The parade of callers began just after one o’clock in the afternoon. Scarlett received them in the parlor, already dressed for mourning in a deep purple muslin gown – the darkest color she had on hand – with a black crepe overlay. As she would be expected to wear black for the next six months she’d already sent half of her dresses away to be dyed along with a handful of shawls, ribbons, and two of her least favorite pelisses.

Her hair was completely hidden beneath an ebony bonnet with a short lace veil that covered the upper half of her face. Those present assumed she was wearing it to hide her tears, when in fact she was doing the exact opposite.

Scarlett felt sad Rodger had died. But she would not shed any more tears over him, nor would she allow herself to romanticize their marriage. She hadn’t loved Rodger any more than he had loved her, which was to say not at all. But she would still honor his memory if only for the sake of his family who had always held him in a higher regard than he deserved.

He had left behind his mother, whose husband had died three years past, and two sisters, neither of which had ever married. Clustered together in the middle of the parlor they were alternating between hysterically crying and loudly lamenting the loss of their dear, beloved ‘Rodgie’. To preserve her sanity Scarlett had offered her condolences and then retreated to the furthest corner of the room. She would have escaped all together, but with Rodger’s body set up for viewing in the drawing room there was nowhere else for her to go without arousing suspicion. So she stood by herself sipping a cup of tea and occasionally dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a black handkerchief; the perfect image of a bereaved widow mourning her husband’s untimely death.

For the next three days close friends and family would be allowed to come and pay their respects before Rodger was laid to rest. Then they would be allowed to get on with their lives whereas Scarlett would be expected to remain in mourning for the next year, if not longer. Her lips thinned. There would be balls, no parties, no plays. She would be expected to remain inside grieving for a man she’d never liked very much, let alone loved. Yet another penance to be paid for following her head instead of her heart.

She glanced up when the Dowager Lady Sherwood released a particularly loud warble. Rodger’s mother had always been a bit prone to dramatic airs. To be honest Scarlett was rather surprised she hadn’t swooned yet. In preparation for the inevitable collapse she had already armed the maids with smelling salts and had them place extra pillows on the sofa. Short of beginning a countdown there was little else to do but wait.

As her gaze left her mother-in-law and flitted around the room she couldn’t help but wonder how many of the women present had shared her husband’s bed. As Rodger’s conquests had been quite numerous she imagined it was more than a few, but what did it matter anymore? Rodger was gone. He could not hurt her anymore. And she… she was finally free.

Scarlett’s ribcage expanded as she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

Free.

She had gone to bed a wife and woken a widow. It had happened so quickly it was still hard to believe that Rodger was gone. Then there was the way he had died…

In an effort to avoid speculation and embarrassment she’d simply told everyone that an unfortunate riding accident had claimed his life. As such things were rare, but not unheard of, no one had questioned her. It certainly sounded better than the truth: that he’d gotten drunk and fallen off his horse on the way home from seeing his mistress.

And not just any mistress.

An actress.

Scarlett couldn’t help but wonder if Rodger’s mother would still be crying if she knew that little morsel of information. It was one thing to have an affair; quite another to have an affair with someone from London’s fast set.

“Would you care for some fresh tea, my lady?”

Scarlett was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she startled when a maid approached with a sterling silver kettle and a miniature pitcher of milk. Mustering a belated smile she nodded and held her cup steady while it was poured.

“But no milk, please,” she added when the maid began to tilt the pitcher. Pursing her lips, she blew away the steam rising from the cup and took one small sip before her attention was suddenly diverted by a very unexpected – and unwanted – guest.

Standing frozen in the doorway much as she had three nights ago, Felicity’s gaze darted around the crowded parlor before landing on Scarlett.

Of all the nerve… how dare Felicity show her face here! If she thought Rodger’s death had changed anything between them, she was sorely mistaken. Setting her cup of tea down on the windowsill, Scarlett marched across the room and cornered Felicity by the mahogany sideboard where refreshments had been set out on a long lace tablecloth.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded furiously, gloved fingertips digging into her elbows as she hugged her arms tightly against her chest. She had done her best to prepare for Rodger’s family – no small feat given how much of a pain in the arse they were – but she’d never thought to prepare for this. It should have gone without question that Felicity knew she wasn’t welcome. There were some things a woman of polite society simply did not do, and attending the funeral of her lover – who just so happened to be the husband of her dearest friend – was one of them.

“I came to pay my respects,” Felicity said quietly. Like the rest of the women in the room she was dressed in all black from the top of her bonnet to the tips of her leather boots, the toes of which were stained ever-so-slightly with mud. Her cheeks were pale and withdrawn, dark eyebrows standing out in stark contrast against her ashen countenance.

“To Rodger? Please. You have not seen him in years.” Scarlett’s eyes narrowed as a sudden thought twisted her stomach. “Or have you?”

“Do not be absurd.” Felicity’s chin lifted a notch. “I came to pay my respects to you, Scarlett.”

It was to Scarlett’s credit that she did not stumble back and knock over a platter of miniature cucumber sandwiches. “You want to pay your respects to me? What the devil for?”

“That’s right. It never was a love match, was it?” Her mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “In that case may I offer my congratulations?”

“What are you doing here?” Scarlett repeated through gritted teeth. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder to see if anyone was looking their way, but the Dowager Lady Sherwood’s incessant caterwauling was providing an excellent distraction. The woman must have had enough air in her lungs to fill a hot-air balloon. “You must have known you would not be welcomed with open arms.”

“I assumed as much, but I decided to come anyways.”

“To give me your condolences,” she said dubiously.

“Yes,” Felicity nodded. “And to see if you were finally ready to hear the truth.”

“The truth about what?”

“Rodger and I.”

What was it about the past that suddenly made it so damn eager to be in the present? First Owen, now Felicity. For the better part of a decade Scarlett had not spoken to or seen either one of them and in the span of two days they’d both showed up on her doorstep. If she didn’t know any better she would assume they were conspiring against her. Conspiring to do what she wasn’t exactly certain, but she knew it couldn’t be anything good.

“I know the truth, Felicity. I saw it with my own eyes.” She arched brow. “If you are looking for your long lost stocking might I suggest the middle drawer of Rodger’s armoire? I believe he has quite a few in there.”

“Stop it,” Felicity hissed.

Her second brow lifted to join the first. “Stop what?”

“Pretending as if our friendship means nothing to you.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Yes it does or you wouldn’t still be hurting after all these years. As I said before you can fool everyone else, but not me. I know how miserable you have been. It is written all over your face.”

Scarlett’s hands immediately rose to her cheeks. What was that supposed to mean? Did she have blotches? Because Lady Elmwood had blotches and they were really quite hideous.

“It is not,” she said defensively even as she tugged her veil a little bit lower, just to be safe.

“It is if you know what to look for.”

“I think you need to leave. Now.”

“No.” Felicity’s violet eyes took on a gleam of determination. “Not until I finally say what I should have said all those years ago on the staircase.”

“I am not interested in hearing anything you have to say.”

“Yes you are, you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Well she was right about that. Scarlett was too stubborn, but she also did not want Felicity to tell her something that would change the way she’d thought about her all these years. It was easy to hate someone. All you had to do was heap all of the blame upon their shoulders instead of your own. It was far more difficult to consider there were two sides to every story. Particularly when it was a story you did not want to hear.

“This is not the time or the place.” She looked deliberately around the crowded parlor. “I am a grieving widow, after all.”

Felicity released an uncharacteristic snort. “Please. You are not grieving over him any more than I am.” Lowering her voice she a harsh whisper she said, “Rodger was a bastard who deserved what he got.”

Scarlett’s eyes widened in surprise. While she agreed with Felicity’s sentiment, she’d never heard her use such a venomous tone before. Maybe it would be worth finding out what Felicity had to say even though she had an uneasy feeling she wasn’t going to like what she heard.

“We can go in the library. No one should bother us there. Follow me,” she said curtly.

No one tried to stop them as they navigated their way out of the parlor and down the hall. True to form Rodger’s mother had begun to sway on her feet and no one even seemed to notice Scarlett and Felicity were leaving, let alone the fact that they were leaving together.

All of the curtains in the library were closed and the fireplace lay dormant in an effort to discourage anyone from inadvertently wandering in. While it was one thing for Scarlett to open up her house to friends and family, it was quite another to allow them access to her private sanctuary. The library was, as it had always been, for her pleasure and her pleasure alone.

Although as she went from one window to the next, sweeping open the curtains and allowing a wash of weak sunlight to trickle over the bookshelves and leather furniture, she couldn’t help but hear the echo of the last words Rodger had ever spoken to her. They were trapped here, forever imprinted on the walls and the books and the black soot staining the fireplace. 

 A man cannot be faulted for his natural urges. If you do not meet them, then you force me to find someone who will.

Was it irony that he’d done exactly that and died for his trouble?

Or poetic justice?

Perhaps a little bit of both, she decided as she sat down on a sofa with gold tassel trim and motioned for Felicity to sit across from her in a matching chair.

“I believe I will remain standing, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” Making herself comfortable, Scarlett leaned back amidst the cushions and propped her feet up on a small table cluttered with a hodgepodge of her most cherished books. All of the bindings were creased and the pages worn thin from having been read so many times. The three volumes of Sense and Sensibility were by far the most threadbare. She’d read them more times than she cared to count and every time she grew more frustrated with Marianne Dashwood.

Why couldn’t Marianne see what a rake and ne’er-do-well John Willoughby was? It was clear from the very beginning that Colonel Brandon was hopelessly in love with her, yet she spurned his affections in favor of a man who was only using her for his own means! If Scarlett could have reached through the pages and given Marianne a firm shake she would have. But of course that would have meant giving herself a firm shake, for weren’t she and Marianne one and the same? Both silly, foolish women who hadn’t seen what was best for them even when it had been right in front of their faces.

“Well?” she asked pointedly when Felicity remained wrapped in a silence so tense it vibrated the air like a harp string that had been too tightly wound. “What were you so eager to tell me that it couldn’t wait a single second longer?”

“I – I do not know where to begin.”

“I always find it best to start at the beginning.” Her mouth thinned. “Or in this case, when you began sleeping with my husband. Tell me, was it something you planned? Or did it just happen? I have always wondered. Of all people I know how charming Rodger can be. Not that that excuses what you did.” Suddenly she was on her feet, hands curled into fists at her sides as all of the hurt came bubbling violently to the surface. Raising her voice to a near shout she cried, “How could you? How could you do it, Felicity? You were my dearest friend!”

“And you were mine!” Felicity shot back. She stopped and whirled to face Scarlett, her amethyst eyes glittering with tears. “We were more than friends, we were sisters. How could you think your sister would do something so deplorable?”

“I never thought you would.” When Scarlett felt the familiar burn of tears in her own eyes she blinked them furiously away. “But I was there. I saw you coming down the staircase. You were–”

“Taken against my will.”

The words, so softly uttered, stole the breath from Scarlett’s lungs. Her legs quite simply stopped worked and she collapsed back onto the sofa as all of the blood drained from her face.

“What did you say?” she whispered hoarsely.

Felicity’s bottom lip trembled. “That morning you saw us together. Rodger… he… he forced himself upon me.”

“I do not understand.” Bile rose in Scarlett’s throat, making it difficult to speak. She wanted to accuse Felicity of lying, but the truth was right there for her to see in the bright sheen of Felicity’s eyes and the stark whiteness of her cheeks.

“He was always a bit too forward with me even before you were married. He would – well, you know how he was.”

Yes, Scarlett knew how Rodger had been.

But she’d never imagined…

No.

That wasn’t completely true.

She never let herself imagine. But hadn’t she suspected? Or, if not suspected, then surely she had at least wondered. But Felicity had never said anything, and it had been easier to hate her than to consider the horrific possibility that Rodger had forced her into an affair against her will.

“I am so sorry.” Her limbs felt as though they weighed twenty stone as she stumbled around the edge of the table. Felicity met her halfway and for the first time in far too long the two women embraced.

Scarlett let her tears fall freely down her cheeks for she was no longer crying for herself, but for Felicity. For the pain she had endured and for the secret she had kept. A secret that had been allowed to fester for far too long.

Only when Felicity’s shoulder was thoroughly drenched did Scarlett finally pull back and force herself to look her friend in the eye. “Why did you not say anything after it happened?” 

“How could I?” Felicity’s narrow shoulders rose and fell in a miserable shrug. “You were only just married. Even if I told you the truth there was nothing you could have done.”

Scarlett gripped Felicity’s hands and squeezed. “I could have stood by you. I would have stood by you.”

“To what end?” She gave a small, sad shake of her head. “You would have still been trapped in a marriage to a man you despised. Better you think the worst of me instead of your husband. I wanted you to have a chance at a happy marriage, not ruin it from the very beginning.”

Bollocks on that, Scarlett thought silently.

“I already despised Rodger.”

“But not like you do now.”

“No.” Her eyes flashed a dark, stormy gray. “Not like I do now.”

It was a pity someone could only die once. Were it up to Scarlett she would have seen to it that Rodger died a thousand painful, fiery deaths. Falling off his horse and breaking his neck had been too easy of an ending for the bastard. 

“When I saw you on the staircase was that the first time…”

“Yes,” Felicity said quickly. “It – it only happened once. I shouldn’t have come calling so early, but I was hoping to surprise you. Except you were not at home.”

The corners of Scarlett’s mouth tightened. “But Rodger was.”

Felicity managed to nod. “It happened so quickly,” she whispered and when her gaze dimmed Scarlett knew she was no longer in the library but another room and another time entirely. “I – I told him to stop. At least I think I did. It’s all a horrible blur.” 

With every tear that spilled from Felicity’s dark lashes Scarlett’s guilt intensified. She should have known all along Rodger was the one to blame. It filled her with shame that she’d chosen to believe an easy lie instead of seeking the painful truth. And the way she had treated Felicity all of these years…

“You do not need to say another word,” she said firmly. Taking Felicity by the hand and leading her over to the sofa as one would a child, she pushed her gently onto one of the thick cushions and sat down beside her. “In fact, you need never speak of it again if you do not want to.”

“But I cannot escape it,” Felicity said on a muffled sob that tore at Scarlett’s heart. “I will never be able to escape it.”

“Rodger is dead now.” Not knowing what else to do, she tentatively brought her hand to Felicity’s spine and began to rub her trembling back in large, soothing circles. “He cannot hurt you anymore.”

Felicity buried her face in her hands. “Ezra wants a divorce. He – he has fallen in love with someone else.”

Scarlett’s hand stilled.

Men.

Why could they never be satisfied with what they had? Felicity was beautiful, loving, and kind. Ezra was lucky she had even glanced in his direction, let alone agreed to marry him. He should have been counting his blessings and instead he was busy flipping up the skirts of another woman.

To hell with the lot of them, she thought in silent disgust. She wanted to say as much out loud but it only took one glance at Felicity’s ashen countenance to know they were not words her friend was ready to hear. At least not yet.

“I am sure it is just a passing fancy,” she said instead. “Give him a few weeks and he shall realize the error of his ways. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The man is mad with love.”

“You mean the way he looked at me,” Felicity said bitterly. “Before he met her. He left me and the children two days ago. He has already brought divorce proceedings before a bishop. It will only be a matter of time.”

“On what grounds?” Scarlett demanded.

“Adultery.”

“Adultery? Have you ever–”

Felicity’s cheeks flushed. “No. Aside from Ezra, Rodger is the only other man I have ever...well, you know.”

“But that was seven years ago!” Scarlett said, her voice ripe with indignation. “And it wasn’t your fault! Surely it does not count.”

“It does if it resulted in a child,” Felicity whispered.

Scarlett’s breath caught. “Do you mean little Henry–”

“I don’t know.” Her hands dropped away from her face and buried themselves within the folds of her skirt. “But I suspect… I suspect it may be possible. The dates work and Henry has blond hair. No one in my family does, nor in Ezra’s. Oh Scarlett.” Tears ran down her cheeks in rivulets as she tilted her head back and stared blindly up at the ceiling. “What am I going to do?”