“Mrs. Schmidt, Maya’s eye is loose again.” He handed the nurse the shoddy doll. “Please sew it on tighter. I’m afraid Sarah might choke on it if it were to come lose.”
Mrs. Schmidt tsked and tutted.
“Of course, sir. I do wish the little mite would take to one of the other dolls you’ve given her. I’m afraid Maya hasn’t many days left in her, and then what will we do?”
“A pox on you for suggesting such an unthinkable thing.” His wink belied his words. On a more serious note he added, “Let’s hope she doesn’t need Maya as much when the time comes.”
With a hearty sigh, Mrs. Schmidt sank heavily into an armchair, then examined Maya’s frayed seams.
Griffin extended his elbow to Everleigh. “We’d best get ourselves to dinner, Mrs. Chatterton. I wouldn’t want to incur the new Duchess of Sutcliffe’s wrath for being overly tardy.”
After the slightest hesitation, she touched her fingertips to his forearm, and another tremor of awareness coursed through him.
“Theadosia doesn’t get angry about things like that. She’s one of the kindest people I know. She won’t mind that we are late.” With a last melancholy glance around the nursery, Everleigh allowed Griffin to escort her from the room.
“How many children do you have, Mrs. Chatterton?”
A look of utter devastation swept her features, before she lowered her eyes and withdrew her fingers from his arm.
“None.”
“But I thought . . .”
He clamped his teeth together, wracking his brain. How many years had she been married? Hadn’t Uncle Jerome mentioned a pregnancy when he spoke of her? Griffin couldn’t recall now, but he’d be asking at first opportunity.
“Forgive me if I caused offense. I assumed you did because of how naturally you took to Sarah and she to you. You have a mother’s instincts.” Oddly bereft after she withdrew her hand, he tucked his thumb inside his coat’s lapel. “She doesn’t often let anyone but Nurse and me touch her.”
Everleigh tilted her head, her keen gaze roving his face.
“Then I am honored she permitted me to carry her.” A ghost of a smile touched her soft mouth. “I always thought I’d have made a good mother.”
“You’re not too old to have children.”
She couldn’t be more than five and twenty, and if Sarah was an example, Everleigh clearly adored children.
A noise very much like a derisive snort escaped her.
“True, but I’ve no intention of bringing illegitimate offspring into this world and submitting them to that sort of ridicule, and nothing short of Jesus Christ himself appearing with an acceptable man in tow would induce me to ever marry again.”
Jerome had mentioned her marriage was a misalliance of monumental proportions. If she had married for money, did she regret her choice? If she hadn’t . . .
What other reason could there be for marrying a degenerate nearly old enough to be her grandfather?
Love? Could she have loved the elderly reprobate after all?
“Tell me about your Sarah,” Everleigh said. “How old is she?”
They’d made the landing, and Griffin took her elbow as they began the descent. “She’s almost three. In fact, her birthday is the thirty-first of this month.”
“So is mine!”
When Everleigh smiled with genuine happiness, joy bloomed across her face, making her even more impossibly lovely. She touched a finger to the onyx and pearl locket resting just below the juncture of her throat and collar bone.
Damn him for a fool.
She wore a mourning locket.
Maybe she really had loved the ancient sod she’d been married to and was able to overlook his indiscretions and other deplorable vices. Some swore love covered a multitude of sins.
Grief settled over her as tangible and dense as woolen cloak. “Had she lived, Meredith would’ve been three last September.”
Was he supposed to know who she was?
“Meredith?”
For the second time that night, Everleigh stopped on the last riser.
He truly didn’t know?
“Yes, my daughter, Meredith.”
She touched the locket again. A lock of wispy, thistle-down soft white hair lay tucked inside. Struggling to wrestle her grief into submission, she focused on the long case clock’s pendulum swinging back and forth.
She paced her breathing with the slow tick-tock for a handful of rhythmic beats.
Did a parent ever recover from the loss of a child?
No. Life just took on a new reality.
“Tomorrow is the three-year anniversary of her death.”
Why had she shared that?
The Duke of Sheffield did the most startling, the most perfect thing in all the world.
He drew her into his arms and held her. He didn’t offer condolences or advice. He didn’t try to change the subject or pretend he hadn’t heard her at all.
He simply offered her comfort, and it felt so utterly splendid, just allowing someone to hold her. Someone who permitted her to show her grief for a child conceived in the worst sort of violation and violence, but who had been adored nevertheless.
For this brief interlude, Everleigh didn’t have to be strong. Didn’t have to maintain her frigid façade, and it was wonderful to be herself. That almost brought her to tears as well.
What was more astonishing was she wasn’t afraid of his touch.
How long had it been since she didn’t flinch when a man touched her?
They stood chest to chest and thigh to thigh in intimate silence for several moments until the clocked chimed the quarter hour and interrupted the tranquility. They really must join the others for dinner, or God only knew what sort of unsavory tattle might arise.
“Thank you for your kindness, Your Grace.”
She disengaged herself, more aware of him as a man than she’d any business being.
He simply nodded, though the amber starburst in his eyes glowed with a warmth she couldn’t identify.
At the bottom of the stairs, he once again placed her hand on his forearm, and steered her toward the dining room. Evidently, he didn’t feel the need to fill the stillness with inane chatter.
She liked that about him. It was fine to speak when something needed to be said, but it was equally acceptable to let silence fill the comfortable void when it didn’t. At home, she’d sit with her eyes closed and listen to the quiet, especially in the early morning when the countryside began to wake.
A few minutes later, they entered the dining room. Several people noted their entrance, including Caroline, who raised a superior brow, then murmured something to Major McHugh on her right. The major’s wiry grey eyebrows scampered up his broad, furrowed forehead, and skepticism and disapproval jockeyed back and forth for dominance in his acute regard of Everleigh.
Whether by chance or Thea’s maneuvering, the two remaining vacant chairs were at opposites ends of the table. Everleigh wasn’t certain if she should feel vexed or grateful, but her estimation of the Duke of Sheffield had increased a few degrees this past half hour. Not enough to garner further interest, but she no longer considered him a licentious rake to be avoided at every turn.
An hour and a half later, as the ladies made their way to the drawing room for tea and to play whist while the gentlemen enjoyed their port, she made her excuses to Thea. She’d chew hot coals before enduring Caroline’s unpleasant company any longer.
“I’m going to retire early,” Everleigh said. “I fear my headache from this afternoon never completely went away.”
That was the truth.
Thea took her elbow and drew her aside as the other ladies filed into the drawing room. Ophelia, Rayne, and Gabriella stopped strategically just beyond Theadosia and Everleigh, blocking the view of any curious eavesdroppers.
Everleigh’s heart swelled with gratitude. She truly did have the most marvelous friends.
“You will stay on, won’t you, Everleigh?” Thea looked past the
trio quietly chatting a few feet away to Caroline seated on a settee and directing a haughty glare toward them. “I promise, she’ll be gone before you come down to breakfast if I have to bundle her, tied hand and foot, into the carriage myself.”
Pretty doe-like eyes flashed to mind, followed by a black coffee pair set beneath straight brows the same rich shade.
“If Caroline is gone, I’ll stay a couple more days. That’s all I can promise for now.”
Grinning, Thea hugged her.
“Excellent. Tomorrow we’ll attend church, of course. It is also Stir-up Day. I want all the guests to stir the Christmas pudding and make a wish. I’ve charades planned for the evening, along with mulled cider from Ridgewood’s very own apples.” Theadosia’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “The women are going to make kissing boughs—mistletoe has been drying for a fortnight, and the gentleman will go stalking. Cook absolutely insists on fresh venison for the Christmas feast. That’s just to start the festivities. I’ve much, much more planned.”
Theadosia had always adored Christmas.
“It sounds like a great good”—exhausting—“time,” Everleigh managed to say without seeming overwhelmed.
It truly did for someone who enjoyed large assemblies and holiday traditions. She preferred a quiet gathering: family, close friends, a Yule log crackling in the hearth, steaming spiced cider, a mistletoe sprig, and perhaps Twelfth Night Cake.
Another swift perusal of the drawing room revealed Caroline no longer sat on the settee. Maybe she’d crawled back into her hole or rejoined her coven.
One could only hope.
Everleigh bussed Thea’s cheek and wiggled her fingers farewell to the others.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
Instead of going directly to her chamber, she stopped at the library. Better to keep her mind occupied than let her musings have free rein. Besides, reading always made her drowsy. Tomorrow would prove difficult enough without a sleepless night.
As she perused the shelves, she removed her gloves.
What should she read?
Something entertaining?
Educational?
Or a boring tome?
Once she’d selected one of each type, she continued on her way, shawl over her forearm, and her gloves draped over the books. Laughter filtered down the passageway, and she bent her mouth into the merest semblance of a smile. Tonight had been much more pleasant than she’d expected.
Except for Caroline’s presence, of course.
Just as she reached her bedchamber and grasped the door handle, her nemesis emerged from the shadows near the floor-to-ceiling window alcove. She seemed to have a habit of slithering out of dark corners. Caroline held a glass half full of what looked to be brandy, a favorite and common indulgence.
Been raiding Suttcliffe’s liquor cabinet, had she?
“It wasn’t enough you seduced my husband and persuaded Arnold to wed you to hide the bastard swelling your belly, Everleigh. You managed to manipulate him into changing his will, then turned me out onto the street to starve.”
Caroline had merely alluded to those things before. Either drink or fury had emboldened her to speak them outright tonight. Thank God she’d not done so in front of the others.
“Not a single word of that is true, as you well know.”
One eye on the nursery three doors down, Everleigh opened her chamber.
Caroline took a long pull from her glass, then, eyes narrowed until they were almost closed, advanced toward Everleigh. She pointed the forefinger of the hand holding the nearly empty glass and fairly hissed, “If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make you pay, you cold, unfeeling bitch.”
“You’re drunk, Caroline.” Also a frequent occurrence. “Go to bed before you embarrass yourself.”
Again.
Caroline stalked nearer, her once pretty face contorted with hatred and showing the ravages of too much drink and other unhealthy indulgences.
“I’ve heard ugly rumors, Everleigh. Murmurs that someone hired rum pads to kill Arnold and Frederick and make it look like a robbery.”
That was the first Everleigh had ever heard any such thing, and the accusation gave her pause as well as sent chilly prickles across her shoulders.
Could such a thing possibly be true?
Wouldn’t there have been an inquiry long before this?
Were people, perhaps even those at this gathering, speculating about whether she’d been behind her husband’s death?
Everleigh glanced toward the nursery again as she crossed the threshold. “Keep your voice down. Sarah is sleeping a bit farther along the passage.”
Even as she spoke, a child’s muffled cries echoed.
“Do you think I give a whit about that merry-begotten?” Caroline finished the rest of her brandy and leaned indolently against the wall, the glass dangling from her fingers. “Who, besides you, hated Arnold and Frederick enough to want them dead?”
Any of a dozen people Everleigh could name, including the foxed woman standing before her.
“I’ve done nothing wrong, and I’ll not listen to your vile accusations.” No doubt conjured by jealousy and hatred. “I had no knowledge of the attack on Arnold and Frederick until the sheriff delivered the news.”
She laid her belongings on the table beside the door, undecided if she should knock at the nursery. It wasn’t her place to offer to help with Sarah, but she was partially responsible for the child’s sleep being disturbed.
She spared Caroline a brusque glance.
“If the authorities had reason to believe something afoul of the law occurred, they would have investigated already,” the Duke of Sheffield said.
Everleigh and Caroline swung their attention to him ambling toward them, all masculine prowess and power. His black evening attire accented the broad span of his shoulders, and the corridor seemed to shrink with his virile presence.
Everleigh forced her gaze away.
Just because she’d noticed his manliness, it didn’t mean anything. She was, after all, still a young woman.
“Unless, Mrs. Chatterton, you know something no one else does?” He cocked his head at a considering angle then rubbed the scar dissecting his slightly bent nose with his forefinger. “But then, you’d have to explain to the authorities why you’ve withheld information all this time. I believe that’s a criminal offense too.”
Arching her back, the calculated movement thrusting her voluptuous breasts out and upward, Caroline stretched like a contented cat. More like an eager-to-be-bred tabby twitching her tail before a tom. She gave him a secretive smile as she glided past and tapped his chest with her empty glass.
“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
She sent a sly look behind her, flicking Everleigh a glance that clearly said she found her wanting.
“I do hope you have an alibi, Everleigh.”
Mouth pinched, Everleigh stared at Caroline’s retreating back.
Was she serious?
Did she truly intend to make a claim that Everleigh had something to do with the robbery and murders? Surely no one would believe such an assertion at this late date. Nevertheless, her stomach twisted with anxiety.
“Are you all right?” Sheffield also watched Caroline flouncing away. “Did she upset you? You’ve gone quite pale.”
Everleigh sighed and pressed her fingertips to her right temple where the pain had taken on a renewed vigor.
“Caroline delights in upsetting me, but yes, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” He touched her cheek with a bent knuckle. “The light behind your eyes is gone.”
Light behind her eyes?
What nonsensical drivel.
She wouldn’t have thought he was the sort to bandy platitudes about.
“Ridiculous. I’ve but a pesky headache.”
Her response was starchier than she’d intended.
He chuckled and swept a strand of hair off his forehead. “No need to get prickly, and I regr
et you’re not feeling well.”
“I cannot believe she’d resort to such fabrications just to hurt me.” Everleigh absently rubbed her hairline near her ear.
Judging from the strain of the fabric, he rested what surely must be a well-muscled shoulder against the wall.
“Envy and jealousy can turn even the most decent men into fiends, but when someone is already despicable, there’s no telling what they’re capable of.” He spared a thoughtful glance toward the stairs. “The Duchess tells me Mrs. Chatterton will be gone in the morning. We’re well rid of her, but I think you still must be on your guard against her.”
Everleigh touched her locket, running her fingers across the diamond floweret atop the jet. “Believe me, I have been for four years.”
“Do you have an alibi? Someone who can vouch for you?”
He seemed genuinely concerned, not just prying.
She sighed and stretched her neck from side to side, hoping to lessen the knots of tension that had taken up residence there.
“My husband kept me a virtual prisoner. I hadn’t access to funds to hire someone to commit the foul deed, and even my jewelry was kept locked in a safe so I couldn’t use it to bribe a servant. I rarely left the house, and when I did, two of my husband’s henchmen accompanied me to prevent any escape attempt.”
Not that she would’ve tried, for fear Arnold would harm her family as he’d threatened.
“He really was a bloody blighter, wasn’t he?”
Disgust and anger riddled the duke’s clipped speech.
“He was.”
She clasped her hands behind her back, then leaned against the doorjamb.
“The former staff can vouch that I was never permitted personal visitors, and the only guests we entertained were the miscreants and other dregs of society my husband invited. The night he and Frederick were slain, I was . . .”
She paused, lost in the dreadful memory.
“You were . . .?” his grace prompted with an encouraging closed-mouth smile.
She’d not told anyone about the thrashings.
“Let’s just say I was incapable of leaving my bed, and the sheriff can testify to that.”
The duke’s intense gaze probed hers, and she didn’t doubt his mind flipped through numerous scenarios to explain why she would’ve been abed.
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