The lawn went very, very quiet.
"I have said nothing," Cecilia continued, "because I wished to be sure. And because I did not know how to speak to my husband about anything at all. But I am speaking now."
Gerard's round face had gone grey. He looked about, as a cornered animal looks about, at the fascinated, hostile faces, at the Duke of Marlowe's thunderous scowl, at the vicar's stern disapproval, and at his cousin, who was looking at him with an expression he had never seen before and would have given anything not to see now.
"I think," said the Earl of Wyncombe quietly, "that you had better go and pack, Gerard."
"Lucian—"
"Now. I shall send for the magistrate in the morning. You may have until then to decide whether you wish to be here when he arrives."
It was over in half a minute. Gerard Hartley stood for a long moment with his mouth working. Then he turned, with a last venomous glance at his cousin's wife, and walked away across the lawn toward the house, a plump and stumbling figure in a tight green coat, with forty pairs of eyes at his back.
Nobody spoke until he had gone.
Chapter Eleven: An Apology
The party broke up early.
It was the sort of party that could not continue. The guests drifted away in twos and threes, murmuring, casting backward glances at the little group beside the glasshouse. The Duke of Marlowe, who had come to see a flower and had instead been shown a drama, took his leave with great gruffness. At the carriage step he took Samuel Hale's hand once more.
"I meant what I said, young man. Come to Marlowe Court if ever you want a place. I have forty glasshouses and not one gardener who could have kept that plant alive." He sniffed. "I am sorry about the flower. Damned shame."
"Thank you, your Grace," Samuel said.
When the last carriage had gone, and the footmen had begun to clear the tables, the Earl of Wyncombe was still standing on the lawn.
He had not moved. He stood with his hands at his sides and his head slightly bowed, looking at the white flower where it lay in the grass. The sun was beginning to slant. The torn petals had turned a little brown at the edges, and a bee was investigating the golden throat.
Samuel Hale approached him slowly, and stopped at a respectful distance.
"My lord."
The Earl did not look up. "I do not know what to say to you."