“Where it leads?” Courtney’s throat grew so tight she could scarcely speak. “Aurora, you’re making far too much of this. Your brother is a fine man. That, combined with his own tragic experience, has rendered him very compassionate, with regard to me and my loss. He’s trying to help me. And, yes, on some level, we understand each other.” Seeing the skeptical lift of Aurora’s brows, she added, “Very well, we’re drawn to each other. But that’s the full extent of it. There’s nothing more.”
“Yet,” Aurora qualified.
“What makes you think there will be?”
“The way your eyes light up when you speak Slayde’s name. The fact that he’s shared confidences with you he’s firmly vowed never, ever to discuss—with me or anyone.” Aurora gripped the bedpost, meeting Courtney’s gaze with her own candid one. “Courtney, I don’t profess to knowing my brother well. He spends more time abroad than he does at Pembourne. But I’m smart enough to understand the reason for that. He’s running away from something. ’Tis only a matter of time before he realizes that something is himself and therefore cannot be escaped. If you’re the one destined to help him perceive that, to give him a reason to stay, I’m elated.”
Swallowing, Courtney lowered her head, staring intently at the bedcovers. “Do you believe that’s possible?”
“Do you care for him?” Aurora countered.
“Yes.” It was a breath of a whisper. “I know it’s been less than a week. But when we’re together, I feel…Yes.”
“Then you have your answer.”
“Not quite,” Courtney reminded her with a rueful smile. “I think it’s necessary for Slayde to return my feelings in order for your assumptions to become fact. And, given how strong his desire for autonomy is, I’m afraid I have a formidable task ahead of me.”
“I agree. You’re fighting a lifetime of solitude, plus Lord knows what else. But from what I’ve seen, you’re an exceedingly good fighter.”
Courtney’s smile widened. “I am indeed. I’m also a dreadful loser.”
“Then don’t lose,” Aurora replied with a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes.
“I’ll do my best.”
“And you’ll succeed. Because, in addition to your feelings and your determination, you’ll have a wealth of opportunity. Provided by the best cohort of all—me.”
Courtney leaned forward and squeezed Aurora’s hand. “Despite the tragedy that brought me to Pembourne, I’m very glad we met.”
“As am I.”
Aurora fell silent as Miss Payne sailed back into the room, a steaming tray in her hands. “I shooed Matilda off for some rest,” she announced, setting the tray on the nightstand. “Cook prepared two portions of everything, so you two young ladies can chat while you eat.” Straightening, she cast a warning glance at them both. “But once your meal is complete, Miss Johnston must rest. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” Aurora replied. “Thank you, Miss Payne.”
“You’re quite welcome.” The housekeeper turned to Courtney. “Eat everything on your plate. You’re thin as a reed. Good food will speed your recovery.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Brushing a few imaginary specks of dust from the furniture, Miss Payne took her leave.
“I’ll serve us.” Aurora rose, fetching the two plates of food and handing one to Courtney. “Every morsel now,” she teased, dropping back into the chair. Spearing a piece of mutton, she paused, giving Courtney a quizzical look. “Does Slayde truly believe someone learned of my trip to London by pure chance and seized that opportunity to extort the black diamond?”
Courtney stopped chewing. “No.”
“I thought not,” Aurora replied, resuming her meal. “He believes the Duke of Morland is responsible.”
“Yes, he does. In Slayde’s opinion, the duke was aware of your restlessness, having had Pembourne watched long enough to determine your behavior, and was therefore awaiting just such an opportunity as the one you gave him when you dashed off to London. At which point, he acted.” Courtney regarded her plate. “To me, the theory sounds a bit farfetched. On the other hand, I do agree that the duke is the most logical suspect. He loathes your family and has coveted the black diamond for years. Not to mention the fact that he was away from his estate at the time Armon was murdered.”
“And sober when he returned,” Aurora added, recalling the details Courtney had relayed earlier. “Maybe the idea isn’t quite as extreme as it sounds. Especially given the irrational intensity of the hatred the Bencrofts have sustained for us for generations. Oh, ’tis true I never gave as much credence to Lawrence Bencroft’s potential for retaliating as Slayde did—not so long as he was drunk and in seclusion. But now that all that’s changed, Slayde’s suspicions are more than justified.”
Courtney cleared her throat. “Aurora, do you believe the Bencrofts were involved in your parents’ murder?”
A flash of grief. “Honestly? I don’t know.”
“Forgive me,” Courtney inserted at once, distressed that she’d caused Aurora pain. “I didn’t mean to upset you with my question. ’Tis not my intention to hurt you. Forget I asked.”
“No. Truly, it doesn’t hurt to talk about it. Lord knows I rehashed it for Bow Street, and then countless times with Slayde. ’Tis only that I spent months, years, racking my brain for some detail I might have forgotten, something that could have identified their killer. The problem is, I was scarcely ten years old when it happened and was therefore sound asleep in my room, which, as you know, is one landing and half a house away from where the murder took place. I heard no commotion. The question is, was that because none occurred—that Mama and Papa knew their killer and willingly admitted him? Or is it because the murderer caught them by surprise and committed his crime so swiftly and silently that he didn’t disturb the rest of the house? I simply don’t know. But I can tell you this: I do believe that Chilton Bencroft was capable of murder.”