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‘Matthew —’

‘I don’t care about how Matthew feels about you. I just don’t. I doubt very much he’d risk exposing me as immoral, given what I can accuse him of.’

‘Just be careful. This is dangerous knowledge and in the wrong company it could hurt both of you badly. I saw in the army how bigoted people can be. Truly, Alex, be very careful . . . it can be prison for Feeney and Matthew – worse, even – if caught out by the more hysterical margin in society.’

‘I hear you, Harry. So you’ll stay?’

He gave a lopsided half smile that was sad rather than amused. ‘Yes.’

She stood. ‘Thank you. I’ll reach you at your accommodations.’

‘Let me walk you home.’

‘No. I need to think this through and it’s best I’m not seen again with you this evening.’

At the station concourse they reluctantly parted company, with Harry politely lifting his hat before pecking her cheek like an old friend. She realised she’d not told him about Kitty, but maybe that was for the best now. Alex watched him turn to make his way back up onto the Lendal Bridge, not realising as she walked in the opposite direction that their lives were about to become more dramatically entwined and complicated.

23

Alex arrived back at her home having used the walk to ride out the full shock of Harry’s revelation; she hid behind a façade of calm as Norma welcomed her back but now in the quiet of her bedroom her composure crumpled and fell away as she let the emotion of the day spill. Remembering the heights of her lovemaking with Harry and the depths of her disappointment at having their few remaining hours snatched away by Matthew . . . and now this . . . this new crisis deepened the drama of her life.

She would now have to be complicit in Matthew’s lies, to protect him from the law as much as herself and her family’s name from his indiscretions. If she were thinking clearly right now, she would admit that Matthew had surely been discreet these last few years. She had not so much as suspected such dark subterfuge, but at the back of her distraught mind she also knew that it would only take one person to discover his secret for the walls to be torn away. It could be anyone – someone Matthew had wronged, someone she had forgotten to invite to a gathering, someone who was simply jealous of their wealth or standing. If any person with any sort of grievance, real or imagined, got a whiff of Matthew’s leanings, all their lives would be in tatters.

Alex wept at the thought of Matthew being handcuffed and led away. She imagined how Minerva would never recover; she’d take to her room ill, believing herself unable to be seen out again in fine company for fear of the whispered sneers behind hands. Her poor father, meanwhile, would spend more and more time away from them, feeding the ducks and wondering what he had done to deserve so much grief in his life.

Through the tears came the acceptance that Harry was right. If in just a couple of days in York he could work out the relationship between Matthew and Feeney, then it was plausible that other people they knew well could stumble onto the truth also. It would be out of their control then; nothing would stop that revelation moving through society with the speed of fire touching kindling. Alex could not permit that to occur.

Her tears subsided while she sat on the edge of her bed. She stood at last, moved to the window to look down upon the front garden and the large, wondrous yew tree. She palmed away the last of her tears. She would cry no more and she would take control. And with that resolve came the enlightenment she needed. It was up to her alone to solve the dilemma; she needed to show the strength to shore up all defences around her marriage if she was to have any chance of them all surviving this potential catastrophe.

First she would confront Matthew with what she’d learned, force him to admit his homosexuality so that they were moving forwards together and based only on truth. Then, she would demand that Feeney depart York immediately. She would personally see to it that he leave the county and go either north or far south. She didn’t care which, but he had to be well away from Matthew’s easy reach and from now on she would be more engaged in the whereabouts of Matthew’s meetings and travel plans.

‘If I have to give up the man I love, then you must do the same, Matthew,’ she murmured to the window, rehearsing the only line that made sense to her at this time.

And then she and Matthew would take a holiday. Her plans for the chocolate salon would be put on hold, his business interests would wait while they spent some months somewhere warm and healing, rediscovering their friendship and all the points at which they could find comfort in each other. It was the only way. They had to save the marriage in order to save Matthew and thus both their families.

Duty. She shook her head, hating that she couldn’t just leave Matthew to his mess and rush into the arms of Harry, stop him marrying Bethany, and escape to a place that was remote enough where they couldn’t be found easily. Stop daydreaming, Alex! She heard her mother’s disapproving voice. The voice was right; happy ever after with Harry was nothing more than a fairytale. She had a crisis to solve.

Alex startled at the sound of a slamming door downstairs; she heard the housekeeper’s voice above the din of men’s and recognised Matthew’s before they became muffled. They must be in the library, she figured, she could still hear them: angry, raised voices. Her mouth opened in shock as she was sure that was the placating sound of her father’s voice over the top of others.

Alex wasted no more time wondering, striding to her door, pulling it open and dashing down the hallway to skip down the flights of stairs. She paused for just a heartbeat to glance at the painting that Harry had admired and then she hurried on into the reception hall, where she found the housekeeper looking frightened and uncertain.

‘Who is here, Norma?’

The poor woman seemed unable to answer.

‘Go to the parlour and make some coffee. I’ll take care of this. Do it now, please.’

The housekeeper, normally never short of words, fled.

Alex didn’t knock – her house, after all – and instead opened the door and strode in to see Matthew squaring off against his father while her own father stood against the bookshelves in obvious discomfort.

‘Be quiet, all of you!’ Alex demanded. ‘You can be heard in the street!’ The two Britten-Jones men regarded her with varying degrees of apoplexy but her father showed only relief at seeing her. All were instantly silent. ‘What is going on here? Matthew?’

‘Don’t play innocent. This is surely all your doing.’

‘My . . .’ she began but trailed off with horror.

‘This is nothing to do with Alexandra,’ Chetwin snarled. ‘This is all your work, Matthew. You’re a disgrace. A half man. No wonder the army disregarded you. I should have thrown you at those doctors years ago.’ He looked at the Frobishers. ‘There are cures for this . . . this . . . madness he possesses: drugs, surgery, rehabilitation.’ His gaze flicked angrily back to his son. ‘I no longer care what they do so long as it’s wrenched from your body and you are returned a normal man to us.’