There was something in his tone she didn’t understand. “I-I hope I am his friend,” she said carefully. “I have his best interests at heart.”
“That is good to hear.”
Marietta met his gaze, fixed on her rather piercingly, and decided that now was the time to test Harold’s own loyalty to his cousin.
“As Lord Roseby’s friend I can’t help thinking that it was a cruel thing his father did to him, reading his mother’s letter aloud like that.”
“So he’s told you that?” Surprised, Harold glanced away, but whether because he was embarrassed by his uncle’s behavior, or because he didn’t want her to see the expression in his eyes, Marietta could not tell. She wished she knew him better; she wished she had Max’s faith in him.
“Max tells me many things.”
He pondered that for a moment. “The matter is private, but as Max has spoken of it…The duke is an intelligent man but sometimes, in times of great distress, his feelings take over. You must understand that he loved his wife and the knowledge of her betrayal almost destroyed him—in my opinion he will never recover from it. When the letter came into his hands he was crazed with pain and anger. The duchess was dead, he could not punish her for her infidelity, but Max was there. I imagine he read the letter aloud to hurt them both, as they had hurt him. Not very logical, but then families often aren’t logical in their reactions to each other.”
Remembering her own family, Marietta could only agree with him and let it pass. “What I don’t understand is how the letter came to light.”
Harold grimaced; clearly the memory was not a pleasant one. “You are very curious, Miss Greentree, but still it cannot hurt to speak of it, not when the whole of London knows. The letter was among the duchess’s personal papers. My wife had been sorting through them after her death and she came across it. She had placed it on the fire, thinking it of no importance, and then she happened to read some of the words.”
“So she retrieved it before it burnt too badly.”
Of course she did. She would see at once what such a letter would mean to her and her husband, Marietta thought cynically.
“It distressed her tremendously,” Harold went on sharply, reading her thoughts in her silence. “Susannah is very fond of her brother, and she couldn’t believe it was true. She thought hard about what she did, believe me, but she decided that it was the duke’s right to know the truth about his wife and son, no matter how unpalatable that might be. Lately, Susannah has even speculated that perhaps the duchess wanted her husband to know the truth—why else would she keep a letter so incriminating? Why not destroy it years ago?”
“Yes, I see that. The letter…who was it written to?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if it was a letter. It looked more like someone setting down their thoughts. A confession, if you like. That was why she wondered if it had been meant to be found.”
Marietta wanted to ask what the letter said, word for word, but she knew that would be going too far. He already thought her insufferably inquisitive, and she did not want him to warn Max against her—Max, who was already incensed with her meddling.
She needed Max, she told herself. He was going to help her achieve her ambitions, and in return she would help him sort out his muddled life. He would be grateful to her, in the end.
“You take a great interest in Max, don’t you, Miss Greentree?”
“I suppose I do—”
“It is generous of you to have befriended him,” Harold said, still watching her, and again it seemed as if he had read her mind. “He has been very alone lately, and no matter how we try to help him he refuses to allow it.”
“I am glad to do what I can,” Marietta replied cautiously.
“I’m sure you are.” He gave her a little smile, but now it seemed forced and when he spoke next she understood why. “Even though Max is no longer heir to the Dukedom of Barwon, he is my cousin and I am very fond of him. You understand that I would never allow him to be preyed upon by those who mean him ill. Even penniless, Max has rich and powerful relations, and because of that there are some who might believe he is still what is vulgarly called ‘a good catch.’”
The words could be read as an affirmation of his commitment to Max, but Marietta knew they were not. They were aimed at her—there had been many such barbs stuck into her since Gerard Jones ruined her, but they still hurt, they hurt a great deal.
“Then it is fortunate I do not mean him ill, and that I am not presently husband-hunting,” she said lightly, but her eyes lost their friendly glow. Harold might be Max’s friend, but he had just let it be known that he wasn’t hers.
“I’m glad to hear that, Miss Greentree,” he said affably, but now she wasn’t deceived. “I shall hold you to it, you know.”
Marietta’s smile was wry. “I’m sure you will.”
“Perhaps…perhaps it would be best if you did not call on him again when I or my wife aren’t present.”
“Surely that’s up to Max?”
His eyes, so like Max’s and yet so different, narrowed. “While Max is unwell I am looking out for him, Miss Greentree. In my opinion it is in his best interests not to see you again.”
She knew her face was red—she could feel the heat in her cheeks. “Very well, sir,” she said quietly. “I will respect your wishes. Good day.”
I should not resent what he said, Marietta told herself as she made her way home. Harold was only caring for Max—“looking out for him”—and he could not know Marietta was not an unscrupulous woman out for all she could get. Or maybe it was her curiosity that had caused Harold to warn her off. If he was responsible for Max’s accidents, then naturally he would not want her to ask questions, or to prompt Max into asking them.