“Yes, she does. Didn’t Hartley tell you?”
It hurt to know that David had held back from her. If what Toovey was telling her was the truth. But she‘d never show that hurt to anyone, least of all Toovey. “He speaks vaguely of her.”
“Thérèse only came back to me to make Hartley jealous. I don’t think she understood that at the time but that was the motive driving her actions. She wanted everything in the world and one simply cannot gain everything in this world. She wanted him to marry her. He was never going to marry her. I still would have, even though she had no dowry and was no longer pure.
“However, I wasn’t enough for her. She had to have Hartley. When being my mistress didn’t bring Hartley running back to her, she went to him and asked him to take her back. He refused. And when he did that, she went a little wild—teasing, flirting with anything in pantaloons. Then she married Captain Wellborne.”
Jeanne couldn’t help it. She was listening with astonishment. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because I want you to trust me. I know Hartley has maligned me to you.”
“He really didn’t say much of you at all.”
“Do you know why I want you to trust me so much?”
“No, I have no clue.”
He leaned forward, his eyes shining with earnestness. “I want you to help Isabella with Thérèse. You’re really the only person who can.”
Jeanne frowned, feeling as though she were missing something here. “Are you trying to tell me that Isabella wishes to speak with me again?”
“As a matter of fact, yes she does. Quite desperately.”
Oh devil take it…well, this would be the absolute last time.
* * * *
An hour later, Jeanne met with Isabella, in the same backroom at the dressmaker’s shop.
“I need to speak with you on a very serious matter.” Isabella’s voice rang with urgency.
“What is it?”
“It is Thérèse.”
“Thérèse?”
“Yes, she’s become quite despondent. She believes Hartley will forget about her. Abandon her.”
“I doubt he ever would.” Jeanne was ashamed of the resentment that bloomed in her heart at the statement.
“Perhaps but Thérèse is convinced that he will marry you.”
Jeanne stared at Isabella for long moments and then she laughed. “Oh, goodness. I am the daughter of a commoner. David will never marry me.”
“Yes, of course you understand that and I understand that. But my sister is given to wild fancies. Her illness works on her mind in dreadful ways. Her health suffers when her foolish imaginings deceive her. All these months you have been keeping company with David, she says she could feel his distraction. Her health has been slipping the whole time.”
“I am very sorry for it, but what can I possibly do?”
“You could talk with her and put her mind at ease. Please, you must come straight away. My carriage is waiting in the alleyway behind the shop. We can leave via the back entrance.”
Jeanne went rigid all over. “No, I cannot do that.”
Isabella lifted her chin and glared down her nose. “Really, it is such a little thing. Can you be so heartless as to refuse?”
It wasn’t a small thing. The very idea of having to speak with Thérèse filled her with revulsion and fear. Not because Thérèse was David’s former mistress but because of her unbalanced mind.
“If she dies before her time because the worry over this has strained her, David will never forgive himself.”
And then Jeanne knew. She would go and try to ease Thérèse’s fears. She would do it for David, only for David.
* * * *
“Good afternoon, Miss Darling. Won’t you have a seat?”
Jeanne sat on the edge of the chair and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of illness that permeated the chamber. It was too hot; the fire was built up far too much. Yet looking at the emaciated, petite woman who sat upon the bed, one could well understand the need.
The woman lifted one hand and waved it. “Leave us, Isabella.”
Isabella compressed her lips.
“Leave us!”
“Now, darling, I don’t think that’s wise.”
“I shall complain to David if you don’t leave right now. And then he won’t take you to all your balls and routs and you won’t be able to preen so stridently about being the dear sister of a mighty duke!”
“Oh, very well, I don’t wish to be the cause of you bringing further grief to Hartley. You behave as though you were his only concern. As though he didn’t have important duties.”
“Yes, I am still the selfish invalid. Now go on.”
“I have something to check on in any case, but I shall return quickly.”
Jeanne could only be glad for that. She watched Isabella leave with a sinking sense of dread.
The tiny woman fixed her with strange, pale gray eyes. “I am Thérèse. My mother was French and she gave my sister and me French names. Papa insisted that our brothers have solid, strong English names.” She giggled softly and reached to touch a porcelain figure on her night table. It was a reproduction of a carriage and four, complete and accurate right down to the bits in the horses’ mouths. She picked it up. She wound the crank, and then soft tinkling music played. Maybe it was a bit warbled as though the device had aged or been played far too many times.
“David bought me this. At the time, he was in love with me, in the utter, complete way only a young man can love.” She traced the glided crest on the carriage door. “You mustn’t trust Isabella. She lies. She has always been a liar. When David told me that he couldn’t marry me, she urged me to follow my heart. I thought she wanted my happiness.” She looked up and grinned. It was an engaging grin, her eyes, so unnervingly large in her thin face, sparkled with mirth. “She wanted my dowry to add to her own.”
Tears suddenly began to spill down her sunken cheeks that were marked with faint scars, as though she’d suffered smallpox as a child. She gripped the figurine for long moments, sobbing softly, and her knuckles went white. She sniffed loudly several times, put the figurine down, then swiped at her eyes with the long sleeves of her nightdress. “I am sorry. I can’t control this. My emotions are all over the place now.” She smiled, wanly this time. “I am not sane. I know it. I know what will happen.”
Thérèse wasn’t at all as Jeanne had expected. Yes, she was clearly not sane, one could just sense it, but she wasn’t raving and out of control.
“You mustn’t fear that David will abandon you.”
“I know he will not. He loves me.” She rolled her shoulders in such an elegant way that it was easy to imagine the charming, coquettish girl she must have once been. “Oh, I don’t mean he loves as a man loves the most important woman in his life. That’s over. I destroyed that. But he does love me as a friend, even a sister. Yes, he is devoted like a brother. He’s nothing if not loyal. That’s why I came back to him. It was weak of me, yes, I know. But I was scared and David was always so strong when I was most afraid.”
“I don’t understand. Isabella said you were distraught with worry that David might…might wed me.” She formed the words the way they were: an impossibility. “And then he would abandon you.”
Thérèse’s lips twisted and twitched. She was trying to smile but her eyes still shone with tears. “I should be very gratified if I could live to see David find some happiness. I should have been more patient with him. If I had, then when his father died, I think he would have married me.” She paused and sniffed deeply. “Why lie to myself? I know he would have wed me. However, I wanted children so badly, I couldn’t think rationally about the subject, and the years were passing.”
Thérèse gave Jeanne a long look filled with such nostalgia that Jeanne felt her chest constrict. “David always said when peace came we would go to Paris.” She shook her head. “We never made it to Paris.”
“You were married to another?” Jeanne s
aid this merely to change the subject to a lighter one. She couldn’t bear the heaviness in her heart that Thérèse’s admissions brought.
“Yes, to my naval hero, my gallant George. He gave me no children, just this illness. I suppose that is a blessing for they say that any child I might have born would have been afflicted with the disease as well. Still, he made me a widow for life. No man wants a contaminated wife.”
“Goodness, Thérèse. Your gloominess will drive Miss Darling to leave. Shall we play cards to lighten the mood?” Isabella said as she entered.
Thérèse put her hands together and clapped. “Oh yes, let us play cards!”
Jeanne didn’t fancy cards. Moreover, she really did not want to linger any longer than was necessary. But Isabella shot her a look that said: Please, please stay and let it reassure her of your good intentions.
Or something like that.
How could she possibly resist Thérèse’s obvious pleasure or Isabella’s open pleading?
She had expected the next hour to pass slowly. Tediously so. However, during that time, observing Thérèse and her childlike enjoyment inspired some surprising images. Fragments of a story. Something that she could develop into a work directed at adults which would highlight the plight of the insane. There was a rush in her blood, tingling around her heart. Passion for the idea.
It also brought her a new perspective. Not toward Thérèse but toward herself. She began to see how distorted her memory of Papa’s insanity had become. She remembered him most vividly as he was near the end. But of course he hadn’t always been like that. She had only remembered the futile and painful struggles she faced in caring for him.
Yet there had been moments of happiness even in his suffering. Moments of shared love and kindness between a daughter and her father. But what if he hadn’t had a daughter to care for him and keep him out of the asylum for so long?
She looked about this overheated chamber, decorated so gaily in shades of yellow and cream and rich greens. A large window that opened to an obviously well-tended garden. This cozy, charming little house that David provided for Thérèse.
Her throat began to throb, a fiery warning that she might cry at any moment. David had been so good to this woman who had brought him so much pain. She understood his need to do so.
Even more, she understood his need to crusade and campaign for all those who didn’t have a daughter or a loyal former lover to provide them with comfort and affection in their times of suffering. Sympathy weighed on her and seemed to crush her chest. She took a long, uneasy breath.
A loud bang sounded from down the corridor. Isabella looked up, concern etched into her face. “It must be Maple.”
“Maple is my kitty. He is a very pretty shade of amber with golden stripes and a nice white front like a gentleman’s cravat,” Thérèse explained.
“He is a walking disaster and should be put outdoors,” Isabella said.
“He has as much right to be here as I do. This is his home.”
Isabella compressed her lips. “I shall have to go see what that wicked creature is up to now.”
She hurried from the chamber.
“Maple creates all kinds of mischief. If Isabella had her way, he’d be long gone. But I love the naughty puss too much. David quite put his foot down with her over the subject.”
Isabella returned with a steaming basin. “Maple simply knocked over some books. Thérèse, it is time to clean your hands and face for dinner.”
Thérèse lifted her brows. “Will Miss Darling be staying to dine with us?”
“I don’t know.” Isabella glanced speculatively at Jeanne. “Would you like to stay and dine with us?”
“I—”
Thérèse gripped the coverlet and leaned forward. Her expression was expectant, happy, like a child’s. “Oh please, please say you’ll stay. David comes and dines with me on Sundays and Thursdays but I am so lonely here all the other days.”
“I come and dine with you.” Isabella sounded most indignant.
Thérèse glanced at her, mutinously. “Yes, but you are always telling me I must be silent.”
“You prattle on and on, telling the same stories.”
“No, I don’t. Pray do not listen to my sister. She lies. She is a liar.” Thérèse sniffed, loudly, exaggeratedly. “There is no lavender in this water.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Thérèse, plain water is all that is needed.”
“Lavender keeps the bad spirits away.”
“It is full daylight. Why do you think bad spirits are lurking about?”
“They are always lurking about.” Thérèse spoke in a tone as though Isabella were a bird wit. “But they get to us through our food and we need to use lavender oils so that the scent is upon us and in the air when we eat.”
Isabella turned to Jeanne with a rueful smile. “Please, would you go down the corridor to the second door, and in the top drawer of the oak dresser, there is a vial of lavender. Please bring it.”
“Of course.” Jeanne arose and left the chamber.
The air in the corridor was so much cooler. A sheer relief. She took several deep breaths.
She was going to do what David had wanted. She would use her writing skills to draw attention to the plight of the insane. She had to do this. Surely no one else was so perfectly positioned to do so. It was a mission that had presented itself to her and she must have faith that she could write more complex stories now. She had no idea what form those stories would take. But she suddenly had faith that if she simply were patient, the ideas would come to her. The ideas would come because she was meant to do this. David was correct, they were meant to be together. They had met for a purpose. She was going to use her talents to help and support his work. They would be true partners in life.
Bernard’s visit and confession had also restored some of her faith in her ability to write. They were still friends. That too, made her feel much more confident.
“Miss Darling! Are you finding the lavender all right?” Thérèse’s voice carried a certain desperate plea.
Jeanne shook herself then followed Isabella’s directions down the corridor.
She opened the door to the bedchamber.
“Good afternoon, Miss Darling.” Lord Toovey grinned at her and made a slight bow.
“Lord Toovey.” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.
He walked behind her and closed the door.
A tick of nervousness panged in her belly. In her heart. “What are you doing here?”
He leaned up against the door. His body blocked her from leaving.
A strong urge to grasp the door handle and yank it open seized her. She was afraid to make a move. She didn’t even understand why she was so afraid.
Isabella was here. Surely, he knew Isabella was here.
Her lips twitched. The caricature of a smile hampered by nerves.
“I am not a deep thinker or strategist.” He spoke in a gentle tone. “I take advantage of opportunities. As I did when I found David, shooting the cat on the street right outside his chambers. I could see he was out of his mind. I thought of putting him in a carriage and dumping him off in east London. I found the idea amusing. Especially since I knew he had an important vote coming up.” He laughed softly. “I am sure he wondered at first if some political arch rival had done it to try and turn the vote. But I did it just to see him seethe. Like I seethed when he took my affianced wife away.”
“Weren’t you afraid of his anger?”
Toovey’s mood instantly changed and he snarled and gripped her arm. “What do I care if he thrashed me for the audacity? My life’s done for. I should enjoy a bit of amusement before I lose all my sensibilities. Maybe I have already lost my wits. I find everything so damned funny these days. In my madness.”
“What do you mean?”
He thrust his hand before her and pulled up the sleeve. Faint marks marred his flesh. Old scars. Old pockmarks.
She jerked her gaze back to his face.
“You said you didn’t give Thérèse the pox.”
“I didn’t. But I never said that she didn’t give it to me.” He laughed softly again. “I see your mind working. You wonder how I could allow that to happen? How could I bed her after she’d left me and wed another?” He shook his head. “Sadly, I don’t have Hartley’s iron will or his fierce pride. I took Thérèse back even after she betrayed me. I believed she’d learned a lesson. I thought she would be faithful.”
How had she missed Toovey’s insanity? She thought she was so adept at spotting anyone who was seriously unbalanced in their mind. God, she knew very little about insanity. She was now afraid of setting him off. She decided to placate him and wait for the proper moment to make her move to escape.
“Wasn’t she?”
“Not a bit loyal, not emotionally. The moment she discovered she was ill, she went running back to Hartley, seeking his protection. She didn’t trust anyone else. Not even me. That was the final and worst betrayal.”
“He has taken excellent care of her.”
“He is a fool. She should be locked up for her own good. She’s nothing to anyone but a reminder of the corruption of sin.”
“Won’t that happen to you? Do you really want to find yourself locked up?”
“I shan’t be around to be locked up.”
“You intend to kill yourself?”
“Hartley will kill me.”
“He will?”
Toovey lunged forward.
She screamed and turned to run but he caught her arm. She struggled wildly and he brutally subdued her.
“He will kill me when he finds out what I have done.”
“What have you done?” she asked in a quavering voice.
“What I will do…Hartley will never be able to bring himself to wed you. It will destroy him inside, as I was destroyed inside by everything that has happened to Thérèse.”
A thousand needles prickled over her scalp. Murky, green-yellow sickness sank through her innards. “But none of that was David’s fault.”
“All of it was his fault. All of it. If he had simply allowed her to wed me, as we planned, as it was meant to be, then none of this would have happened. We’d be tucked away in the country with a parcel of children at our knees.” His expression grew very grim. “No, David shall pay.”
Her Mystery Duke Page 25