“Oh?”
I’d been running this conversation over and over in my head all afternoon, but I still needed to take a bracing breath before I dived in. “First of all, she admitted she and Alfred were more than friendly, though she didn’t delve into specifics. But I wouldn’t be surprised if they were lovers. She also knew about Lady Juliana, and how Alfred didn’t wish to marry her.”
Gage’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Had he made promises to her?”
“None that she mentioned. From the manner in which she spoke, I don’t think she even expected them.”
“And no one would accuse Alfred of being too honorable to keep a mistress a short distance away from his wife after he wed,” Gage remarked wryly.
I shifted closer. “Perhaps more interesting, you were right about the herb bennet. She did suspect Alfred was being poisoned. And more importantly, he did, too.”
Gage’s expression darkened. “But who would do such a thing? And why?”
He’d neatly provided me with an opening, and yet my words felt clumsy on my lips. “Have you noticed there’s something of a pattern here?”
He stared at me blankly. I couldn’t tell whether he wasn’t following or he simply refused to react.
“Of poisonings in your family.”
His eyebrows twitched with irritation. “Because of my mother?”
“And your great-aunt Alice.”
“There is no proof that Alice was the girl from that legend or that she was poisoned,” he insisted.
“Yes, but if she was, you must admit there’s something troubling going on here. And it all seems to center around that curse.”
He sighed in aggravation. “Kiera, there is no curse.”
“But you said we should consider the possibility—”
“I said we should explore the ramifications. Not seriously give credence to the possibility there is such a curse.”
I pressed a hand to his leg, imploring him to listen. “Well, then what if someone else believed in it? What if someone was certain enough to help it along?”
“What are you saying?” he bit out.
“I’m saying that curse or no curse, there is a disturbing pattern of poisonings.” I paused. “And your grandfather is the only person who was alive to witness all of them.”
His eyes turned to icy chips. “You must be jesting.”
“I don’t want to believe it, Sebastian.” My voice was tight with distress. “But it has to be considered.”
“It’s utterly ridiculous!”
“Then convince me of it.”
“First of all, Annie poisoned my mother, not my grandfather.”
“But who gave her the idea?”
He glowered. “Second of all, he was not the only person alive for all three. Hammett was here, though he was a young boy at the time Alice died. Or do you suspect he was Grandfather’s accomplice?”
“Maybe.”
He scoffed in derision. “You actually think my grandfather is malicious enough to poison all of them simply because they defied the family’s wishes? That’s mad.”
“I know,” I replied solemnly, having expected such a vehement response. I couldn’t even blame him for it. I would have done the same. But the way he glared at me, like I was the most loathsome person he’d ever seen, was almost too difficult to bear. It made my heart shrivel inside my chest. “Can’t we speak with him about it?”
“And accuse him of committing three murders?”
“No. We’ll merely ask about Alice and the curse, that’s all.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why won’t you ask him?”
“What kind of question is that?” He shifted forward, ready to leap to his feet. “The man is deathly ill. I’m not going to send him to his grave with this nonsense.”
I studied him, unable to ignore his alarmed movements. “Is that really the reason? Or are you more afraid of hearing his answers?”
The frantic glimmer in his eyes told me I was not far from the truth. But rather than face it, rather than face me, he stormed from the room, slamming the door.
I stared at the cold wooden door and wrapped my arms around myself. Had I just destroyed my marriage? And for what? A suspicion I couldn’t prove? To punish a man who already wasn’t long for this world?
Perhaps I was a loathsome person. I was certainly a fool.
* * *
• • •
Though I lay awake for hours, Gage never returned. I considered going to him and apologizing, but the one time I worked up the nerve to do so I found the connecting door locked. I wasn’t about to pound on it and beg, so I lay back down, clutching my stomach. It churned with pain and anxiety, making my head spin. I curled into a ball under the sheets in my cold bed, eventually falling into a fitful slumber.
For the first time since our wedding, I slept alone.
That is, until sometime during the wee hours of the morning when I vaulted out of bed, barely reaching the chamber pot before I was violently ill. When I’d finished emptying myself of everything I’d ever possibly eaten, I crumpled to the cold floor, moaning in pain and exhaustion. My insides felt like they were being shredded with broken glass. I’d presumed my agony over hurting Gage had caused my nausea, but I didn’t think love alone could cause such forceful sickness.
Moments later, I was back up on my knees. I thought someone said my name, but the sound of my retching blocked most everything else. Then I felt a warm, solid presence at my back, helping to hold me up.
“I’m here, darling,” Gage crooned, smoothing my stray tendrils of hair back from my face. “Let me help.”
When I collapsed to the floor again, he brought me a cool washcloth to bathe my face. Then he sat and held my hand as I begged God to make it stop, before scrabbling back up to my knees.
How many times this process was repeated, I don’t know. I lost count. But at some point, the roiling subsided and Gage carried me back to bed. He climbed in next to me, though I must have looked and smelled like something my cat, Earl Grey, would have left as a present to proudly display his hunting prowess.
When I blinked open my eyes again it was to find morning had come. And from the look of the light filtering through the open windows, it was well advanced. I turned my head on the pillow to find Gage seated on the fainting couch with a book in his lap. When he saw me looking at him, he quickly crossed the room to perch on the mattress next to me.
“You’re awake,” he sighed in relief, reaching for my hand. “Can I get you anything?”
“Water,” I croaked.
He poured me a glass, and then helped me to sit and drink it. The water was cool and refreshing, and I would have gulped it, but he forced me to take sips. When I’d had my fill, I lay back down, panting as I tried to gather my breath to speak. Gage’s eyes scanned me fretfully.
“I think I’m recovering now,” I assured him. “I’m tired, and thirsty, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. At least, not like before.”
“That’s good. The physician told me that would be a welcome sign.”
“Physician?” I tried to push to a seated position, but he pressed me back down.
“Slowly. I’ll prop you up a bit more if you like.”
I waited impatiently while he added another pillow behind mine. “When did a physician examine me?”
“Yesterday.”
I stared at him wide-eyed. “How long have I been asleep?”
He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “About twenty-eight hours.”
I couldn’t fathom it. I’d slept an entire day, completely unaware time was passing?
“Did the physician know why I was so ill?”
Gage reached for my hand again, rubbing his thumb against mine as if he recognized I w
ould need his support. “Poison.”
Whether my mind had sustained all the shock it could for one morning or somewhere inside me I’d already figured this out, I wasn’t as surprised as it seemed I should be. “From the tea?” I quickly deduced, realizing now why it had tasted wrong.
“More than likely. No one else has fallen ill.”
“Do we know who—”
He shook his head before I could finish the question. “No one will admit to it, and all of the kitchen staff, as well as the maid who delivered the tea, swear they had no idea how it was poisoned.”
“Do you believe them?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. But the fact of the matter is, someone slipped the poison in. So someone is lying.” He squeezed my hand tighter, his eyes stricken. “Thank heavens you didn’t drink any more of it than you did. The physician said much more and . . . and it would have killed you.”
I wondered if the poison was still coursing through me, for that seemed the only explanation for the numbness I felt upon hearing I’d almost died. Then I saw Gage’s eyes dip ever so briefly to my abdomen. My body went cold. “What of a possible child?”
His eyes stared into mine, stricken with uncertainty. “The physician said it’s too early to know, but . . . if you are with child, and the child has been affected, then . . .”
I stared at him mutely. Neither of us seemed to be able to say the words to finish that thought.
“But the doctor assured me you would recover fully,” he assured me.
I turned aside, not sure how I felt. If there was, or had been, a child growing inside me, I hadn’t yet known it, hadn’t yet come to terms with what that meant. And yet, there was a sharp twinge in the depths of my heart that told me I wasn’t unaffected. But instead I returned to a safer topic. “Do we know what the poison was?”
“Not for sure. There are several possible candidates. But . . . I’m ready to admit now that you were right. There may be some connection between all the poisonings. There’s certainly one between yours and Alfred’s.”
I lifted my hand to touch his face, feeling my heart twist at the raw tone of his voice. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, removing my hand from his face to clasp it between his. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stormed out like I did. Or, at least, I shouldn’t have stayed away.”
“Well, I might have handled matters better myself. Especially as another thought occurred to me.”
He arched his eyebrows in question.
“Maybe your grandfather isn’t doing the poisoning. Maybe he’s being poisoned, too. After all, your mother’s illness masked what her maid was doing for years.”
I watched as the implications of such a possibility played across his face. “Then that would mean Rory has the strongest motive to be our poisoner. With Grandfather and Alfred both out of the way, he’ll not only become the heir, but the viscount.”
I grimaced in sympathy, not liking the possibility any more than he did.
His eyes glinted with determination as he rose to his feet. “You’re right. I need to speak with Grandfather.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Gage scowled down at me. “No, you’re not. You are not rising from this bed.”
“Of course I am. I may be a trifle weak, but I’m sure I can manage to walk fifty feet. After I’ve eaten something and bathed, that is,” I remarked, lifting my soiled nightdress away from my skin.
His expression was adamant, but I was not about to let him do this alone.
“Sebastian, let me do this for you,” I pleaded earnestly. “I promise. The moment I feel faint or too overwhelmed, I’ll let you carry me back to my bed, scolding me the entire way.”
He glared at me a moment longer before relenting with a heavy sigh. “Agreed. The moment you feel too unwell, you’ll tell me?”
“I will,” I agreed, resolved that would not happen.
Fortunately, before Gage could challenge me further, Bree entered the room.
“Yer awake, m’lady,” she exclaimed, setting her stack of linens aside and hurrying forward. She pressed a hand to my brow and reached for the glass of water, urging me to drink.
Gage nodded to me and slipped out of the room. I trusted he would wait for me as promised. However, convincing Bree of the necessity of my rising from bed would be another matter. So I chose to omit my intentions until I had to.
“Are ye hungry? Shall I send for some toast?”
I wasn’t sure why she asked, for she’d already bustled over to tug the bellpull. “Yes, please.” I pushed my covers down and slowly sat up, pausing when my head began to spin. “And send for hot water. I’m sure I’ll feel even better after a bath.”
“Aye,” she agreed. But when I tried to swing my legs over the side of the bed, she shooed me back in place. “No need to rush. It’ll take time for ’em to prepare it.”
I sighed, resigned to being coddled.
“Ye gave us all a right scare,” Bree said, folding the blanket back over me.
I was touched by the concern etched across her brow. “Well, had I any say in the matter, I wouldn’t have caused it.”
Bree smiled tightly.
“So tell me what I’ve missed while lying abed? Any thawing from Mrs. Webley?”
Her eyes lit with eagerness. “Nay, but she did show a great deal o’ interest in that scorched scrap o’ paper I let fall from my pocket.”
“Did she?”
“Aye. She recognized it. O’ that, I’m sure.”
“Well, then, I wouldn’t be surprised if I receive a visit from the Dowager Lady Langstone in short order. But don’t let her enter until I’ve finished my bath.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Like clockwork, almost to the second Bree inserted the last hairpin, a knock sounded on the door. My maid looked up to meet my eyes in the reflection of the looking glass and I held up a hand, forestalling her. It simply wouldn’t do to let Lady Langstone, if it was indeed her, think I was overeager to speak with her. Let her wait.
I turned my head, examining the simple coiled chignon Bree had fastened at the back of my head, forgoing the hot tongues and side curls that were fashionable as of late. In truth, I preferred this smoother arrangement, but as Gage’s wife it wouldn’t do for me to completely ignore what was stylish.
When enough time had passed, I nodded to Bree. I examined my reflection one last time and then swiveled on the bench to face whomever entered.
I bit back a smile of wry triumph when the dowager strolled into the chamber. Coolly composed as ever, she glanced first at the bed, where no doubt she expected me to still be lying, and then to where I was seated before my dressing table. I used my prerogative as an invalid recovering from being poisoned to remain seated. In truth, my legs might have shaken if I stood for long.
I nodded to Bree, who hovered near the door, and she departed to give us some privacy, though I knew she wouldn’t go far.
“I wished to offer my apologies that you suffered harm while under our roof, but I see you’re making a swift recovery.” Her eyes glinted with cynicism. “To hear Sebastian talk, you were practically at death’s door.”
I refused to acknowledge such a remark with a response—not when it was clear she wished to rile me. “Lady Langstone, what can I do for you?”
She pressed her lips together tightly, considering me. It was clear she was unhappy I hadn’t taken the bait, and just as clear she didn’t want to say what I’d already guessed she was here for.
“I believe you have something of mine.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. You instructed your maid to be certain my maid knew she had it.”
I flashed her an arch smile, giving her credit for recognizing such a ploy.
She held her hand out. “I would like it back.”
“Now why would I d
o that?” I asked, tilting my head.
Her gaze sharpened. “Because I don’t think you want your husband to know about it.”
“And if he already does?”
This finally succeeded in unsettling her, for she stiffened. I decided to press my advantage.
“Just as your son Alfred did, or he would not have been blackmailing you.”
Her eyelids lowered to half-mast as she glared down at me. “And is that what you are attempting to do now? Extort something from me? I should have expected as much from the butcher’s wife,” she sneered, harkening back to one of the cruel epithets the newspapers had called me once the scandal of my involvement with my late anatomist husband’s work had broken.
But she would have to do better than that if she wished to upset me. “Actually, I’m more curious whether you had him killed because of it.”
If not for the horrifying nature of our discussion, I would have enjoyed Lady Langstone’s stunned expression.
“You cannot be serious?” she gasped before lifting her chin in righteous indignation. “I’ve never been so insulted in all my life.”
“And yet I know he was blackmailing you.”
“That may be,” she begrudgingly admitted. “But I would hardly kill him over the matter. Especially when all he wanted in return was for me to try to persuade Lord Tavistock that Lady Juliana would not be the best bride for him.”
I arched a single eyebrow skeptically.
“It’s true.”
“Do you have proof?”
“My word should be proof enough,” she sniffed, but then some of her umbrage faded. “Do you truly think he’s dead? I thought . . . you and Sebastian had hopes otherwise.”
“I don’t know,” I said, finding it difficult not to soften under the signs of her obvious distress. “But the longer he’s missing, the greater chance we have to face that possibility.”
She looked away, swallowing hard as she worried her hands before her. I gave her a moment to compose herself, hoping my kindness would encourage her to confess what she knew. But I should have known better.
“Well, I had nothing to do with . . . with whatever has happened to him. And neither had that letter.” She held out her hand as if she fully expected me to comply with the implied demand.
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