A Secret Affair

“You were needed,” he said. “You were needed, Elliott. You are always needed.”

And then he embarrassed himself horribly by sobbing, his forehead against Elliott’s shoulder.

He felt Elliott’s free hand against the back of his head.

“Devil take it,” Constantine said, taking a step back and swiping the back of his hand across his wet face. “Devil take it.”

Elliott pressed a white linen handkerchief into his hand.

“Love is allowed, Con,” he said.

Stephen was blowing his nose into his own handkerchief.

The king’s messenger was clearing his throat.

“I was commanded to hand this to you next, sir,” he said and handed Constantine the second scroll.

Constantine stared up at the rider as he took it. But the man was a messenger, not the message.

What more was there for the king to say? Ha, ha, I did not mean it—Jess Barnes dies after all?

Constantine broke the seal and unrolled the parchment and read.

And then read it again.

And then chuckled. And then laughed aloud as he handed it to Elliott. Elliott read it—twice—and then handed it off to Stephen before looking at Constantine and laughing with him.

“I say,” Stephen said after a few moments. “Oh, I say.”

And all three of them were laughing while everyone else looked on, wondering what the joke was.

“WHAT IS IT about time, Babs?” Ha

Barbara worked at her embroidery.

“There is no such thing as time,” she said. “There is only our reaction to the inexorable progress of life.”

Ha

“If I pretended to enjoy not knowing what is happening, then,” she said, “I would have news of it in a flash, Babs? Could the answer be that simple? Please say yes.”

Barbara looked up and smiled.

“I am afraid not,” she said. “Because the illusion of time creates time itself. Our reactions are too strong to halt it altogether. We are lamentably human. And wonderfully human too.”

“You did not learn all this from your vicar, by any chance, did you?” Ha

“From discussions with him, yes,” Barbara admitted. “And from my private reflections and some reading that Simon suggested.”

“If I ca

Barbara merely laughed and lowered her head to her work again.

“The king promised to help, Ha

“But the king’s memory is notoriously unreliable,” Ha

“You must trust him,” Barbara said. “And the Duke of Moreland and the Earl of Merton. And Mr. Huxtable himself.”

Ha

“It is so hard to trust anyone but oneself,” she said.

“You have done all you can,” Barbara said. “More than all.”

Ha

Sometimes Barbara could be a severe a

“You were supposed to go home as soon as we returned from Kent,” she said. “You were longing to go home even though you were too polite to say so. And yet here you sit, quietly patient, Babs. I would be raging if it were me.”

“No, you would not.” Barbara looked up at her once more. “You are a far better person than you would have others believe, Ha

Ha

“You love your vicar,” she said. “You should be with him, Babs.”

“I will be,” Barbara said. “We will be married for the rest of our lives after August. When I hear from him, I am as sure as I can be that he will tell me I have done the right thing in staying with you. I thought I would hear today. There will surely be a letter tomorrow.”

She returned to work, and Ha

And then she held her breath, and Barbara sat with her needle suspended above her cloth.

From a distance below them they had both heard the knocker being rapped against the street door.

“Visitors,” Ha

But she listened for the sound of footsteps outside the door, and when it came, she tensed and pressed the pillow against herself as though she must guard it with her life.

“A gentleman for Miss Leavensworth, Your Grace,” her butler said when he opened the door.

“Tell him—For Barbara?” Ha

“A Reverend Newcombe, Your Grace,” he said, glancing at Barbara. “Shall I inform him that you are from home?”

“Simon?” Barbara spoke softly. Her needle was still suspended above her work. Suddenly, Ha

“Show him up here, if you please,” Ha

She never entertained visitors in her private parlor.

She swung her legs to the floor as the butler withdrew, and cast aside the cushion. Her first instinct was to hurry from the room, to leave the field clear for the reunion of the lovers. But she could not resist seeing it for herself and meeting Barbara’s betrothed.

Barbara was calmly and methodically putting away her embroidery and then checking to see that her hair was tidy and that no crumbs of her tea remained on her dress. She looked up at Ha

“This is why there was no letter from him today,” she said. “He has come in person.”

She was still radiating beauty. Her eyes were huge and luminous.

It was the look of love, Ha

The door opened again after a token tap.

“The Reverend Newcombe for Miss Leavensworth,” the butler said.

And in stepped the most ordinary young gentleman Ha

She was beaming back at him.

Goodness, Ha