The Wildest Rake

He smiled, then, watching her. ‘I know you better than anyone could,’ he said softly.

She looked up at him in surprise, and felt a sudden dizziness at what she saw in his eyes. It was like looking into the heart of a pure, cold flame, a burning whiteness. All that Andrew was lay open to her. A sense of her own weakness filled her with desolation. She had come to him, chattering her own need, her childish desire for comfort, when he was already carrying so many burdens. She had even thought that he failed her when he let his own needs show. But it was she who, knowing his selfless courage, his strength and compassion, had failed him by being blind to the possibility that even Andrew had a human weakness.

All her life Andrew had been in the background, an adult while she was still a child, and she had allowed that fact to hide from her the truth about him. Even now she did not understand him. Why had he allowed her to think he did not love her? Why had he let her marry another man?

She sank down upon a stool. Andrew leaned against his bench, watching her.

‘Why did you not marry me yourself?’ she asked simply, bewilderment showing in her voice. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I told you once, my dear. I took a vow, when my mother died, to devote myself to the sick. When I realised how I felt about you I was torn with opposing emotions. It would have made me so happy to marry you. I wanted it more than anything else on earth. But there were so many reasons why I should forget you. You are almost half my age. Your family would have disliked the match. And, lastly,’ he said, looking at her lengthily, his blue eyes burning, ‘lastly, my dear, you would have destroyed my vow. I knew I would have my energies sapped, my plans warped, if I married you.’

‘No,’ she protested. ‘I would have worked with you. ‘

He shook his head. ‘Cornelia, I could not have borne to see you suffering poverty, working among disease and dirt. You are too young, too beautiful, for the sort of life I can offer you. I would have given up my vow.’

‘Oh, no,’ she protested, again.

He smiled wearily. ‘You do not know how much I love you.’

‘Oh, Andrew.’

She leaned towards him, smiling her own love for him.

For a moment his face lit up, he put out a hand to her. Then he withdrew it and said gently, ‘I think, my dear, that you could learn to love your husband, that you have not been unhappy in your marriage. It was not wise to come here today. You must forget me. Never come to me again.’

He came out with her to the door. Nan, sulky faced, put her head out of the coach window and watched them closely.

Andrew looked down at Cornelia, blue eyes remotely tender. ‘My dear, believe me, I am happy that you are to have a child. I shall think of you often, but I want you to promise not to think of me. It is your duty to love your husband.’

‘Who is the best doctor in Covent Garden?’ she asked him evasively. •

‘You must have the best doctor in London,’ he said. ‘I recommend Master Pillon. He is modern, sensible and clever.’

She nodded. ‘I shall remember the name.’

On the other side of the street a man paused at the mouth of an alley leading up from the river, gazing across at the coach, though they did not seem him. His plumed hat nodded in the wind as he stared.

Cornelia held out her hand to Andrew. ‘Goodbye,’ she said abruptly.

He lifted her hand and kissed it lingeringly, while she watched him, a brooding expression on her face.

The watcher on the other side of the road turned and walked back down to Old Swan stairs, his face dark and sombre, kicking at the cobbles as he went.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Cornelia was disappointed when she reached home that evening to find that Rendel had not yet returned. She felt emotionally battered after her meeting with Andrew. Her parents had been pleased to see her, but, absorbed in her secret thoughts, she had been poor company.

Her mood was inconstant. At one moment she felt bitterly ashamed of having gone to Andrew. At another she wished angrily that he had not let her glimpse the pain and need which underlay his calm manner. Then she grew angry with herself for blaming him. He had given her his reasons. She could not fault them.

Or could she?

She paced endlessly around her chamber, the candles flickering as she passed.

Having made his choice, why had Andrew let her discover his love? Too late, too late, she thought bitterly. He had only made her unhappy again.

She felt cheated. She had been given no choice in deciding her future. Andrew had chosen to starve his love for her. Rendel had chosen to marry her for his own hidden reasons. Only she had been left no choice, her feelings over-ridden by everyone, a pawn in a game she did not understand.

Sighing angrily, she waited for Rendel to come home. She craved the excitement of his presence as a drunkard craves the wine which can make him forget his misery.