Graham twisted his hands together, staring down at the wooden floor. “I cannot even bear to think of it,” he said.
Fanny reached out to take his hand, grasping it tightly. “My dear boy, is that why you’re in such a hurry to get back to London?”
He nodded, his eyes sliding shut. “It pains me greatly to have learned this of Bridget,” he said. “I feel… deceived, I suppose.”
“I am still in disbelief,” Fanny said. “I know her so well. For years, she has been like a second daughter to me. I truly do not think that she would have hurt Mary in any way, but thismarriageis an egregious betrayal of her late friend.”
“I know,” Graham said, “which is why I think it is best that I return to London—after speaking with her one last time, to try to learn the truth, of course.”
Fanny’s brows raised. “When?”
“Tonight,” he said. “I sent a note to Sedgwick Manor asking her to meet with me. We shall see if she responds. And then we shall have our answer, won’t we?”
“And what will you do if she refuses?”
“I will be forced to urge an investigation, then,” Graham said. “If Bridget does not provide the answers I seek, then I shall go to the constable tomorrow to request further inquiry into the case. Iwillget justice for Mary, even if I have to hire an investigator myself. I hear there is a former member of the Bow Street Runners working in London who will travel for such things.”
His mother was silent for a moment, then she reached up to squeeze her temples. She was clearly distressed. Though Graham could not see her eyes, he could tell she was crying behind her hand. He squeezed her other hand, which still held his, but she would not show her face.
“Mother, I did not mean to upset you,” he said.
“I’m fine, son,” she said. “Well, not fine, I suppose. I miss your sister very, very much, and to think that someone so close to us could have hurt her is quite horrible.”
“I feel the same,” he said. “But I swear to you, if Mary’s death was not an accident, it will not go unpunished. I shall ensure her legacy is not tarnished by the circumstances of her death.”
“And what of you?” his mother said. “If you have truly fallen in love with Bridget, then you must be heartbroken at the prospect of her betrayal.”
Graham grimaced. “I have no time for heartbreak,” he said. “For now, I must figure out what is actually going on—and that starts with speaking with her tonight.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
Clouds gathered as the afternoon wore on, returning to the dreary drizzle Hertfordshire had experienced in the days surrounding Mary’s death. A storm lurked on the horizon, thunder booming across the hills as lightning flashed in the distance.
And with the storm, Lord Bragg returned to Sedgwick Manor.
Bridget was sitting in the solarium when she received wordabout his impending arrival, his footman riding ahead of his carriage to notify the servants. Since there were so few people working at Sedgewick Manor now, he had brought his own with him during his previous stay. Tilda was, in fact, one of the Sedgwicks' last remaining household servants.
Bridget had spent the whole day lounging in the solarium, pausing in her ruminations only to take a walk about the grounds. Her mother did not seek her out when she returned from the village. Bridget thought that some part of her mother was ashamed of the way she had chosen to bargain away her daughter. So, Bridget was left to her own devices, pondering what she should do that night.
She wanted to run to Graham and ask him to sweep her into his arms, to take her away from it all. It was far too late for that, though. She had burned that bridge with her note yesterday, and with her behavior at the lake the previous morning. She wanted to draw, to sketch out her horror at all that had occurred these past few weeks, but she seemed to have misplaced her set of charcoal and could not find a replacement.
And besides… she had other things to worry about.
For Bridget had come to a startling, horrible realization: that the only way out of her predicament was to end it all. She knew how to make it look like an accident, as she had… no. No, she could not think about that. And what right did she have to die in the same way as Mary, anyway?
I should fill my pockets with stones and wade to the deepest part of the lake. It was her only resort if she did not wish to marry this wicked, atrocious man.
The day stretched on in this way until Lord Bragg’s footman arrived, at which point she realized that her time had run out. If she wanted to escape without his knowledge, she had to take her horse out now, without anyone knowing. The footman had suggested there was a mere half an hour until Bragg arrived, and she had not even written a goodbye note.
So, the first thing she did was go up to her rooms. She took a quill and ink from her writing desk, and sat down with a sheet of paper.
To those I love—
Her chest burned with something like heartache, a knot forming in her throat. Bridget did not wish to die, but she saw no other recourse in her situation. Knowing what she did about Oliver, she could not possibly bring herself to marry him. Could she?
Perhaps she would find the will to do so on her ride.
Yet the note had to be written regardless.