He stood and strode to the window where he stood looking out. The fingers of one hand tapped against his thigh. His posture, so stiff and upright, frightened her.
“Stephen.”
He turned. “What have you done?”
The question came slow and sharp and edged with horror, and her heart lurched. “What?”
“Lord Wakefield came to see me last night. You’re acquainted with him, aren’t you? He’s a friend of Lady Haliday’s. He served with David Scott. But, then, you’d know that. You know everything having to do with her, don’t you?”
She had good reason to know all about Charlotte Haliday, but Vivian saw it was too late to take Radcliffe into her confidence. She doubted he’d understand, anyway. She’d been so foolish, allowing herself to fall in love with him.
Should she act outraged or puzzled? Oh, she couldn’t think.
“What are you talking about?” she said instead.
“Lady Haliday was poisoned with arsenic and nearly died, and Wakefield and Scott suspect you. You’re the only person who has a contentious history with her.”
She nearly died. Those words battered inside Vivian like storm waves pummeling the shore. She bent her head and shielded her face with her hands, unsure if she could bear the hurt, the disbelief and anger in Radcliffe’s voice.
He rejoined her on the divan, took her wrists and pulled her hands away. She’d always feared losing him over this, but she’d tried to keep him separate from her dealings with Charlotte. Oh, it wasn’t fair to have Radcliffe taken away along with everything else. Hadn’t she given up enough?
“Stephen, it’s true I have a grudge against Lady Haliday, but do you honestly believe I’d kill her?”
He studied her intently. “Did Haliday mean that much to you, that you wanted to elicit some kind of sick revenge? Was that it?”
He still held her wrists, had shackled them with his hands. She hated constraint of any kind and gave an ineffectual pull that only made his restraint feel more rigid.
“Let me go,” she said, tugging. “Let go.”
She yanked hard, and he released her suddenly, holding his hands up and spreading his fingers as if he were the one breaking free. She surged to her feet and growled, “Get out.” She dashed at her wet cheeks. “Go on. Get out. You don’t believe in me. You automatically assumed the worst.”
He wavered for an instant. She saw it in his face but then his determination was back, his mouth and shoulders set, and he was leaving.
In the doorway he spun and stalked back. She’d never seen the relaxed, confident Radcliffe like this. Jaw tensed, teeth clamped together, face dark and fierce. He didn’t stop until he was close. Much too close.
“Did you do it?”
The wave of conflict and anger radiating off him hit Vivian like the burning heat from an unbanked fire. She took a step back. And waited. Everything in her waited.
All emotion fell from his face, leaving it blank, empty and so sad. He turned and walked away. A moment later Vivian heard the noise of him leaving, the front door closing, and inside her chest cracked like an egg and a horrible pain exploded. She sank down onto her settee. She’d believed so strongly in him, yet he’d judged her before asking a single question. Then he’d convicted and sentenced her. And left her.
#
Charlotte wasn’t sure what her condition would be without David’s steady presence and care, but he would see her through. The antidote had taken hold, and the pain, vomiting, and confusion subsided. Two days of rest and doing her best to eat the sick foods her cook tried to make appealing had her feeling well enough for conversation and thinking about the bizarre turn her life had taken.
Today David looked more rested. He’d continued to work from her bedroom desk, but last night he had gone home to sleep. And he’d finally relented, agreeing she was well enough to hear the details he’d been piecing together.
“I believe the woman in the park poisoned Persa and poisoned you,” he said. His steady, straightforward manner gave Charlotte the courage to ask a question she wasn’t sure she wanted an answer to.
“Was it Lady Garret?”
“I think so.”
Ever since David posed the possibility of the baroness being her poisoner, Charlotte had been unable to get the woman out of her head. “Is Eleanor all right? She must blame herself.”
“I assured her she’d been tricked by someone very smart and determined. You and I were fooled by the candy, which I think helped ease Eleanor’s guilt. Plus she’s remembered enough details of the woman’s appearance to make it very possible she was Vivian Garret. We’ll soon know for certain. I’ve got Wakefield and Eleanor in his carriage, waiting outside Lady Garret’s home. They’ll make sure Eleanor gets a look at her.”
“Then what?”
“Then we let a detective inspector do the rest.”
Charlotte smoothed the shawl she’d thrown over her legs. This morning she’d insisted weakness wasn’t reason enough to stay in bed, and David and Rebecca had relented. Rebecca had ensconced her in a chair near the open window.
“I just can’t believe she tried to kill me.”
“Did you ever have a confrontation with her while you were married?”
“No. We were never friends, but once she published her novel and I learned of her affair with Haliday I never spoke to her again. Not until the night I met you. I’ve never written or received a letter. Before that I’d stopped accepting invitations. I stayed home while Haliday spent his evenings by her side. When I encountered her by chance, she just smirked and laughed.”
The angry glitter in David’s eyes eased the pain of those memories a bit. It still hurt Charlotte that so many had believed Lady Garret’s lies and thought her a woman of spiteful, even cruel character, but she no longer cared that Haliday had loved Vivian Garret. That excruciating heartbreak had healed. Her husband’s death now truly seemed a just if tragic liberation.
“Did either of them try to hurt you? Try to physically hurt you, I mean.”
“No.” Neither had injured her body. They’d struck a higher prize: her spirit.
David rolled forward, closing the few feet between them. “Tell me everything you remember about how he died.”
“Haliday? What are you thinking? Surely you don’t suspect—”
“I don’t suspect anything right now. I just want to hear about it.”
He took her hand. It amazed her, how much his touch affected her. Warm and strong, his palm and the pads of his fingers, rough with callus, his hand comforted and reassured her to a degree all out of proportion to the small amount of physical contact.
“David, I’ll help in any way I can. But I don’t see how Haliday’s death could have anything to do with this.”
“I can’t say that I disagree, but for some reason my mind keeps wandering there.”
Charlotte sighed. Since beginning work at the Patriotic Fund, her thoughts rarely strayed to her husband, for which she was thankful. She’d spent the last two years thinking about his betrayal and unnecessary cruelty, grieving the death of her innocence. Her dreams. Then she’d become determined to forge a new life.
She let her head fall back so that it rested on the chair. “The police believed the man who killed Haliday intended to rob him.”
“Were they able to find any association between them?”
“No. None. Haliday had been playing cards and had just left his club. Those inside heard the shot.”
“One shot?”
Charlotte nodded. “Haliday made a habit of carrying a small pistol in his coat whenever he played. He was accustomed to carrying large sums of money on those nights.”
“He shot the thief, then.”
“Yes. Apparently they scuffled first. They both had some scrapes and bruises on them. The police believed the robber threatened him with a knife. Haliday shot him, but the man was close and didn’t go down. He was still able to stab Haliday in the chest. They believed the robber acted alone because Hal
iday’s money was still in his coat pocket.”
“Wasn’t anyone near? Where was the club footman?”
“Evidently Haliday intended to engage a Hansom. There was one just down the street—mere yards away. The footman said Haliday sent him back inside and started walking toward the coach. But the night was dark and the coachman wasn’t aware anything was amiss until the gun fired.”
“I find it remarkable Haliday wouldn’t just hand over his money rather than put himself in jeopardy,” David said.
“It would have been the cautious, wise thing to do, but Haliday was an arrogant man. He never believed anyone could best him.”
“I don’t imagine the robber was expecting him to resist.” Charlotte could see David thinking. His gaze sharpened on her and he added, “It must have been a very difficult time for you.”
“I don’t know what I would have done without Lady Etherton.” She hesitated but actually wanted to tell him. Her chest grew hot, the compulsion to reveal all building like a kettle on the verge of a robust boil. “Jane’s compassion helped immensely, even though I couldn’t share what a burden was lifted by his death.”
David’s thumb caressed her hand. “It must have been a huge relief, knowing his outrageous behavior with Lady Garret and the gossip would finally stop.”
Charlotte shook her head, finding solace in David’s accepting blue eyes, and she forced the words out. “That wasn’t why. The one thing he still wanted of me was a son. That’s what made his death a relief. It left me free of his soulless bedroom visits.”
“My God. Why didn’t you leave him?”
The pain on David’s face made Charlotte close her eyes. “My father refused to give me money. He wanted a titled grandson for his heir, remember. Father said I’d been obtuse. That loveless marriages were common enough, and if I would produce an heir everyone would be happy. He promised that once I did he’d open his purse strings. Haliday didn’t want to give up, either, and he promised if I gave him a son he’d give me the freedom and money to live as I chose. I could live at Hazelton Park for the rest of my days. He even said I could raise the child. He hated that he’d set his estate to rights with my money and had no heir.”
Charlotte opened her eyes. David’s body seemed to have grown larger. He leaned forward, muscles rigid. His nostrils flared.
“Bloody hell.”
“I realized he’d pretended to be a different man in order to win my dowry and my father’s favor. The man I fell in love with didn’t exist. Once he was flush, he tired of his charade and revealed his cruelty, arrogance, and selfishness. He didn’t care what I thought or how I felt.”
“Couldn’t Jane have helped?”
“Yes. She would have helped me.” Charlotte paused. Could she make David understand, or would the truth disgust him? “But I got angry. Very angry. I’d been duped. He’d stripped everything from me.” Please, please understand. “Everything but my desire for a child. I thought I deserved something, and I thought I could bear his bedroom efforts.” Oh, blast. Her voice was starting to shake. “I prayed I’d get with child.”
With his thumb, David rubbed away the wetness under each of her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Bluebell.”
Really? But could David know the worst of her and still want her? She had to know.
“When we began our affair, I told you I was pregnant at the time Haliday was killed. And that after his death I had a miscarriage.”
David nodded.
“I was sure I was with child, but I didn’t tell him. As much as I wanted the couplings to stop, I didn’t want to make him happy.” She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself enough to finish.
“I-I thought I wanted a child,” she stammered, “but once it happened I began to wonder if he’d use the child to control me. To make me do more things I didn’t want to do. To hurt me. I knew I couldn’t trust him, and I wished I’d never consented. I wished…oh, David! When Haliday died, I was happy. My child would be mine. And now I fear God made me miscarry that innocent soul to punish me for my wickedness.”
With a couple of deft moves, David aligned his chair with hers. She went into his arms, and he lifted her onto the armrest then over. Nothing had ever felt so right as sitting on his lap, his firm arms wrapped around her. His hands lifted and cradled her face, and his warm lips nuzzled her temples, her eyes, then the corners of her mouth.
“Bluebell, don’t torment yourself so. God didn’t take the child to punish you. Haliday was a bastard. Anyone would be glad to have his abuse stop.”
She held him so tight she could feel his heart beating against her chest.
After a long minute, David eased her away. Charlotte sniffed and wiped at her eyes, strangely unembarrassed. David’s smile somehow pulled at her own lips and made them curve the tiniest bit. He pushed a loose strand of her hair back and slid his fingers down the thick braid that rested against her shoulder and breast.
“You don’t deserve what’s happening now, either,” he said. “I promise it’s going to stop. Whether it’s Lady Garret or someone else, I’m going to stop them and we’ll know why you’ve been targeted.”
It helped to have him turn the subject. She gave him a quick thank-you kiss, but his hands tightened and pulled her back for a slower one that left her wanting more. Much more.
“I’m well enough to visit Rose Cottage,” she whispered.
One corner of David’s mouth, which she’d been admiring, pulled up in a lopsided smile. “Nearly well enough. I want you strong and safe the next time you leave home.”
The distant noise of an arrival at the front door floated up the stairs. Then came Eleanor’s and Wakefield’s voices.
Charlotte stared at David. They got her back to her chair just in time.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
At last. Jane, turned out in the very latest and most complementary fashion, glided through Charlotte’s sitting room door. So much had happened since the last time she’d seen her friend. They’d corresponded during Charlotte’s short convalescence, but it wasn’t the same as being together and Jane’s failure to visit sooner seemed odd. Jane had written that she and Etherton were talking, but something about Jane’s words had sounded wrong. Finally, Charlotte could find out exactly what progress her friends had made in repairing their breach.
As soon as Charlotte stood, Jane was there hugging her. This was the best day she’d had since becoming ill. She would spend the morning with Jane, and tonight, for the first time since her poisoning, she’d be at Rose Cottage with David.
She released Jane and started to smile, but the instant her eyes met her friend’s Charlotte’s stomach fell. She pulled Jane down onto the settee and guessed, “Something’s wrong.”
Her friend smiled—a quick, false sort of smile—and looked toward Beckham, who was preparing to serve tea. Charlotte understood. As soon as they had their cups and saucers in hand, Charlotte dismissed him.
“What is it?” she asked.
Jane’s chin quivered. “Phillip’s left me. He’s gone to Friar’s Gate. He told me I’m not to go there, and I’m not to expect him here.”
“Jane.” Charlotte took her friend’s hand. “You said you were talking. I never dreamed you weren’t resolving things.”
Jane’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “I can’t accept that I won’t bear Phillip an heir. He said he was shocked I’d have so little regard for him and our daughters, to demand to risk my life with another pregnancy. And he said I was being cruel, expecting him to deprive his son of his father’s love and attention. I…I corrected him and called the boy his bastard. I couldn’t stop myself. And Phillip exploded.”
What a disaster. Charlotte had never known a couple more in love than Phillip and Jane, and now their marriage had degenerated to the point they were living separate lives. How could the situation have come to this? Didn’t this call into question the nature of all romantic relationships? Was all such feeling so transitory?
“Do you still love him?” she found
herself asking.
Jane’s head jerked, as if the suggestion shocked her. “Of course I still love him. But…I’ve lost faith in him.”
Charlotte wanted to grab her friend and shake her. “Lost faith? I don’t understand how this affected your trust. Phillip wasn’t ever unfaithful to you.”
“He loves this boy. He sees him and his mother every day he’s at Friar’s Gate. He kept them a secret from me for eight years. How can I trust him after he did that? And when I say I need to give him a son, he loses patience.” Jane held out her hands, palms up, entreating. “Not producing an heir is an unforgiveable failure.”
Charlotte shook her head. “Phillip never said that. He’d never even think it.” She was beginning to sympathize with Etherton, actually. Her friend could be so stubborn. “Did you consider me a failure when I didn’t give Haliday an heir?”
Tight-lipped, Jane shook her head. “Haliday didn’t deserve an heir. Phillip is completely different, and he won’t even listen when I tell him I want to try again for a son. He said I’m crack-brained jealous. He said he’d kept them a secret in order to protect me. He didn’t want to hurt me.” Jane’s hands fisted. “He doesn’t understand why his loving the boy pains me.”
“Jane.” Charlotte tried to keep her tone level and reasonable. “What is the boy’s name?”
Her friend blinked. “What?”
“What’s his name?”
“Francis.”
“Have you met Francis?”
Jane’s expression grew mulish, as if she knew what Charlotte was about to suggest. “No. I haven’t.”
“You should meet him. If they’re both part of Phillip’s life at Friar’s Gate, you should meet his mother, too. And you must talk to Phillip again.”
“He said he’s done talking.”
If someone had told Charlotte that Jane could pout like this, she wouldn’t have believed it.
“Well, you know Phillip’s temper never lasts long.”
Jane’s lips parted. “You’re defending him. You’re taking his side.”
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