—6—

It occurred to Rosamund a day later that she needed to visit Simon and ask where their relationship stood. She understood well that she was part of a huge scandal that, if it ever got out, would ruin her family's name and standing in society. Usually, a gentleman would take responsibility for his actions and propose marriage, but Simon had yet to do this. Rosamund didn't even know if he would. But, if he wouldn't consider himself responsible, she felt she ought to at least spend more time with him. Maybe then he would ask her to marry him, the scandal long forgotten to other gossip.

She was let in without question by the butler. She followed him to the study, when Simon sat writing a letter. He stood up to greet her with a smile, eyes shining in the way she knew they would.

"Rosamund, my darling."

Rosamund looked warily at the present staff, all of whom turned their attention away from the lovers in a show of good manners. If only the Downton staff were like that, she thought to herself. The servants of Downton Abbey enjoyed gossip, a problem for anyone trying to hide a secret. Servant-nobility reliability wasn't a thing. Apparently.

"May we speak in private?" she asked. Simon nodded and dismissed the servants, telling them they could have the day off. If circumstances were different, it would be a very gentlemanly gesture.

Once they'd gone, Simon took Rosamund's hand. He said, "I'm sorry we haven't been able to spend more time with each other. You must know it pains me every moment we're apart." He led her to the loveseat, and then sat beside her, their hands still intertwined. Rosamund leaned against his broad shoulder, and his other arm snaked around her waist to pull her closer.

"Simon," she said, "I want to talk about the other night."

Simon raised an eyebrow and smirked mischievously. "What part do you want to talk about?"

"I want to know how you plan to take responsibility."

Simon's smile faded. He removed his hands and clasped them in his lap. Rosamund waited patiently for his reply, which came in the form of a sigh.

"Rosamund, might I offer you tea? The days have gotten colder this week, I've noticed."

Rosamund nodded and Simon went to fetch said drink himself, since he'd dismissed the servants. She sat still for a few minutes, but then became restless and shifted once, twice, thrice, on the seat, changing positions. Eventually she gave up sitting at all and stood up. She'd never paced before, but the urge to move was great and thus she was walking back and forth in the same stretch over and over, much like her papa did when something troubled him.

She stumbled on her long skirts and caught herself before she hit the floor. Holding onto a side table for support, she righted herself, mentally cursing herself for being so clumsy.

Then she noticed Simon's notebook, a collection of memos and musings her once told her he kept. It was sitting on her support method. She thought she might leave something for him, a surprise he could find later, one she'd left. She'd only ever had her likeness taken once, by a costly photographer on her eighteenth birthday, to celebrate her coming out. Still, she kept the photo with her at all times as her mama had instructed her to. Violet's idea was that, when Rosamund finally found herself a suitable husband, she could gift the photo to him as a token of her love. Rosamund took this advice now, wedging her finger into the notebook to push the thin piece of photo paper inside, but stopped short when she realized there was already something between the opening pages.

Another photo.

She pulled it out slowly, not wanting to believe the ugly truth that faced her. Maybe it was a photo of his mother. Maybe his sister, or his brother.

But, of course, it wasn't. It was a photo of another woman, whom Rosamund thought to be one of the prettiest she'd ever seen. Blonde hair fell in waves past the woman's shoulders. She couldn't be much older than twenty, with eyes of the purest amber and a beautiful complexion. Jealousy was inevitable.

Rosamund turned the photograph over in her hands. Her heart pounded in her chest as she read the inscription on the back:

My darling Simon,

You said the day you proposed that my love would always be enough. But I've had my likeness taken so you may gaze upon me even as you're across the ocean. Know that I am waiting for you.

Your ever-loyal wife,

Daphne

"Sorry it took me so long, the tea-making process was incredibly hard to—"

Rosamund whirled around, the photo of Simon's wife clutched tightly between her thumb and forefinger.

"Who is this?!" she barked. She wanted to slap him. No, she wanted to kick him and scream until her lungs gave out.

Simon stared at his wife's image before raising his eyes to meet Rosamund's. He faltered for words, unsure of how to explain the undeniable fact that he was having an affair.

And Rosamund was the Other Woman.

"My wife," he said finally, quietly, unable to withhold the truth from her when she was standing right before him, seething with rage. "Married two years ago in eastern England, where she is currently."

Simon glanced down at his feet. He seemed genuinely ashamed, so much so that Rosamund actually considered forgiving him.

But only for a moment.

For she, the daughter of an earl, she who had already stooped so low as to sleep with a man she met mere days earlier, was not going to knowingly ruin another woman's relationship.

"I can't believe you!" she screeched, hurling the photograph at him with strength she never knew she possessed. "Seducing me when you have a living, breathing wife who clearly loves you more than anything else! Please tell me you haven't children, because by God, that would be the most appalling betrayal I can think of."

Simon held up his hands in what seemed to be an attempt to calm her. "No, I don't have children. Daphne can't get pregnant."

This information eased Rosamund's guilt, but only a tiny bit. She couldn't believe Simon had a wife. Furthermore, they had only been married two years. A fresh, blooming relationship that Rosamund was ruining. Of all the unfortunate things.

"You have tricked me, lied to me, cheated on an innocent woman—do you really expect I will ever forgive you?"

Simon kept silent as Rosamund brushed past him. She kept her composure all the way home, but as soon as the suite door was safely shut behind her, she sank to the ground and sobbed.

Cora ran out from her bedroom seconds later, as did Susan. They both crouched beside their distraught companion, Susan on Rosamund's right side, Cora on her left. With a sob, Rosamund choked out, "He's married," before succumbing to tears again. Cora smoothed her hair as one might a small child, comforting as ever, while Susan sat stiffly, unsure of what to do. Awkwardly, she patted her cousin on the shoulder. How different the two of them were. Cora, not knowing the full extent of Rosamund's romance, and yet soothing her in a way her own mother failed to do; and Susan, knowing what transpired, and still she watched quietly, not daring to utter a word.

When Rosamund's tears had subsided enough for her to form words, she voiced to them how she'd found the photograph, how she and Lady Daphne Welles had both been forced into a game of affairs. Cora sympathized while Susan used unrepeatable language. When asked if she used words like that around her children, Susan didn't answer.

"And now I don't know what to do," Rosamund concluded, wiping the remains of tears from her eyes.

Susan stood up, finally speaking.

"Well I do. We're returning you and Cora to Downton, where you will say nothing of this to anyone. Cora will resume her care of Mary, while you will try and live your life as you always have. Understood?"

Both women nodded. Susan, satisfied, went to go pack her things.

When they arrived, Rosamund couldn't believe her eyes.

Marmaduke Painswick, the man she'd met in Paris, was standing right before her in her own home.

He looked much the same as when they'd first met. Recognition flashed in his eyes as he saw her.

"You!" Rosamund gasped. Violet, standing a good few feet away from her husband, glanced back and forth between her daughter and the banker's son. Mr. Painswick was there by Patrick's call—apparently, there was a problem with Cora's marriage document. On her wedding day, Patrick had made her bind all her money to the estate, but it seemed there was a legal issue that needed fixing. And who better to fix it than the son of a banker, who happened to have a law degree?

"You know this man, Rosamund?" asked Violet.

"I—" Marmaduke didn't get to finish, because Rosamund cut him off.

"Yes, we've met," she said coolly. She glared at Marmaduke. "I didn't expect to find you here, Mr. Painswick. 'Playing lawyer' are we?"

To his credit, Marmaduke didn't look the least bit shocked. He clasped his hands behind his back and said solemnly, "I am here on business, Lady Rosamund. For Lady Downton, in fact," he added, nodding at Cora.

"Me?" Cora blinked a few times and looked at her father-in-law. He quickly explained.

"Well, I still don't—" Rosamund stopped short and clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Rosamund?" Her father sounded anxious. "Are you all right?"

Rosamund's gaze shot frantically to Susan, who understood at once.

"Give us a minute," she said, running after her cousin as Rosamund raced for the bathroom.