Intolerable Civility

Chapter Twenty-Three: Salt in the Wound

"You know I can be trusted not to repeat anything I hear."

"What I have to tell my wife is for her ears only."

A thrill of hope travelled down Cate's spine, followed by a quenching wave of despair. Even if his words might be intimate, David's tone was coolly polite. It was the kiss, she thought. He wanted to talk about the kiss. Tell her not to do it again, that she had overstepped the bounds.

"Well." Sarah's lips were thin. "I certainly would not want to hear that, my cousin."

She left the room, walking rather stiffly. David stared after her, frowning slightly, then he shrugged and turned back to Cate. He looked troubled; he stood there silently for a long moment, holding Luke and frowning, as though he did not know what to say.

"I'm sorry," Cate blurted when the silence became tortuous.

"Sorry? About what?"

"Kissing you."

He stared at her.

"I didn't mean to offend you," she said. "I just... I thought you wanted... but I don't understand you, clearly."

He raised his eyebrows. "I am not offended. It is not my pride that hurts, Cate. It is my heart, and your kiss was salt in the wound."

Cate's own heart ached. "I am sorry."

"I know. But I did not come to this room to speak to you of kisses, Cate."

"What is it then?"

David let Luke slowly down to the floor. Luke crawled to a low table and dragged himself to his feet to peer inquisitively at the bowl of dried flowers on top of it. David watched him, the frown still on his face.

"I met a man in Oxfordshire," he said at last, his voice very low and soft. "Herbert Oliver."

Every last drop of blood in Cate's veins turned to ice.

"He's Luke's father, isn't he?"

"Yes," she whispered. "No!" She clutched dizzily at the card table. "Luke does not have a father. But Herbert Oliver—" she choked on the name "—is the man I gave my body to."

"You're splitting hairs, Cate."

"No, I'm not." She slipped down to her knees on the floor and shuffled across to Luke to pull him into her lap. "When I told Oliver I was with child, he made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with the baby. He refused to admit it was his. He said for all he knew it was yours or any other man's, but it was not his." Luke wriggled as she held him too tight. "So Luke has no father."

She kissed him, again and again, trying to erase the memory of Oliver from her mind. His voice echoed in her head: lying strumpet, cloven bitch, scheming doxy. Yet somehow those words had not hurt as much as the simple phrase: it is not my child.

"How did you find out?" she asked when she felt capable of speaking. "Did he tell you?"

"No. He denied it when I accused him. But he asked after Luke and I knew from the expression on his face."

Cate shuddered. "David. I am so sorry."

"I know." David leaned against the card table. "He also gave a sort of apology, Cate. Not much of one. He did not want you to hate him. He wanted you to think of how he felt. He mentioned the word regret. I don't think he really knows what it means. But I told him I would tell you what he said, and now I have."

"You might have spared my feelings."

"And you might have spared mine." There was an edge to David's voice now. "You chose to fornicate with that man. You chose to."