Two weeks passed, and Neil was still staying with them. He was, as he had promised, civil to Laura, and she did her best, despite his avowal that they would never be friends, to be pleasant to him, but it was awkward between them. Richard seemed to feel it too; he was a little chilly towards Neil, gruff. Laura had hoped that they would make up, now that they were talking in person, but instead, they seemed to be settling into a cool, polite state of affairs.

Laura despaired what might come of it if she did have a baby. That was seeming more of a probability every day now. She was sick every morning, sometimes more than bile, which meant that at night she would slip out of Richard's bed and back to her own to hide it from him. And despite the sickness, she was gaining weight. But still she didn't dare tell Richard what she suspected — there was a chance yet that she was wrong.

One morning towards the end of May, when Laura was lying in bed waiting for the nausea to pass, her maid came up to tell her she had a visitor. As Laura read the name on the card, a feeling of trepidation sank over her.

Jonathan Percival.

"Tell him I'll be down in fifteen minutes," she said.

She spent that fifteen minutes rubbing rouge on her cheeks to hide her pallor and breathing slowly to try and settle her stomach. When she came down to the drawing room, it was empty but for him — thank God that Neil wasn't here today.

He stood up and held out his hand limply towards her. She shook it.

"How pleasant to see you again," she said, with some of Neil's polite civility. "How are you?"

"Not very well." Percival hovered by the fireplace wringing his hands. "How are you? You look very well."

She didn't feel it, but she took the compliment with a nod. "Thank you."

For a moment, there was silence in the room. Percival seemed to be trying to persuade himself to speak; his mouth opened several times before shutting again. At last, Laura could bear it no longer and spoke herself:

"If you've come here to ask for my help, Mr Percival, I think it's beyond that now — I tried before but—"

"I know." He went red. "Perhaps I should have listened. But that's not why I came here."

Then why had he come? Laura felt suddenly uneasy.

"I'm just not cut out for this — this town life, this business," Percival said, running his hand through his hair. "I never should have tried it. I always had this dream of living quietly in a small cottage in the country, with a bit of land... and a family."

Laura's unease became definite anxiety.

"Then you should have sold out when you inherited the factories," she said, knowing it was cruel. "Then you could have had all that. It would have been more than enough to get a small estate, and with what was leftover you could have padded your losses."

Hurt flashed across his face. He turned away from her to stare down into the empty grate of the fireplace. Laura watched his back, wondering if she was in danger or not — not that Percival could ever mean any harm, but very often weak people didn't.

"I'm thinking of going to the colonies," he said after a while, in a quiet voice. "My cousin has a sheep farm in New South Wales."

"Can you do that?" Laura asked. "I mean, aren't your investors — and your debts — going to want you to stay?"

"If I can get on a ship, I can do it. And it's not like I can pay them back if I stay here. I'm ruined either way."

Laura's anxiety subsided. If Percival went to Australia, she would never see him again. Perhaps he'd find what he wanted amongst the sheep. She smiled to herself at the thought of Percival marrying a shepherdess — well, he probably had more chance of happiness in that than anything else.

"Then can you get on a ship?" she asked in a slightly more encouraging tone.

"There's a packet setting sail tonight. I know the captain. He'll do me a favour."

"Then you're leaving." Laura felt a weight lift off her. "You came to say goodbye."

"No." He turned to look her in the eyes, and she saw beads of sweat on his brow. "I came to ask you to come with me."

There was the briefest of silences.

"No," Laura said flatly. "Percival, no."

"Laura." He took a step closer then stopped. "Laura you know I always loved you — always. There is no man on earth who will ever love you like I do."

"There is my husband."

Percival bit his lip. "My lady, I swear I love you more than he ever will. For years, I have adored you."

Laura took a step back, speechless with surprise, anger, and sudden terror — if a servant heard — if Richard found out. Her heart was suddenly acid with fear.

"I watched you from afar when you were with Maidstone," Percival continued. "I didn't think you knew until—"

"—I knew," Laura interrupted, sense coming back to her. She had to keep him from talking. She had to get him to go away. "Of course I knew, all along."

"Then come with me."

"No."

Percival shook his head, as though arguing with himself. "But—"

He broke off and looked around the drawing room, recently redecorated and repainted under Laura's direction. It was no longer the shabby and neglected house it had been in Richard's bachelor days. It was now elegant, comfortable, and in the height of fashion. Sunlight streamed through the grand windows, glowing off marble, gilt, and polished walnut.

"I can see why you'd want to stay here," Percival said with a sigh. "He's very rich. I daresay your curtains cost more than most families spend in a year. And this carpet is Turkish silk, isn't it?"

"No. It's English-made," Laura said. "And wool. What's the point of putting silk where it'll be trod on?"

Percival blinked. "Well. Still. You've got all this — I can see why you wouldn't want to leave. But I love you. More than he does — and I can believe he does, but not like me. I'll make you happy. I'll do everything I can to make you happy."

"Happy?" Laura looked scornfully at him. "Do you even realize what you're asking? You're asking me to leave my husband, because of your ill-conceived and unreturned passion. You're asking me to face a world of judgement and scorn because you think you love me. You're asking me to run away with you to a sheep-farm on the other side of the world, to live in your cousin's smallest bedroom, with no money, no marriage, and a hundred angry creditors behind us. How on earth would that make any woman happy?"

But Percival had nothing left to lose, except hope. He could not be so easily dissuaded.

"I love you," he repeated, coming closer. "Love will make everything alright."

He grabbed her before she could stop him, his hands hard on her waist, his breath hot against her cheeks. She shoved him away, so hard he stumbled and almost fell into a couch.

"Don't touch me!" she snapped, wiping her mouth, suddenly close to tears. "What does loving me make a difference? I don't love you."

"You did once." He got to his feet again, rubbing at his wrist as though he'd hurt it. "You loved me once."

Again there was silence. Laura blinked back her tears and stopped half-way to the bell to ring for the footman.

"You made love with me once," Percival said, almost accusingly. "What did that mean?"

A feeling of dread sank over Laura. Two years — Two years and six months. That's how long it had taken Percival to speak of it.

"It was a mistake," she said, in almost a whisper. "You know it was a mistake. You told me so yourself."

"It was the best mistake I ever made."

Laura felt sick. This time, it wasn't because of the baby. And suddenly she was absolutely sure there was a baby — her earlier doubts seemed ridiculous. She had known, and not dared believe. And with a baby on the way, she couldn't have a man like Percival hanging around, in love with her, reminding everyone of the old rumours from when she was married to Maidstone. Perhaps even trying to prove them true.

"I used you," she said, in a low, tight voice. "I used you to get back at Maidstone, because I knew you were in love with me and would do whatever I wanted. And you know what, Percival? I needn't have bothered. Maidstone died before I could even tell him what we'd done. I was going to tell him. You begged me to keep it secret but I planned to tell him. That's how little I cared for you. What do you think he would have done to you, hm? He needn't have beat you like he did me. He'd just have called in your debts to him. Ruined you even earlier than your own stupidity and incompetence did."

His face drained of colour as she spoke. The remarkable thing was that everything she said was true. She'd pitied him, lied to him, and used him. She hated herself for it, and hated him even more for what he was making her do now.

"Australia?" she said, her voice high and shrill. "Go there. Don't come back."

He took a half-step towards her. His hands reached out. Then they faltered, trembled, flopped back to his side. He turned and left the room.

Laura listened to his footsteps going down the stairs, dizzy with emotion. As she heard the front door shut, an impulse made her rush to the next room, looking over the front of the house, to watch him leave.

She stopped in the doorway. Neil was sitting at a table by the window writing a letter. Her heart froze.

He looked up, his face expressionless, then turned back down to his letter.

Had he heard? He must have heard. But he said nothing, seemed completely unperturbed.

"Do you need something?" he asked, looking up again.

Laura realized she was still standing in the doorway with her hand on the knob.

"I was thinking of redecorating in here too," she said. "Do you think — burgundy walls?"

Neil looked around the room then shrugged. "I think it's fine as it is."

He couldn't have heard. Neil would never have heard what had passed and said nothing. Laura's heart slowed.

"But perhaps it would be too dark," she said. "I'll think about it more."

She turned to leave. Upstairs in her bedroom she lay down again to let her heart slow and the anxiety pass. Her hand crept to her belly and stayed there. She would tell Richard tonight. She would tell him as soon as he came home.

At the thought, joy bloomed over her, and all thoughts of Percival faded from her mind.