Theo uncocked his weapon. “This isn’t over, Jeanette. I’ll go to my lawyer directly.”
“That’ll make no difference,” Sir Daniel said. “Nothing can bring my Charlotte back, but I’ll at least have the satisfaction of seeing that bitch swinging from the hangman’s noose.”
Strong, unyielding hands took Jeanette’s arms and dragged her away from the house. The last thing she heard before she was hauled away was Andrea’s sobs, punctuated only by the screech of the seagulls overhead.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dawn broke, casting a cold gray light onto the walls of Jeanette’s cell. Eager voices rumbled outside as a crowd began to gather. One of her fellow prisoners was to hang.
Thick mucus glistened on the stones. The damp air provided a nurturing ground for mold and disease. If she stayed here too long, she wouldn’t have to fear the gallows; sickness would get her first. Her stomach twitched, and she caressed her belly. Her poor child would never see the world.
Sir Daniel’s words rang in her ears. You murdered my wife! Did you begrudge our happiness? I loved her, but your husband despises you. And so he should. You’re evil, nothing but a filthy whore!
“You’ll be next.”
The jailer’s face appeared at the window in the cell door, grinning to reveal a row of rotten teeth.
“Leave me alone.”
He laughed. “They won’t even give you a trial seein’ as you confessed. You’re not a fancy nob anymore; you’re one of us. About time one of you lot swung from a gibbet.”
His eyes glittered with fervor. “Do you know what hanging is like? The rope tightens round your neck, then they drop you. If you’re lucky, it’ll be a long rope and your neck will snap on impact. If not, the noose will cut into your throat until you choke for breath. You’ll jerk and dance as you try to break free, but it’ll only work tighter and tighter.”
He licked his lips. “I’ve paid the executioner well. He’ll ensure the rope is short enough so you entertain the crowd before you die. Ye’ll dance like a maggot on a fish-hook.”
“Hey! What are you doing?”
At the new voice, the jailer’s stance turned from predatory to deferent.
“Begging your pardon, sir, I…”
“Unlock that cell.”
Keys jangled in the lock before the door swung outward to reveal a liveried soldier.
“Come with me, ma’am.”
Fear spiked in her body and a needle of pain jabbed at her stomach.
“Are you going to hang me?”
“Not without a trial. I’m to take you to the magistrate.”
*
As Jeanette was ushered through the door to the magistrate’s house, a familiar figure waited for her in the hallway.
“Uncle George!”
“What on earth have you been up to, my dear?”
Unwittingly, he mirrored the words he’d spoken the day she had visited him after her ruination, the day Henry had taken her back to his townhouse and she’d given herself to him and sealed her fate.
He drew her into his embrace. “It was a rhetorical question, my dear. Mister O’Reilly’s told me everything.”
“That I’m to be tried for murder?”
He huffed with exasperation. “Bloody fools should never have incarcerated you. Sir Daniel can be very persuasive when he wants to be. Understandable, I suppose, given he’s mourning his wife, even if she was a murdering whore.”
“Uncle George, she’s dead. And she couldn’t help her background.”
“Nevertheless, if it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
“What’s going to happen to me?”
“Today we’re meeting Earl Stiles, the magistrate. It’s quite common for the accused to attend the magistrate in a less formal setting. He’ll decide whether there’s a case to answer. The evidence points to self-defense, but Winters is likely to say some unpleasant things, so I’d warn you to guard your tongue. I know Stiles; he’s a client of mine. But that won’t garner us any favors. He’s renowned for his fairness, but he won’t stand any nonsense, especially not from a woman.”
A door creaked open.
“The earl will see you now.”
*
Jeanette stared straight ahead while Uncle George pleaded her case. Earl Stiles was a formidable man. Deep brown eyes radiated a keen intelligence, together with insight and understanding. He wasn’t a man one could lie to with any hope of success. His lithe, muscular form filled his jacket, and he sat at his desk with an air of authority as if the whole world could bend to his will.
He tapped his forefinger on the table, a slow, steady rhythm as Uncle George delivered his address, continuing while Oakville related his account of events.
When Sir Daniel came forward, the tapping increased in pace. Stiles cast his gaze about the room, taking in each player in the game where the prize was Jeanette’s life and liberty. When his gaze fell on her, his eyes hardened and the tapping stopped.
“Mister Stockton, I cannot avoid the fact that your client took a life.”
Jeanette’s body spasmed with fear. She glanced toward the soldiers standing guard by the door, and a sharp spike of pain jabbed inside her belly.
“However,” Stiles continued, “it’s my view she had reasonable cause to fear for her life, given that Lady Winters had injured Lord Ravenwell. Given the evidence presented in reference to her activities in the flesh trade, exploitation of the weak is to be abhorred, and I applaud Viscount Oakville’s efforts in investigating this matter.”
His expression softened and he glanced at Jeanette. “Bravery in a woman is to be commended. I apologize for your incarceration. It shouldn’t have happened unless I deemed there to be a case to answer. I don’t believe there is, and therefore, declare this case dismissed.”
“No!” Daniel Winters cried. “She killed my Charlotte! Murdering bitch!”
Stiles barely reacted apart from a slight lift to the eyebrows. What horrors had he faced to render such stoicism?
“Remove that man,” he said, his voice calm and cold. Still protesting, Winters was hauled away by two of the soldiers.
“You’ll pay for this! My Charlotte would never have done those wicked things!” His cries turned into sobs which faded into the distance. A door slammed, then silence fell.
Uncle George sighed. “He’s in denial but it won’t last. He reminds me of some of my clients when presented with evidence of their wives’ infidelity.”
“Poor man,” Jeanette whispered, “he really loved her. Why couldn’t she have been content with what he could give her, rather than wanting more for herself?”
“Like you, Jeanette?” Uncle George said.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do, child. What’s this I hear about you leaving your husband?”
Oakville let out a little cough.
“Viscount Oakville should learn to keep matters to himself,” Jeanette said.
“A divorce would hardly be a discreet matter.” Uncle George’s tone was that of a disappointed parent.
“Have you quite finished?” A stentorian voice boomed across the room. Stiles seemed to have grown in stature, his back ramrod straight, eyes dark with cold anger as he fixed his stare on Jeanette. “Where’s your husband?”
Yet another man deemed her to be the property of another.
“It’s no business of yours…”
“What my client meant to say,” Uncle George interrupted, “is that he’s presently indisposed and they’ll be reunited later.”
“No…” Jeanette protested, but a sharp dig in the ribs stopped her.
Stiles leaned forward, his knuckles whitening. “A woman’s place is with her husband. You do not have the right to abandon your responsibilities. Lady Winters was, by all accounts, the very worst example of a woman who refused to accept her place in the world.”
His eyes narrowed, as if in pain, and he sat back.
“Your client
is free to go, Mister Stockton. Remove her before I change my mind.”
“Thank you, sir,” Uncle George said. After a moment’s silence, he nudged Jeanette, but she remained tight-lipped. He took her hand and led her out of the room.
“You were damned lucky,” George said as they crossed the hall. “For a moment, I thought Stiles was going to change his mind. Why couldn’t you have kept your mouth shut?”
“Why should he care whether I leave Henry or not?” Jeanette asked.
“His fiancée abandoned him. She was not unlike you, Jeanette, an outsider, clouded by scandal. He’s been looking for her this past year but with no success. Even I could tell he was deeply in love with her. He understands your husband’s position well.”
“It’s not the same,” Jeanette said. “Henry doesn’t love me and never has.”
A footman opened the main doors. Blinking, she stepped into the sunlight.
“Daughter! Ma fille!”
A warm body collided with hers. Soft arms enveloped her with a rush of floral scent. Mama broke into a torrent of rapid French while she rained kisses on Jeanette’s cheeks.
“Oh, Jeanette!”
Her voice was not that of a woman desperate to gain a footing in society but a mother, overjoyed at seeing her child again. It transported Jeanette back to her home, the farmhouse where she’d spent her childhood, when society belonged to another world and Mama cared only for her happiness.
“Mariette, love, let the lass breathe.”
“Papa…”
Papa took Uncle George’s hand. “What was the outcome?”
“The charges have been dropped. She’s free to go.”
“Dieu merci!” Mama kissed Jeanette on the cheek once more before releasing her and holding her at arm’s length.
“My poor darling, what you’ve endured! Papa and I will take care of you now.”
“But…”
“I’ll not hear another word on the matter,” Mama said. “You’re coming home with us. You’re braver than I could ever hope to be. You risked your life to save others, and that makes you a daughter to be proud of.”
Jeanette’s stomach twitched and a sharp agony erupted inside her, radiating outward, and she pitched forward.
“What’s wrong, Jeanie love?”
“Robert, Mariette, she’s bleeding.” Uncle George’s usually stoic voice held a note of panic. “Get her into the carriage. Quickly!”
“My baby…”
Another burst of pain ripped through her body. Mama’s cries faded as Jeanette slipped out of consciousness. She might have gained her freedom, but she would still reap the rewards of her sin. In exchange for taking Charlotte’s life, fate had demanded the life of her unborn child.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Christ, man, leave it alone!” Pain thrust into Henry’s chest as fat fingers prodded his ribs.
The surgeon ignored his demand. “If you want to recover, do as you’re told and stop hurling abuse at me. I’ve better things to do with my time.”
“Who do you think you’re talking to?”
Oakville’s face swam into view, concern etched onto his features.
Unlike the surgeon, Henry would have refused to let Doctor Lucas treat him, but he’d been unconscious throughout the journey to Mayfair. The bullet wound had festered, necessitating a second operation during which he’d almost died. Sanderson had said it would have served him right. His own servant, a bloody servant, had lectured him, while he lay sick and in pain, about how he didn’t deserve his wife. Rosaline had even tried to speak to Jeanette, but Lady Claybone refused to admit her.
“If you will indulge in illegal dueling,” the surgeon said, “it’s only a matter of time before someone puts a bullet in you. Bloody idle rich.”
His bedside manner hadn’t improved since their last encounter at Holmestead Hall.
“Lord Ravenwell hasn’t been dueling, Doctor Lucas,” Oakville protested.
“I’m no fool.” The surgeon secured a knot in the bandage. “I take no pleasure in serving people who risk their lives for the gratification of waving a pistol about. I recall performing a similar service on that harlot.”
“How bloody dare you!” Henry sat up, ignoring the thrust of pain which constricted his lungs. “The lady you refer to is my wife.”
“That’s enough, both of you,” Oakville said. “Doctor Lucas, you’re paid to treat my friend with discretion, to employ your skills as a surgeon, not a wordsmith. And Dray, no matter what Doctor Lucas says, shut up and let him do his job.”
Since when had Rupert grown a pair of balls? Had everyone in Henry’s acquaintance changed?
Not her. She was just as admirable as she’d always been.
The surgeon completed his work, then issued instructions as to when Henry should be permitted to rise. Rupert’s stern expression and dominant stance told him he wouldn’t be leaving the house any time soon. Even Sanderson, sporting his own bullet wound, had ordered Henry to stay in bed. Sanderson issuing commands! What was the world coming to?
Like a lamb, he drank the medicine Rupert offered, then sank into the pillows.
*
Jeanette opened her eyes. A ray of sunlight caught the pattern of the curtains, evoking memories of childhood. Gold letters sparkled on the spines of books which lay in a pile on a table beside the window, untouched since the day she’d left for the Holmestead house party. Now she had returned to Papa’s townhouse, a discarded wife, a murderess, and now a failed mother who’d lost her child before it had even been born.
The door opened, and two young women appeared, one holding a teacup, the other, a plate laden with a slice of cake.
“Doctor Farrell said you were waking up.”
“We thought you might like this.”
Jeanette’s sisters had changed since the summer. With dark hair and silvery eyes set within delicate features, Susan had always been the prettiest, having inherited Mama’s well-bred looks. But now she had turned into a beauty, easy prey for the men who prowled society’s parlors and ballrooms. Jane still possessed the soft, round features and youthful enthusiasm of a puppy. She bounded across the room and sat on Jeanette’s bed.
“Jane!” Susan admonished.
“Oh, hush, Sue, you silly cake.” Jane took Jeanette’s hand. “Are you all right now, Jeanie? You were talking such nonsense when Papa carried you in here last week.”
I can’t begin to understand how you survived it, Jeanie,” Susan said. “You’ve weathered the biggest scandal of last season and endured marriage to a rake, slavery, murder, and the threat of the gallows.”
“And there’s that Winters business!” Jane exclaimed. “Fancy him shooting himself.”
Jeanette froze. “What?”
“By all accounts, Lady Charlotte amassed a fortune right under Sir Daniel’s nose, and he was too smitten to notice. Fancy a woman meddling with her husband’s finances! When confronted with the truth, Sir Daniel turned a pistol on himself.”
A ripple of nausea threatened to engulf her and Jeanette’s breath caught in her throat.
“Jeanie?”
Jane held the teacup out. “You’ve gone white as snow, Jeanie. Drink this. It’ll help. Doctor Farrell says you must get your strength back for the sake of the baby.”
“The baby?”
“Yes,” Susan replied. “He told Mama the baby’s fine and prescribed complete rest. He said laudanum was the only way to keep you quiet.”
“Actually,” Jane interrupted, “he said a damned good dose was needed to prevent you running about the streets like a bloody pirate.”
“Jane!” Susan exclaimed.
“Oh pooh!” Jane replied. “You curse more than I do. Besides, I’m proud to have an adventuress in the family. I don’t care what the papers say.”
Jeanette closed her eyes, and their warring voices faded. She reached under the bedsheet and caressed her stomach. Her baby was alive.
“Jeanette, drink your tea.”
Yet
more tea! But her sisters meant well. She took a sip and recoiled at the taste.
“Sugar, for shock,” Susan said. “That’s what the cake’s for, too. We promised Mama we’d make you eat it after we told you about Daniel Winters.”
“We were among the first to hear of it,” Jane said.
“Jane!” Susan interrupted. “It’s not something to relish.” She took the teacup back. “Uncle George told us all about it. He’s been with Viscount Oakville for most of the week.”
“Ooh, Viscount Oakville!” Jane repeated in a high-pitched voice.
Susan’s face flushed a delicate shade of rose. “He’s pleasant company, that’s all.”
“Stay away from him,” Jeanette warned. “He’s a rake.”
“He’s a hero, Jeanie.”
“I’ll admit he’s not as bad as I first thought,” Jeanette said, “but I’ll be damned if either of my sisters is put at risk of having their hearts broken.”
“I’ve no intention of doing anything about it,” Susan said, “not after the shocking way your husband treated you, handsome though he may be. Given Papa’s improved prospects, I’ve no need for a wealthy husband. I’m going to help him run the business.”
“I can’t understand why you’d want to bury your nose in Papa’s ledgers, Sue,” Jane laughed, “though I intend to capitalize on it. Mama cannot refuse my request to come out this season if you prefer to remain indoors.”
A stab of envy needled at Jeanette. Susan would enjoy the life Jeanette had been denied ever since Papa’s baronetcy. But last time she’d spoken to her father, his business had been floundering following the dishonest actions of the employee who’d replaced her.
“I thought Papa’s business was in trouble.”
Susan nodded. “Earlier this year, Papa acquired a partner. Well, I say acquired, but someone invested enough to clear Papa’s debts.
“A partner?” Jeanette’s heart sank. “What do they want in return?”
“That’s the beauty of it,” Susan said. “According to Uncle George, they want nothing apart from anonymity and a reasonable dividend. Papa can run the business as he sees fit and I’m to reap the rewards.”
Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two Page 121
