by Diane Gaston
She crossed the room to the pianoforte in the corner. She’d not played very much at all lately, but today she needed the music. She placed her fingers on the keys and closed her eyes, trying to block out what would happen next. More articles in London newspapers. The story reprinted in other towns and cities. And reprinted in the Annual Register, widening the audience and producing it in a form likely to remain for years on library shelves in countless homes.
It would never entirely go away.
The Mozart music sheets were on the piano, the sheets Dell had secretly given her after that musicale they’d attended two years ago. He’d been so kind to her.
She gently touched the music notes on the page before letting her fingers fly over the keyboard. The music both filled her and poured out of her. The pain, the humiliation, the trepidation of this day left her momentarily while she played.
After she finished, she played it all again and after finishing the piece a second time, she played all the music she could remember playing for him the first time they’d met, when he’d invited Genna and her to Summerfield House and Tinmore was too ill to come with them. She’d been filled with a jumble of emotion that day as well as this one. Playing music for him had been a calm in the storm.
She played Mozart’s Andante Grazioso and Beethoven’s Pathétique. She played and sang.
I have a silent sorrow here,
A grief I’ll ne’er impart;
It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear,
But it consumes my heart.
This cherished woe, this loved despair,
My lot for ever be,
So my soul’s lord, the pangs to bear
Be never known by thee.
She’d been so unhappy then and he seemed to understand without her having to say a word. Later, whenever she sang the words to that song, she sang them about Dell.
When she finished the song, she put her arms across the keyboard and rested her head on them.
Even the music was not enough to quiet her this time. She wished she could go outside and run until she exhausted herself, like she did that day at Tinmore Hall, after the will had been read.
The cursed will. Her means of independence was now transformed into a motive for a crime. And who would believe she’d never asked for it or expected it?
She rose from the piano bench and returned to the window. The reporters had dwindled down to three. Would they stay there all night? she wondered. She certainly did not want them following her when she went to meet Dell in the morning.
She leaned against the window frame with the curtain obscuring her presence from the outside. Enough feeling sorry for herself. She had to decide how to proceed.
The door opened and she turned to see who it was.
Her mother. Dressed normally, at least.
She swept in. ‘My darling daughter, was that you playing the pianoforte?’
‘Yes, Mother,’ she said.
‘Why, it was quite skilled. I had no idea you were so skilled at the pianoforte. Or that Genna was so talented an artist.’
Had she stayed with her children, she might have discovered their talents.
‘Come sit with me.’ Her mother lowered herself on to the sofa and patted the area next to it as an invitation.
Lorene chose to sit in a chair nearby.
‘I have done some thinking,’ her mother said. ‘I was unprepared to return to England, I believe. It was as if I turned into the unhappy woman I once was, the one who would do any silly thing to try to relieve the unhappiness.’ She sighed. ‘To think I almost drove Ossie away.’
Lorene averted her gaze. How like her mother to think of her situation and completely sweep aside the devastating thing that just happened to her daughter.
Her mother went on. ‘I was terrified, you see, of marrying again, especially because everyone wanted me to do so. Before I married your father, my parents and everyone wanted me to marry him. We were mere gentry and he was a baronet. A step up for our family. What a mistake I made! I was fearful that marrying Ossie would be a mistake, too. I was afraid it would ruin everything. We’ve been so happy!’
At our expense, thought Lorene. ‘I am sorry for your distress, Mother, but you have caught me at a moment in which I simply cannot listen. Why speak of this now?’
Her mother gave her a direct look. ‘For one, to apologise.’
Lorene’s brows rose. She had not expected that.
Her mother’s expression turned serious. ‘And to urge you to think about what will make you happy. Do not listen to other people, what they say. Do what makes you happy.’
For her mother to rally round her was unexpected.
There was a knock at the door.
Her butler opened it a crack and announced, ‘The Duchess of Kessington to see you, m’lady.’
‘Oh, lovely,’ her mother said sarcastically.
‘Send her up, Trask,’ Lorene said.
‘She is here,’ he responded in anxious tones.
The Duchess strode in.
‘What can she possibly want?’ Lorene whispered under her breath.
‘To make trouble, no doubt.’ Her mother rolled her eyes.
The two ladies rose.
‘Your Grace.’ Lorene curtsied.
Her mother curtsied as well.
‘Hmmph.’ The Duchess eyed Lorene’s mother. ‘I did not realise you would be here.’
Her mother smiled condescendingly. ‘I live here, Your Grace.’
‘Do sit.’ Lorene gestured to a favoured chair.
The Duchess looked at the seat suspiciously, as if it might not be worthy of her. She sat.
Lorene and her mother sat side by side on the sofa facing her.
‘To what do I owe the honour of this visit?’ Lorene asked. Although she had some idea.
The Duchess pulled out a copy of the pamphlet. ‘I came about this.’
Lorene had been right. She’d read the pamphlet.
‘What is that, Your Grace?’ Her mother fluttered her lashes with feigned innocence.
‘I am certain you know what it is, ma’am,’ the Duchess snapped.
‘Oh!’ Her mother cried. ‘That silly piece of libel.’
‘I presume it is libellous,’ the Duchess countered.
The Duchess probably wanted Lorene to protest her innocence and Dell’s, but Lorene remained silent with her hands in her lap.
The Duchess went on. ‘The Duke and I, of course, heard all about this from Dell and Rossdale after it happened.’ She pointed a finger at Lorene. ‘You were lucky it was not much talked about at the time—’
‘Yes, Your Grace,’ Lorene broke in. ‘But I still do not understand why you called upon me.’
The woman made an attempt at an ingratiating smile. ‘As you know the Duke and I are very fond of Dell—Lord Penford—I am here totally on his behalf.’
‘He sent you?’ Lorene’s mother asked.
‘Not precisely,’ her Grace admitted. She turned an intense expression on Lorene. ‘If you have the least notion of snaring Dell into marriage—or even a liaison—’ She darted a scathing glance at Lorene’s mother. ‘Then I wish to make you aware of the consequences.’
Lorene stiffened.
‘The only way to disprove this horrid story is for you to stay away from him. For you to engage in an affair with him, or, God forbid, marriage, will simply be seen as confirmation that you plotted to kill your husband. You have been left a wealthy widow. There will be other men to distract you—’ Again she glanced at her mother. ‘I am certain of that. You do not need to ruin Dell’s life. He has a bright future in government. He could be a driving force for the reform the Whig Party strives for so valiantly. He could make a name for himself.’ She looked directly into Lorene’s f
ace. ‘If you continue to dally with him, scandal will plague him his whole life. Someone will always question whether he was indeed a murderer. No one in government will trust him. His contribution will be lost.’
‘This is a packet of nonsense!’ Lorene’s mother cried.
‘It is not nonsense!’ snapped the Duchess. ‘If he is free to marry a respectable woman, one worthy of him, it will make all the difference in his political career.’
She was still holding out hope for Dell to marry Lady Alice, Lorene realised. Wait until she discovered that Lady Alice could create a scandal all her own.
Lorene’s mother half-rose from her seat. ‘How dare you say my daughter is not worthy? Not respectable! How dare you?’
The Duchess glared at her. ‘Well, her name continues to be linked with yours in the newspapers. A masquerade ball, indeed!’
‘Do not believe everything you read, Your Grace,’ her mother went on. ‘My daughters are fine ladies. I am quite proud of them.’
‘Well, since you know them so well...’ The Duchess let that barb sink in before she stood. ‘I have said my piece. I hope you heed my advice. It is kindly meant.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ muttered her mother.
Lorene stood, as well. ‘Good day, Duchess.’
The Duchess sent her mother a sneering look and strode out of the room as she had entered it.
Lorene’s mother immediately turned to Lorene and held her by the shoulders. ‘Do not you dare listen to that harpy! She is wrong. All that nonsense of being a success in government, it is meaningless. If you and Dell make each other happy, you must seize the opportunity to be together no matter what scandal tries to stop you, no matter how witches like her try to stop you.’
‘No matter who it hurts, Mother?’ she asked.
Her mother hugged her. ‘I am sorry I hurt you and Tess and Genna. But I am not sorry I chose to go with Ossie. I have been happy, Lorene. That is no small thing.’
Perhaps her mother was truly sorry, but Lorene knew her choice had hurt her children. Unlike her mother, she could not turn away from the consequences. The scandal would not only ruin his future, but would hang a pall over all of them. The Scandalous Summerfields could add murder to the list of things people whispered behind their backs.
‘Tell me you will choose happiness!’ her mother cried.
‘I do not know what I will do,’ Lorene said truthfully.
Chapter Twenty-One
The next morning the newspapers were full of news about the story Dixon had created, all giving credence to the lies and distortions he presented. Dell had to evade the reporters waiting outside the Duke’s house so he could reach his town house without anyone knowing.
He arrived before Lorene and let himself in. He sat and waited for her on the stairs, the original marble stairs he, his parents, his brother and sister used. He hadn’t lit any lamps or candles so the hall was dark and the bright colours Lorene picked were muted into grey.
He could imagine their voices—his family. His father’s voice, deep and booming, his mother’s light and musical. He could still hear his brother yelling at him for tagging along wherever he went. He could hear his sister sing.
He buried his head in his hands as grief washed over him once more.
The sound of his sister playing the pianoforte seemed to echo through the newly built walls. Or was it Lorene playing the same pieces his sister played? Mozart’s Andante Grazioso. Beethoven’s Pathétique.
He risked losing Lorene, too. Because of one man’s lies.
He’d done all he could think of to do. He’d set the wheels in motion for a libel suit. Through Glenville’s Lord Greybury they would find Dixon and learn what there was to know about him. Ross volunteered to travel back to Tinmore Hall to try to learn more about Dixon and the other servants. Ross also planned on alerting the magistrate and the coroner about how their work on the death had been depicted as corruption and bribery.
Even if they could rewrite that story with the truth, though, he might lose her. He had to convince her to marry him.
He heard the key turn in the lock. He stood as the door opened and Lorene entered the hall. She looked up and jumped.
‘Lorene.’ He quickly approached her. ‘It is I.’
She covered her heart with her hand. ‘It was dark. You were like a shadow.’
He put his arms around her. ‘Forgive me.’
She looked up into his face and rose on tiptoe. He dipped his head and ever so gently touched his lips to hers. The kiss was light and fleeting and when his lips left hers again, he held her close. They simply held each other.
Lorene pulled away a moment sooner than Dell desired.
‘Shall we sit in the morning room?’ she asked.
It would be the brightest of the rooms, even though the sky outside was as grey as his mood. Dell yearned for the intimacy of the bedchamber, but matters were so unsettled and emotions so high, he could understand that this was not the time for lovemaking.
‘Of course,’ he replied.
They walked to the morning room and Dell was struck again at how pleasant it was, a bright and cheerful place to start the day. This day, though, even this beautiful room lacked the capacity to cheer him. The morning light illuminated Lorene’s face, which was pale and pinched. But she held her head up and put on a very brave front.
He held out a chair at the table for her and she sat. He sat across from her.
‘Did you read the newspapers this morning?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘I anticipated something like that.’
He wanted to reassure her that it would go away and all would be well, but likely they could expect more scrutiny and attention for fighting the story than leaving it alone.
‘Let me tell you what we’ve begun...’ He explained about the libel suit, about Ross travelling back to Lincolnshire, about looking for Dixon.
She nodded. ‘It is good of you all to try.’
‘I want to clear our names,’ he said. ‘None of us deserves this.’ She did not deserve this.
She met his gaze. ‘You realise it will never go away, even if you do clear our names. Someone, somewhere, will remember it and repeat it all over again. It will never go away.’
‘I want the truth to be as public and widespread as Dixon’s lies.’ He vowed it would be.
‘I am going away,’ she said, her voice so low he hoped he had not heard her correctly. ‘If we are not together, no one can say we committed murder to be together.’
* * *
Lorene’s voice cracked and she felt in danger of losing control of her emotions. She’d stayed up half the night agonising over this. She’d come to the same conclusion as the Duchess had. They could not be together. Not as friends. Not as lovers.
If they stayed apart the story would lose its teeth. If the supposed motivation for the murder was for them to indulge in a love affair, then to separate took away that motive. The truth would be easier for people to believe then.
She tried to smile. ‘I never wanted to be in London. You must be here, though. It is important. You must be free to make a name for yourself, especially in these times when there is so much discord and strife. And suffering.’ Her throat tightened. ‘If I leave, I will soon be forgotten, which is what I want.’
The problem was, as she had tossed and turned that night, she’d realised what Dell meant to her. As a girl she’d dreamed of a man like him, someone who loved her and would never leave her, someone kind and strong. A man to admire. A man to depend upon. A man to believe in her. She and Tess used to stay up late into the night talking about wanting to marry a man like that. Like Dell.
She’d given up that dream when she married Tinmore; in fact, marriage to Tinmore made her give up dreaming of marriage altogether. Even after knowing Dell. Even af
ter making love to him.
Until last night when she realised she loved him. Dell was the man she’d dreamed of in her youth.
‘Edmund and Amelie are going back to the Lake District in a week. I will ask if I may go with them.’
She dared to gaze directly at him again. His face was ashen.
‘I do not want this, Lorene,’ he said.
‘It is best, Dell.’ She knew this was what she should do. She now knew she loved him enough to do it. ‘You told me once that you needed to carry on your father’s causes in the Lords. You will not be able to do that if they believe you murdered Tinmore. Surely your opponents will use that against you.’
* * *
Dell heard her resolve. Never mind his career in the Lords, he did not want her to suffer from this scandal. He’d opened his heart again and lost, but he wanted her to be happy. He wanted her to be at peace. So he would not try to convince her to stay.
Instead he walked her to the door and put his hand on the door latch ready to open it.
She gazed around the hall. ‘I wish I had got the chance to finish this for you.’
His eyes swept the room. Would he ever live here? Could he bear to?
Without her with him, the place would only be a repository of painful memories.
‘I love you,’ he said.
She flew into his arms and they held each other even more tightly than before, but it was the embrace of goodbye. He made himself release her. He made himself open the door.
He made himself watch her walk away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
One month later
Over the protests of her sisters and her mother, Lorene left London and travelled with Edmund and Amelie and their son to their farm in the Lake District. Genna had railed at her for sacrificing her own happiness once again. Tess pleaded with her to reconsider, to allow Ross and the other men to counter the lies before making a decision, but she’d been resolved. She’d be an impediment to Dell and she did not want to have him regret their relationship later because of the sacrifices he’d been forced to make.
Besides, it had always been her desire to live a retired life. Where could be better than this breathtakingly beautiful area?
