Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception. Marguerite Kaye
she would never be able to close her eyes again, much less free her mind long enough to get any rest.
Perhaps he had put something in the brandy he had given her. Or perhaps it was the sight and sound of her sister, sitting beside the bed and struggling with the thread and bobbins in the dim candlelight, as though attempting to prove that she had any interest in the skills Justine had been trying to teach her.
‘You needn’t bother,’ Justine had told her, gently.
‘I know that,’ Margot had answered, frowning down at the lace in a way that would have seemed very bad tempered of her, had Justine not seen the expression on her face almost since birth.
‘The things Mr Montague said about my trying to keep you from your place in the shop...’
Margot had looked up at her with the same direct, no-nonsense expression she often wore. ‘Mr Montague was a villain. He is gone now and we needn’t worry ourselves about what he did or did not say. In fact, I recommend we do not think of him at all.’ Then she smiled more softly. ‘It is just the two of us, Justine, as it has always been. The two of us and your Lord Felkirk, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Justine said, dutifully, thinking that it remained to be seen whether she had a Lord Felkirk or not. Will had been very gentle with her, as he had put her to bed. He could just as easily have left her in the ice house and called for the duke. Perhaps he was merely grateful for the action she had taken to defend him.
As he’d carried her, she had felt the tear in the shoulder of his jacket that the bullet had made as it had flown past his head. Only a few inches down, or to the left, and it would have struck him. It did not matter what happened to her now, as long as she knew he was safe and Montague could not hurt him again.
It would be nice if he had forgiven her, even in a small way, for concealing the truth from him. But there was a limit to how much a man could forget, especially one who had been trying for weeks to remember the past.
She had done an awful thing to Mr Montague. But perhaps it was mitigated since she had prevented him from doing something even worse. And though murder was by far the most serious of crimes, she had done many horrible things already. No matter how hard she had tried, she simply was not a very good person. She was a murderer, a schemer and a fallen woman. All the good behaviour from this moment on would not erase any of it.
It shocked her even more to know that she did not regret what had happened with her guardian in the ice house. If she had been the sort of proper woman that Will deserved, she would have been distraught over what she had done. It had been awful. But every moment she’d spent with Montague had been nearly as terrible. There was a strange peace in knowing that, having done the worst thing possible, she would not see him, ever again.
With no particular plan, she got up and woke Margot, who was dozing in a chair beside the bed, a trail of tangled silk threads trailing from the pillow in her lap, the lace pins scattered on the carpet at her feet. Justine kissed her lightly on the cheek and sent her back to her own room to get some rest. Then she called for the maid and dressed with care in her simplest of muslin gowns, a pale yellow patterned with tiny oak leaves. The maid finished by pinning her hair up beneath a plain linen cap.
Justine looked at herself in the cheval glass. She declared the look suitable for a morning walk to either the wood, or to prison. Was there a prison within walking distance, or would she be driven there? She imagined herself in the back of a cart, driven down the high street of the village, displayed before all as a criminal.
She smiled and turned away. With such a dramatic imagination, she should be writing novels of her own. This one sounded like the sort where the fallen woman died in jail, after writing lengthy apologies to God and man for crimes which were caused by the actions of others. Family and friends, and the handsome hero all mourned her loss, though none of them had done a thing to help her when she was alive and with them.
While she had no objection to confession, she would offer no more apologies. Had she been forced to live her life again, it would most likely have gone much the same. Many of the choices had been forced upon her. Others, like the decision to come to Wales and give herself to Will Felkirk... No matter how wrong it had gone in the end, she could not bring herself to regret it. She reached up and plucked the cap from her head, dropping it to the floor beside the bed. Then she left her room and went down to meet her fate, head unbowed and uncovered.
She found Will and the duke in the study, a light breakfast on the desk between them. The diamond pouch lay there as well, leaning casually against the sugar box as though loose diamonds were but one more thing that the aristocracy sprinkled into their tea.
At her entrance, both men rose and Will said, ‘Will you join us, Miss de Bryun? And close the door behind you,’ he added, glancing towards the hall to make sure no one had heard.
Miss de Bryun. That was her name. But she could not think when she had heard it pronounced in that particular tone. Perhaps this was what she’d have heard in that imaginary meeting between herself and a pleasant young man in a shop in Bath.
‘My lord,’ she said, closed the door and curtsied. ‘Your Grace.’ She had done that wrong. She should probably have acknowledged the duke before his brother. But there had been no duke in her fairy-tale meetings. Nor had she needed to plead before one for life and liberty.
Will got a chair and pulled it up to a corner of the desk, then seated her and passed a third plate and the toast rack. There was a third teacup as well. They had expected her and had not wanted to disturb the conversation with the comings and goings of servants.
‘My brother has given his version of the morning’s events,’ the duke said, sipping his tea with no sign of anxiety. ‘Since I trust him, we will spare you the repeating of what must have been a most traumatic event. For the purpose of the inquest, I will say that an intruder threatened you both and met with an unfortunate end. Since he was also responsible for a murder on the property some years ago, and an earlier attack on my brother, we have been saved the price of the rope needed to hang him.’ He gave her a pointed look. ‘And that is all that will be said about that.’
‘Thank you, your Grace.’ Was it really to be so easy as that? She deserved some sort of punishment for taking Mr Montague from the world, even though it was a great relief to think that she would never see him, or hear his voice again.
‘Did the man have family?’ Bellston asked. ‘Was there any that we need notify?’
‘None but my sister and myself. He was our guardian, when our mother died, and in charge of our affairs.’
‘Your guardian,’ the duke repeated, clearly appalled.
‘He was not just my father’s partner, but his oldest and dearest friend. In Father’s will, he was charged with the keeping of the business and of our family. And when my mother died...’ She swallowed. ‘We went to him, hoping he would be like a father to us. That was not the case.’
Beside her, Will cursed beneath his breath.
‘When you came of age,’ the duke said, regaining his composure, ‘why did you not leave?’
Will gave a warning growl in the direction of his brother. Clearly, he did not like the line of questioning. The duke held up a hand. ‘Silence, William. I have other questions about recent events involving Miss de Bryun. I mean to have them answered to my satisfaction.’
Justine gave them both an encouraging nod. It had all been very polite and rational so far and not the barrage of shouted accusations she had imagined. ‘When I came of age, there was still my sister to consider. Until she came of age as well...’ She busied herself with the marmalade pot, trying not to think of all the horrible things that might have occurred ‘...I could not leave her alone in his care.’
‘And when you came to my home under false pretences and lied to Penelope and I, pretending to be my brother’s wife?’
‘Lord Felkirk was bleeding and near death. But he had not yet expired and I did not wish to be an accessory to his murder. If he could be healed, I would attempt it.