Free SILK AND SECRETS by Mary Jo Putney Page B

Sara?”
    “Very well. She’s expecting a child early in the summer.”
    “Does she have other children? I suppose she could have half a dozen by now.”
    “Not considering that she’s been married less than two years,” Ross replied. “This is her first.”
    “Didn’t she marry that young man she met when she came out?” Juliet asked with surprise. “They certainly seemed on the way to the altar. I forget his name, but his father was a viscount and his uncle was a cabinet minister.”
    Ross had not forgotten the name, but he never used it. “No, he decided that he didn’t want to marry a woman who might be crippled for life. Since there was no official engagement, it was easy for him to withdraw after Sara’s accident. Not very honorable, but easy.”
    Juliet had been about to sip her wine, but at Ross’s words she set her goblet down on the table, hard. “What accident?”
    “Don’t you know? I assumed that your lawyer communicated news to you, along with the bank drafts.”
    “He is under orders to restrict himself to things like deaths in my immediate family. He never said anything about Sara.” That had been a deliberate choice on Juliet’s part, because she did not want to be weakened by longing for her friends and family. Now, shaken, she realized how much she had missed.
    “Just a few weeks after you left England, Sara had a riding accident. She nearly died, and would never have walked again if she was not so indomitable. Her horse had to be destroyed. It was that pretty gray mare, Gossamer.” Ross’s face hardened. “I’ve sometimes wondered if the accident happened because she was distracted with worry about you and me. I know that she was very upset about what had happened, and it wasn’t like Sara to be careless, particularly when she was riding.”
    Juliet gasped at the implied accusation, wanting to refute it, but she could not, for Ross was right: it was not like Sara to be careless. Juliet swallowed hard. All of the years she had been thinking Sara happy, her friend had been suffering pain, probably despair and loneliness at the loss of the man she loved—and quite likely some of the blame could be laid at Juliet’s door. Every action produced ripples of reaction, and Juliet would never know all of the consequences of her mad flight from England. Her voice tight, she asked, “How is Sara now?”
    Ross’s face eased. “She couldn’t be better. She married a friend of mine and they are quite besotted with each other. Mikahl suits her much better than the vapid young fool who abandoned her.”
    So perhaps the ripples of consequence from Juliet’s actions were not all bad. Or perhaps, she thought with the fatalism she had developed in her years in the East, she had just been a very small link in Sara’s chain of fate. At least Sara was happy now.
    Lost in thought, Juliet did not react quickly enough when she caught a familiar flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye. In one graceful bound a sleek black cat leapt onto the table. The tablecloth skidded under the intruder’s weight so that the cat slid across the surface, ending with both forepaws in the lamb platter and looking as surprised as Ross did.
    Embarrassed, Juliet exclaimed, “Scheherazade!” and scooped the cat up in her arms. “I’m sorry, Ross. When I’m writing, she usually sleeps sprawled here on the table. I suppose she thought I was working and wanted to join me. I don’t think she intended to end up in the platter, for she never interferes when I’m eating Eastern-style.”
    He smiled as he observed Scheherazade’s avid interest in what was on the table. “That may not have been her intention, but she’s willing to be flexible.” Taking a small piece of lamb, he leaned over the table to offer the tidbit to the cat, who accepted eagerly.
    “You’re corrupting her,” Juliet said ruefully as Scheherazade struggled in her arms. “If she starts expecting to be rewarded for disrupting a meal,