by Turano, Jen
Jane sucked in a sharp breath before edging behind Silas, but before Harriet could dwell on the reason behind that, Victoria materialized out of the crowd and hurried to her father’s side. The young lady didn’t seem bothered at all by the silence in the ballroom but simply took hold of her father’s arm and immediately began trying to tug him out of the room.
“You’re supposed to wait to make a grand entrance, Father, but . . . given that the conversation has turned a little disturbing, I think it might be for the best if you take me back to the hotel.”
“You may wait for me outside this room, Victoria,” the duke said. “I’ll join you directly, but I need some answers before I take my leave, especially since I’ve agreed to enter into a business alliance with Mr. Addleshaw.” He settled his attention on Oliver, quirking a brow.
Harriet started forward, wanting to get to the duke before Oliver got to him and took all the blame. Unfortunately, Oliver seemed to know exactly what she was about, because he wouldn’t allow her to shake out of his hold. He pulled her to his side and began walking slowly in the duke’s direction, speaking to her under his breath as they walked. “We’re in this together, Harriet, so don’t even think you’re going to tell him this was all your idea.”
“The truth will harm you and will certainly see the end of your deal with the duke.”
“Perhaps, but you once told me that you’re not fond of lies. I’m suddenly of the belief that this—” he stopped walking and looked back at Silas and Jane—“is Someone’s way, if you will, of telling us we need to make this right.”
“I’m not saying I don’t agree,” she said as they began walking again, “but you’ll suffer more from what we’ve done than I will, which hardly seems fair.”
“I’m not actually that worried about it,” he said, slowing his steps to a stop when they reached the duke and Victoria, who clearly hadn’t gone to wait for her father in the hallway.
Drawing in a breath, Harriet lifted her head to meet the duke’s gaze, but found him looking not at her face but . . .
“Miss Peabody, where in the world did you get that gown?” he demanded.
Of all the words she’d been expecting to come out of the duke’s mouth, those hadn’t come close. “My . . . ah . . . aunt gave it to me.”
“How did she come by it?”
Confusion, mixed with a hefty dose of alarm, swirled over Harriet. By the distinct edge in the duke’s voice, she knew something was dreadfully amiss, but rather than speculate on what that could be, she decided on the spot that her best, and perhaps only option, was to direct the conversation to the one person who might have some answers. “Excuse me for a moment, Your Grace,” she said.
Sending Oliver what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she withdrew her hand from his arm, she began marching across the eerily silent ballroom, determined to reach her aunt as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, Jane was no longer hiding behind Silas but was winding her way through the crowd, her goal apparently being that of making a hasty escape. Harriet took off after her, breaking into a run when Jane looked over her shoulder and then picked up her skirt and dashed forward. Snagging hold of Jane’s arm right as her aunt reached a door leading to the servant stairs, Harriet pulled her to a stop.
“Since you obviously came to the ball this evening for the purpose of being introduced to society, you should be thrilled beyond measure that I, being your dutiful niece, am now going to fulfill your every dream by introducing you to a real live duke,” Harriet said.
“I’ve changed my mind,” Jane snapped, trying to tug out of Harriet’s hold. When Harriet wouldn’t let go, Jane resorted to kicking her, hard.
Digging her fingers into Jane’s arm, Harriet began hauling her forward. “I’m not letting you slip out of whatever this is, Jane, so you might as well stop struggling. Tell me, before we reach the duke, why is he so interested in my dress?” she asked as Jane tried to kick her again.
“Let go of me, or I swear, you’re going to regret it.”
“I’m fairly sure I don’t have much left to regret, thanks to you and Silas,” Harriet said, pulling her aunt forward another few feet before a lady’s voice suddenly rang out, stopping Harriet in her tracks.
“Good heavens! Is that you, Jane?”
Keeping a hand on Jane’s arm, even though her aunt had stopped struggling, Harriet lifted her head and settled her attention on a beautiful lady who was framed in the doorway leading into the ballroom. She was dressed in an exquisite gown that could have been made by no other designer but Worth, and a tiara nestled in her dark, elaborately styled curls. When the duke moved to join the lady, Harriet realized she was looking at the duchess.
But . . . how in the world did the Duchess of Westmoore know her aunt, and . . . why did the duchess’s face seem so familiar . . . and . . . why was a distinct feeling of queasiness beginning to settle in the pit of her stomach?
The room began to swim out of focus, but then Jane shrugged away from Harriet and walked not for the back door but directly across the ballroom and toward the duchess, spreading out her arms in a gesture of welcome.
“Margaret, my goodness but this is an absolute delight. Why, I haven’t seen you for an age,” Jane gushed in an accent that was distinctly British. “I had no idea you were expected in town.”
Silas suddenly stepped out of the crowd, moved to stand in front of the duchess, bowed and then turned to Jane. “My, my, Miss Peabody, you have been busy over the years, haven’t you, but tell me . . . how are you acquainted with the Duchess of Westmoore? Old friends, are you?”
The duchess lifted her chin. “Forgive me, sir, but did you just call Jane . . . Miss Peabody?”
Silas laughed. “Should I assume that’s not her name?”
Before she could answer him, Oliver took Silas by the arm and hauled him out of the way, leaving Jane standing by herself, facing the duchess.
“When did you change your name from Waldburger to Peabody?” Margaret asked.
Jane let out an honest-to-goodness giggle. “You must remember that I never cared for the name Waldburger, and I always thought Peabody had a certain charm.”
“It was the name of one of my dogs.”
“So it was.” Jane giggled again. “Now then, dear Margaret, while I’d love to catch up with you on everything that’s been happening in your life over the past twenty or so years, I just recalled a most pressing appointment that I simply must keep. I’m afraid my niece and I must take our immediate leave.”
“I wasn’t aware you had a niece, Jane. Since you’re going by the title of Miss, I would have to imagine you never married, and since you’re an only child . . . ?”
“Harriet’s more of an honorary niece,” Jane said in a rush, “and although I’d welcome the chance to introduce the two of you . . . she’s a shy sort and would die of embarrassment to be introduced to a duchess. But again, I do have that pressing engagement, so I really must get on my way.” Jane spun around, trotted across the ballroom floor, snagged hold of Harriet’s arm when she reached her, and proceeded to try to drag Harriet out of the room.
“Have you lost your mind?” Harriet asked, trying to free herself from Jane.
“Stop fighting me,” Jane snapped. “I’m trying to keep both of us from being arrested.”
“Is that young lady wearing my old dress?”
Jane froze, loosened her grip on Harriet, but then shoved Harriet behind her before she faced Margaret once again. “Fine, now you know why I didn’t want you to meet my niece. I nicked your dress before I left England, and Harriet, unfortunately, took tonight of all nights to wear it.”
Harriet tried to step around Jane, but Jane abruptly turned, and the sight of her eyes burning with what looked like insanity froze Harriet on the spot.
“Stay hidden,” Jane hissed before she turned and positioned herself so that Harriet was hidden from the duchess’s view. “I do hope you realize, my dear, dear Margaret, that I only took your dress so that I’d have a littl
e piece of you to remind me of our friendship after we parted ways.”
Standing on tiptoe, Harriet discovered the duchess walking slowly across the room, her beautiful face marred by a frown.
“If memory serves me correctly, Jane, you willingly left your position as my paid companion. Forgive me, but I thought the last time we saw each other, as you said your good-byes, you looked remarkably relieved to be parting ways with me.”
Jane released an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t be silly, Margaret, of course I wasn’t relieved to be parting ways with you. If you must know, your sorrow was enough to break anyone’s heart at that time, and I couldn’t bear to witness you so distraught, which is why I resigned as your paid companion.”
An elbow to her ribs had Harriet dropping from her toes, but then she leaned to the side and managed to catch sight of the duchess again. She was standing stock-still, her head tilted, and she was biting her lip, something Harriet did often when she was trying to figure something out.
“You mentioned your niece’s name is Harriet?”
“Did I?” Jane countered in a voice that had turned shrill.
“Besides having a dog named Peabody, I used to have a dog named Harriet,” Margaret said slowly. “It’s odd that you’d take the last name of Peabody, and have a niece who just happens to have the name of Harriet.”
“A peculiar coincidence to be sure,” Jane said. “But surely you know that’s all it is, Margaret.”
Margaret’s face suddenly paled as she raised a shaking hand to her lips. “What . . . have . . . you done?”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Don’t . . . lie. You were behind the ransom, weren’t you . . . Which means . . . you are not only a thief—you’re a murderer as well. You murdered my daughter, and then . . . your twisted sense of humor had you giving my dogs’ names to your niece—whatever the relation.”
“I’ve never stooped to murder, Margaret, and I can prove that, given that your daughter is standing right behind me.”
A collective gasp rose from the crowd right as Harriet felt the room begin to spin. She feared she was going to faint, but then Jane grabbed her arm and pulled her forward, giving Harriet a clear view of the duchess, who just happened to be . . .
Harriet’s thoughts came to an abrupt end, and the room stopped spinning when Jane let out a burst of maniacal laughter before she released a grunt, dropped her hold on Harriet, and . . . from her reticule pulled a pistol, which she began waving wildly around.
The room fell completely silent once again.
“Fine, so now you know.”
The duchess stared at Harriet for a moment, but then turned back to Jane. “Why?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“Humor me.”
“I despised you, had always despised you. You had everything I ever wanted—loving parents, money, a beautiful estate in the country, and a townhouse in Mayfair. You were the darling of the London season the year you debuted, while I was forced to lurk on the sidelines as your companion. It wasn’t fair. I hated you because you had everything, while I had nothing but a gambler for a father and a weak mother who pushed me out of the house and forced me to accept that companion position with you.”
“I considered you more than my companion, Jane. I considered you my friend.”
Jane stopped waving the pistol. “You were never my friend, Margaret. You had to have known that I wanted Richard for myself, pictured myself a duchess quite often, but then . . . you snagged his attention away from me the moment he caught sight of you, and he never bothered to look my way again.” She gestured with the pistol to the duke, who was inching his way closer to the duchess. “Stop right there, darling, or I swear to you, I’ll shoot your precious duchess and be done with this for good.”
The duke held up his hands and stopped moving. “There’s no need for more violence, Jane. You’ve caused Margaret and myself no end of suffering, but if you’ll lower your weapon, I swear to you that I’ll do my very best to—”
“To protect me from prosecution if I spare Margaret?” Jane finished for him before she turned the pistol directly on Margaret and smiled. “You and Richard underestimated me once, my dear. I suggest you don’t attempt that again.”
“When did you decide to ransom my daughter?” Margaret asked.
Jane pursed her lips. “I do believe, since we’re being honest here, that I came up with my plan right about the time you announced to everyone you were expecting. The happiness surrounding your news made me downright nauseated, as did the adoring looks Richard kept throwing your way. I decided I had to leave because it was unbearable for me to witness your love. I had no love, no happiness, and no hope for a prosperous future, given that gentlemen had no interest in courting me since I was nothing more than your companion.”
She smiled. “Obviously I was going to need money, and a lot of it, so . . . once your daughter was born, I decided holding her for ransom was the only way to get the money I desired.”
“But you never returned her after we paid the ransom . . . and who was that baby girl we buried in the family vault?” Margaret demanded.
Jane waved the pistol around. “Oh, I have no idea who that brat was, but you can console yourself in knowing that you gave a poor little soul—abandoned at the morgue, no less—a fitting burial.” She lifted her chin. “If you must know, after I volunteered to deliver the ransom—a quick bit of thinking on my part since I was delivering the money to myself—I had every intention to return your daughter to you, but . . . then I got to thinking. I’d been made to suffer so much while I was in your employ that I wanted you to suffer as well. What better way could there have been to achieve that than for you to believe your daughter was dead?”
“You’re insane,” Margaret whispered.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to claim I’m mad, more just a lady suffering from unrequited love who decided to get back at her tormentors.” Jane smiled. “I didn’t want to take over the care of Harriet, but I thought it would be poetic justice indeed if I were able to turn your aristocratic daughter into nothing more than a common thief.”
Finally finding her voice, Harriet whispered, “No wonder you were so upset when I refused to go along with your plans.”
“Shut up,” Jane snarled before turning back to wave her gun at Margaret. “So, there you have it, the truth at long last. The only thing that would have given me greater satisfaction would have been to learn you were unable to have other children. Given that the young lady hovering on the edge of the ballroom bears a remarkable resemblance to the duke, well . . . I suppose all of my wishes didn’t come true.”
Margaret drew herself up and took a step forward but stopped when Jane turned the gun on Harriet. “Don’t hurt her, Jane.”
“I don’t really have a choice, do I? Harriet has always been an extreme disappointment to me, always refusing to join in with my confidence schemes. Because of that disappointment, I find myself reluctant to see her happy, or to watch all of you have a joyful reunion.”
The truth began to burrow into Harriet’s head, but before she could truly grasp everything that had been said, the sound of a pistol being cocked drew her attention. Jane was pointing the pistol directly at her, her eyes burning with hatred, and in that moment—likely her last moment on earth—she threw out a prayer to God, asking for forgiveness and—
A hair-raising howl suddenly filled the ballroom, and she watched Buford bound across the room and leap for Jane right as the sound of the gun going off reverberated around the room.
Pain sliced through her, and the sight of what she now knew was her mother’s face flashed in front of her, right before she collapsed to the ground and darkness slid over her.
22
Voices, spoken in a hushed tone, broke through the dark and silent place Harriet found herself in, but for the life of her, she couldn’t seem to open her eyes. Straining to identify the voices, she tried to make sense of the words being spoken.
“What I find amazing about this whole situation is that neither you nor Victoria recognized Harriet straightaway.”
“Honestly, Margaret, it’s not as if that thought would have sprung to mind. Even though now, upon closer inspection, it’s clear Harriet bears a distinct resemblance to you. I, along with everyone else, believed our daughter to be dead.”
“I felt an immediate connection with her, even though it never entered my mind she was my sister.”
“You tried to steal me away from her, Victoria, even though you were told I was her fiancé.”
Harriet felt her lips twitch as the conversation taking place around her drifted through her mind. She tried to open her eyes again, but they wouldn’t cooperate, and then another, more soothing, voice sounded, and she drew in a breath, wanting to hear what Reverend Gilmore had to say.
What if he was there to administer a last prayer?
What if the reason she couldn’t open her eyes was because she was at death’s door?
She didn’t feel as if death was knocking at her door, but then again, she’d never actually been close to death, so perhaps this was normal. How long had it been since the ball and . . . what had happened to her?
Had she been shot?
Had Jane gotten away, or . . .
“I must agree with your husband, Margaret, in regard to not recognizing Harriet straightaway,” Reverend Gilmore was saying, pulling Harriet back to the conversation swirling around her. “When a person is believed to be dead, another person really can’t be expected to be looking for that person, even if that person is sitting right across a table from him at Delmonico’s.”
“Besides, Father didn’t really get to inspect Harriet closely at Delmonico’s, considering she set the place on fire,” Victoria added. “I have come to realize my sister is a very unusual lady—one I’m looking forward to spending a great deal of time with in the future.”
Relief was immediate, because mention of the future certainly sounded more promising than imminent death.
