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“Is there a reason you’re sitting so far away?” She wanted him to sit next to her, to touch her hand, stroke her brow, kiss her in the way that spoke of something more profound than lust.

“The doctor assured me you need rest. As a man with a raging appetite for you, I thought it best to keep my distance.”

“After the terrible things I learnt last night—”

“Two nights ago. You slept the whole day yesterday.”

The whole day?

And still her head throbbed.

“After the terrible things I learnt, perhaps I want to feel close to you.”

“What we want and what is advisable are two different things. I’ll not risk losing you just to satisfy a desire.”

Her light laugh triggered the thumping ache, but she was determined in her course. “I am asking you to sit on the bed, not rip off my chemise with your teeth.”

“Must you rouse lascivious images in my head?” Wycliff placed the book on the table and came to sit beside her on the bed.

She considered his impeccable attire. “Are you going out?”

He inclined his head. “I intend to call on the marquis. Twenty-six years’ worth of questions insist on having a voice.”

They were similar in that regard, although she had twenty-three years’ worth of questions that would forever remain unanswered.

“It’s not too late for you. The only person who can shed light on your father’s relationship with your mother still lives. Go to the marquis. Demand the truth.” She hoped it might ease his pain, hoped they both learnt to accept they were powerless to change the past.

Wycliff captured her hand and stroked it tenderly. “I met Lord Rathbone at a coffeehouse this morning. It might relieve you—it might sadden you—to know that Lady Rathbone took an overdose of laudanum last night, coupled with a quart of brandy.”

“An overdose? Is she alive?”

Wycliff pursed his lips and shook his head. He explained about the receipts found in the letter case, about the villain Lady Rathbone hired, about the matron taking a pistol to Vauxhall.

“The magistrate who presided over the meeting concluded that there was insufficient evidence to prosecute. No one can attest to the true meaning of the word cargo. The mumbled words of a dying man on his deathbed are often inadmissible. And I could hardly mention that the man guilty of the crimes against you is at the bottom of the Thames.”

“So you couldn’t produce the letter offering payment in exchange for my life?”

“Not without implicating Flannery. Besides, the letter bears no name, signature or seal. No one can verify the identity of the sender. And the magistrate will not commit a member of the aristocracy to trial without substantial evidence.”

With her mental faculties weaker than usual, Scarlett found it hard to absorb the information. “Did the constable not witness her wielding a blade?”

“The magistrate suggested time in an institution, one capable of treating female hysteria.”

“It beggars belief that she may have been free to wreak havoc again.” Scarlett shuddered at the thought. “Had a maid behaved so abominably, she would have swung by the neck from the gallows.”

“Lord Rathbone believes that the scandal, the stain on her name, is the reason she downed two bottles of laudanum.”

Perhaps some people might clap their hands in joy or relief upon hearing the news. But how could she be happy knowing someone’s life meant less to them than their reputation?

“I doubt the coroner will rule suicide,” she said, “not for someone of Lady Rathbone’s standing.” The same rules that applied to Jack Jewell did not apply to the aristocracy.

“The coroner concluded the matter rather quickly. As expected, he cited an unstable mind. The most important thing for the Crown is that a peer receives his inheritance.”

Oh, the hypocrisy of society left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Lord Rathbone assures me he knew nothing of the plot against you. Since the death of Lord Steele, he has tried to persuade his grandmother that his marriage to you would prevent you from revealing the truth.”

A shiver ran the length of Scarlett’s spine as it occurred to her that Lady Rathbone was her grandmother, too. Still, after everything she had learnt, doubt flared.


Tags: Adele Clee Scandalous Sons Historical