The Virgin Who Vindicated Lord Darlington

by Anna Bradley

  Gideon cleared his throat. “What will the two of you do today?”

  “A long walk in the kitchen garden, I think.” Cecilia glanced at the window, tapping her finger against her bottom lip. “I’m certain it’s going to snow, and I’d like for Isabella to have some fresh air before it does.”

  Gideon didn’t like to order Cecilia to stay indoors, but both he and Haslemere would be gone from the castle until dark tonight. Duncan and Fraser were here, but he didn’t like Cecilia and Isabella wandering the grounds while he was gone, all the same.

  But he wouldn’t say so in front of Isabella. “Go on and finish your breakfast, Isabella.” Gideon set her back on her feet. “I need to have a word with Miss Cecilia.”

  “All right.” Isabella dashed back to her half-eaten plate of tartlets.

  Cecilia’s cheeks flushed a deeper pink when Gideon took her arm, but she followed him through the connecting door and into his bedchamber. “Lord Haslemere and I ride to Surrey today. I’d rather you and Isabella remain inside the castle until we return.”

  “Surrey? But why?”

  Gideon hesitated. He and Haslemere weren’t getting anywhere searching the castle grounds by themselves. It was too much for two men to cover alone, so they were going to fetch a half-dozen of Haslemere’s burliest footmen and bring them back to Darlington Castle.

  They’d been chasing a phantom long enough. Gideon wanted this thing done, but he didn’t want to discuss the White Lady with Cecilia. Not yet. For now, the less Cecilia knew about her, the better. “Lord Haslemere’s sister, the Duchess of Kenilworth, and her son arrived at Haslemere House yesterday. They sent word to Lord Haslemere last night, and naturally he wants to see them.”

  It wasn’t a lie, exactly. Her Grace had made frequent and unexpected visits to her brother’s estate this winter. Haslemere was uncharacteristically closemouthed about the reasons why, but Gideon had begun to wonder if it had something to do with the duke.

  Cecilia searched his face, her dark eyes intent. “Is there some reason it would be unsafe for us to venture outside the castle walls?”

  Yes. Something wicked was gliding through the darkness. Not a ghost, but something more sinister. Gideon didn’t say so, however. He said only, “It’s cold, and threatening to snow. I’d rather you remain indoors today.”

  Her face fell, and her eyes dropped away. “I see.”

  It wasn’t the answer she’d hoped for. Gideon closed the distance between them and took her hand. Just her hand. He wouldn’t risk touching any other part of her while his bed was mere steps away from where they stood. “It’s just for today, Cecilia, while Haslemere and I are gone. I’ll take you and Isabella for a walk in the kitchen gardens myself tomorrow.”

  Cecilia nodded. “I suppose we can find some other way to amuse ourselves.”

  “Thank you.” Gideon couldn’t resist raising her hand to his lips. Her eyes darkened as his mouth brushed her knuckles, and he had to bite back a moan. “We can spend all of tomorrow afternoon in the kitchen gardens, if you like. I promise it.”

  “Tomorrow, then.” Cecilia’s gaze dropped to their entwined fingers, then she gently drew her hand away.

  * * * *

  All day long, Cecilia had to remind herself she was relieved Gideon was away from Darlington Castle for the day. Each time she recalled he was gone her heart sank in her chest, and she’d have to scold herself back into equanimity again.

  It was a long, frustrating day. Instead of the snow she’d expected, the sun struggled through the clouds for the first time in days. Its feeble rays touched the frosted grounds, transforming them into a sparkling garden of diamonds, mocking Cecilia with their beauty.

  Isabella soon grew bored and restless, and teased with a child’s mercilessness for a visit to the garden. Cecilia was as tempted to venture outdoors as Isabella was, and it wouldn’t have been the first time she’d disregarded Gideon’s wishes. But she remained firm in her refusal, as it turned out to be much easier to ignore a command from the arrogant Marquess of Darlington than it was a request from Gideon, softly spoken, his blue eyes pleading.

  By the time Isabella’s bedtime arrived, the poor child had succumbed to a storm of frustrated tears. After she’d cried herself into an exhausted sleep at last Cecilia, who’d forgone her dinner to soothe her fetched Amy, then ventured down to the kitchens to see what tidbit she might forage.

  She found Mrs. Briggs at the table, having a nip of sherry. “You look worn to the bones, you do.” Mrs. Briggs fetched another glass, poured a measure for Cecilia, and put a plate of bread and cold ham before her. “Isabella was in a bit of a state today. She missed Lord Darlington, I daresay, the poor lamb.”

  We both did.

  Cecilia raised the sherry glass to her lips, considering Mrs. Briggs as she sipped at it. All of Gideon’s servants were tight-lipped about the doings at Darlington Castle, particularly anything to do with Lady Cassandra’s death.

  Mrs. Briggs was the most tight-lipped of the lot, perhaps because of all the servants, she knew the most. She’d known Nathanial and Lady Leanora, had rejoiced in Isabella’s birth, and celebrated Lady Cassandra’s and Gideon’s marriage. She’d mourned Nathanial’s tragic death along with the rest of the family, and she’d been here when Cassandra drew her final breath, and she and her stillborn infant were placed in the cold ground.

  Mrs. Briggs knew everything. It would be a tricky business to pry it out of her, but while Mrs. Briggs never gossiped, she could be coaxed into reminiscing.

  After reading Lady Cassandra’s diary, Cecilia felt as if she knew her—almost as if she and the late marchioness had somehow become…friends? No, not that, precisely, but how strange it was, how peculiar that of everyone at Darlington Castle, the key to unraveling the mystery of Cassandra’s death had come from Cassandra herself. It was as if she’d put that diary into Cecilia’s hands, whispered her secrets into Cecilia’s ear.

  Gideon loved me, and he’d never hurt me…

  Then the darker, more sinister secret.

  Poison.

  It was as if Cassandra trusted Cecilia, and only Cecilia, to reveal the truth. Not just for her own sake, but for Gideon’s.

  Cecilia fortified herself with another sip of sherry, then set her glass aside. “Tell me about Lady Cassandra, Mrs. Briggs. What was she like?”

  “You’re curious this evening, Cecilia. Why do you want to know?” There was no mistaking the hint of disapproval in Mrs. Briggs’s voice.

  Cecilia hesitated. It felt like a betrayal of Gideon’s confidence, but if she wanted answers, she had no choice. “Lord Darlington took me to Lady Darlington’s grave, Mrs. Briggs. Hers, and their son’s.”

  Mrs. Briggs nearly dropped her sherry glass. “He took you…that’s…well, my goodness, Cecilia. I’ve never known him to do that with anyone before.”

  No, Cecilia didn’t suppose he did, but she didn’t care to share with Mrs. Briggs the reasons why Gideon had made an exception for her. “He said she died of an illness.”

  “Aye, she did. We thought it was the child at first, of course, the stomach sickness, I mean, but I’ve seen my share of ladies in the family way, and I never saw anyone as ill as the poor marchioness. It was dreadful to watch her grow weaker with every passing day.” Mrs. Briggs shuddered. “One could hardly recognize her by the end, she’d grown so frail.”

  “She was ill for some time, I believe?”

  Mrs. Briggs nodded. “Months, yes. Then the child came too early, and the poor marchioness couldn’t…well, that was what ended it.”

  “Who tended her during her illness? Her cousin, Lady Leanora?”

  Mrs. Briggs’s mouth turned down at the corners. “No. Lady Leanora wasn’t the sort one wanted in a sickroom—too squeamish, that one, and in any case, she and Cassandra grew apart somewhat after Cassandra became the marchioness.”

  Cecilia st
ruggled to keep her expression neutral. “I see. Did you tend the marchioness, then?”

  “No. I tidied her bedchamber and did little tasks for her, but Lord Darlington himself did most of the nursing. He spent every moment he could with her. At the end he wouldn’t suffer anyone but himself to enter Cassandra’s bedchamber. I think he couldn’t bear for anyone to see her that way.”

  Cecilia paused to draw a deep breath. Her next question would sound strange to Mrs. Briggs, but she had to ask it. “Did she…was she able to eat at all?”

  “Not much, no. Lord Darlington brought her a tray of broth every night at dinnertime, but she never took much. I know, because I took that tray down every morning. The only thing she ever touched was the spearmint tea he gave her much later in the evenings to help her sleep.” Mrs. Briggs shook her head, a sad smile twisting her lips. “It was heartbreaking to see how hard he tried.”

  Cecilia gave a sympathetic nod, but her mind was racing to make sense of this new information. Gideon was the only one permitted to enter Cassandra’s bedchamber, and Gideon the one who brought her broth every night.

  It led to only one logical conclusion. If Cassandra had been poisoned—and Cecilia was more certain than ever she had been—then Gideon must have been the one who’d poisoned her. It was a tale worthy of Bluebeard himself. A wicked marquess poisons his young wife and their unborn child so he can seduce his brother’s widow.

  But…no.

  She simply wouldn’t—couldn’t—believe that. Everything inside her, her every instinct screamed the most logical conclusion was, in this case, the wrong one.

  The man Cassandra described in her diary would never have hurt her. He’d never have harmed a single hair on her head. Gideon might no longer be the cheerful, openly affectionate man Cassandra had known—he was much more reserved and secretive now, even distant. Grief had wrought these changes in him, made him darker, and thus an easy target for the gossips.

  But he wasn’t wicked, and Bluebeards only existed in the grimmest of fairy tales.

  Gideon was innocent.

  Cecilia knew it in the same way she knew she could always trust Lady Clifford, in the same way she knew Sophia and Georgiana and Emma loved her; in the same way she knew Daniel Brixton would always protect her.

  She knew it down to her very soul.

  Since she’d arrived at Darlington Castle, she’d told herself time and again she needed to use her wits, as Georgiana did, to rely on her talents, as Emma did, and to be strong and brave, as Sophia was. She’d told herself her heart was untrustworthy, too prone to sentimentality to be relied upon. Too soft, too apt to romanticize a man like Gideon who, for all his darkness, was lost and grieving, and beautiful in his vulnerability.

  She’d told herself she couldn’t trust her heart to lead her to the truth, but all this time, she’d been wrong. Her heart whispered Gideon was innocent, and, at last, she would allow herself to listen to it.

  Someone had poisoned Lady Cassandra, but it hadn’t been Gideon. Whoever had done it had escaped justice thus far, but they wouldn’t escape forever. Cecilia would make certain of it.

  “I’m off to bed. Mind you eat the rest of your dinner.” Mrs. Briggs nodded at Cecilia’s plate, then pushed her chair back from the table. “Good night, Cecilia.”

  “Good night, Mrs. Briggs.”

  Cecilia sat in the darkened kitchen for a long time after Mrs. Briggs left, trying to fit the puzzle together from the pieces Mrs. Briggs had given her.

  Never seen anyone so ill…frail and weak… broth and spearmint tea…

  Cecilia’s brow furrowed, her mind lingering over that last thing. Spearmint tea. The plant she and Isabella had found in the kitchen garden, the one she’d thought was some variety of lavender. It smelled strongly of spearmint.

  Ill for months…poison…spearmint tea…

  Perhaps the plant wasn’t lavender, after all, but something far more sinister. Could Cassandra have been poisoned by a plant growing in the kitchen garden? One with leaves that could be brewed into a tea?

  She rose from her chair and passed through the arched doorway of the kitchen and down the corridor into the entrance hall. It was silent, without a soul wandering about, and the door leading into the courtyard and the kitchen garden beyond it beckoned to her.

  Once she got a few sprigs of the plant, she could look it up in Culpeper’s Complete Herbal. She’d seen a copy of it on a library shelf when she’d gone in to fetch The Mysteries of Udolpho to read to Duncan and Amy the other night. It would take some searching through the illustrations to find the plant, but find it she would.

  But first, she needed to make a trip to the kitchen garden.

  Except she’d told Gideon she’d stay inside the castle today. If one chose to quibble over words, it wasn’t daytime any longer, darkness having fallen while she and Mrs. Briggs were talking, but that was splitting hairs, indeed. Whatever Gideon had thought was a threat during the day surely became much more so at night. That was always the way with threatening things. They thrived in darkness.

  Was the White Lady truly a threat, though? Gideon must think so, or else he wouldn’t have warned her to stay inside the castle, but despite having pretended to be a ghost and frightening Edenbridge out of their feeble wits, The White Lady hadn’t hurt anyone.

  Still, it was a risk.

  Cecilia bit her lip. She could put off the task until tomorrow, but it was already snowing. The plants she needed could be buried by morning. Even if she did manage to get to them, they might look entirely different after languishing under a heavy snow, and she’d no longer be able to recognize them in Culpeper’s Complete Herbal.

  It was the work of a few moments only. It would be the quickest thing in the world for her to dash out the door and through the courtyard to the corner of the kitchen garden, snatch up a few stalks of the spearmint-scented plant, and dash back inside again.

  Cecilia straightened her shoulders, her mind made up. She’d known there’d be risk before she’d agreed to come to Darlington Castle. She wasn’t without her own resources, nor was she as easy a target as she appeared to be.

  Only the dim light from the entrance hall lamps followed Cecilia out the door and into the courtyard beyond. Dear God, it was cold, and the sharp, dry scent of snow tickled Cecilia’s nose. Thick clouds scudded across the sky, obscuring the moon, and Cecilia sent up a quick prayer of thanks that she and Isabella had spent so much time in this garden, or she might have found herself wandering around in search of that plant until she froze to death.

  As it was, she knew just where to find it.

  She hurried through the gate and down the gravel pathway toward the opposite corner of the garden, wincing as the icy ground penetrated the thin soles of her shoes. By the time she reached the lavender patch her toes were half-frozen and her fingers clumsy with cold, but she pushed as much of the woody stalks of lavender aside as she could and searched with both her eyes and hands until she found…yes, there it was, growing up against the high stone wall behind it.

  Cecilia was just reaching down into the clump when a strange noise made her go still. It sounded like the crunch of footsteps running over the gravel pathway, but when she turned and peered into the gloom behind her, there was nothing.

  She shook her head, grimacing. All this talk of ghosts was frazzling her nerves.

  Still, the sooner she was back inside, the better. She reached down again, took ahold of the plant as close to the root as she could, and plucked up a few stalks, the scent of spearmint thick in her nose as she shoved them into the pocket of her apron.

  She turned back toward the garden gate, but before she could take a step, she heard the sound again. Footsteps on gravel, running faster this time, what sounded like the muted creak of an iron gate opening, and then—

  Cecilia froze where she stood, the crash of the gate slamming shut echoing throughout the gar
den.

  There was no time to stop it, no time even to cry out. By the time Cecilia realized what was happening and ran for the gate, it was already closed. She grabbed the latch and shook it desperately, but it didn’t move, and a quick glance at it confirmed the sick suspicion twisting in her stomach.

  Whoever had slammed the gate closed had latched it from the outside. Of all the doors in this blasted castle that were meant to be secure, this had to be the only one that actually was.

  Cecilia whirled around and ran to the opposite end of the garden where there was a high wooden door set into the stone wall, but it was locked, just as she’d known it would be, and so was the door leading from the garden into the stillroom.

  She turned back to face the garden, her gaze darting this way and that in the darkness, searching for an escape, but it was no use. The wall had been built to keep animals out. It towered over her, as did the arched gate at the front, which had been set into the stone wall.

  As she stood there shivering, the snow falling from the sky quickened, and the downy flakes grew heavier. She didn’t have a coat, or boots, and the wind was sneaking up her skirts and down the back of her neck, turning her flesh to ice.

  No one knew she was out here. Amy would miss her when she didn’t return to Isabella’s bedchamber, but the kitchen garden was the last place they’d look for her. It could be hours before anyone found her.

  Cecilia pressed her body close against the castle wall and huddled there to shield herself as best she could from the raw, bitter wind biting through the thin layers of her clothing.

  Someone would come after her. When she didn’t return to Isabella’s bedchamber, Amy would send Duncan out to look for her. He’d find her out here, sooner or later.

  All she could do now was pray it would be sooner, rather than later.