice. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. My fault you're..."

Richard sat up, sending a pillow falling to the floor, but she remained kneeling by his side.

"I made a terrible, terrible mistake," she continued, in the same low, trembling voice. "I could have... you might have died."

"But I didn't. I'm getting better." He didn't know what else to say.

"Then how bad was it before?" She looked up and then bowed her head quickly. "I never imagined Fordham could do such a thing. He... He said he hated you... that he wanted revenge... He wanted to marry me, to hurt you. He thought you loved me. So I told him we'd already... I was so stupid. I just wanted him to go away."

It had never before occurred to Richard to wonder why Laura had exposed their secret. He had assumed it had been some malice or vanity or indiscretion. He hadn't thought she could be backed into a corner. Not without biting back.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "He didn't lay a finger on me... only you. I didn't think he was like that. When my father told me, I— I couldn't believe— but he said you were dead— that was worse—"

She said something else. A few more, disjointed, incomprehensible phrases. Richard waited until she ran herself into silence, her breast heaving. He wanted to know what if she had meant what he thought she had.

"Did you not get my letter? Did you not know what he was?"

"What letter? He mentioned a love letter — I didn't understand."

"No love letter. I tried to warn you. I knew what kind of man he was. That's why he hates me. I should have made sure you got it. I was careless."

"I shouldn't have needed a warning. Don't make excuses for me. I was wrong to tell him — and now all London knows. I'm so sorry, Richard. For everything. I... I just wanted you to know that. Before I leave."

"I know." He watched tears swell and glitter in her eyes. He couldn't remain angry with her. Not now he knew. Not when she was trying not to cry. But it was an awkward thing, to accept an apology, and he wasn't quite sure how to do it. "I understand now. I... Laura, thank you for saying so."

On the floor, she continued to blink back tears. He had the feeling he hadn't said enough. She looked as if she would break if he touched her.

"You made... a mistake. And I forgive you," he said. "I want you to know that."

She swallowed. "But what I did—"

"There's no buts about it," he said gently. "It's done."

She wiped her eyes, her breath coming in rags. He wondered if he should try putting an arm around her shoulders, but he thought if he did he might end up kissing her, and it didn't seem right, not when she was almost crying. Instead, he waited until her breath was almost normal and then asked her to read to him. She seemed glad to have a solid task to do, and as she read, her voice grew steadier.

Slowly, Richard found himself slipping further down the couch, until eventually he was aware that the dull murmur of her voice had stopped. She moved closer, and her scent closed around him. She was adjusting his blankets. He felt her fingers briefly upon his face too, smoothing down the lock of hair that fell over his forehead. He thought she might leave then, but through the gentle shallows of a dream he remained aware of a presence by his side.

Then — it must have been quite a long time later — the door opened and Neil spoke.

"Rich, can I—"

"He's asleep," Laura interrupted, in a low voice.

"Oh. I guess it can wait." But Neil's footsteps came closer. "...Why are you crying?"

"I'm not crying."

"My mistake," Neil said, "I see now it's only raining indoors."

She let out, for the first time, a sob, and got up and swiftly left. Richard waited a moment. Then Neil's footsteps retreated and the door shut with a click. He dared to open his eyes, and saw that darkness had fallen outside and Laura had forgotten to draw the curtains. But she must have attended to the fire while he slept, for there was a new log on it, and the book they'd been reading was put away on the table, with a paper spill to mark their place.