Chapter 32
Relief had lifted the weight from Sebastian’s soul and made it lighter.
Edwina was finally home. Safe and sound.
Croft had kept his word and returned her to him, for which he would be eternally grateful. But the haunted look in her eyes kept nagging at him. It squeezed his heart and made him want to tear the world apart at the seams.
He’d have liked to tear Murry to pieces as well for daring to think he had any right to delay her return.
She belonged with her family, not with a good for nothing servant.
Unfortunately, he’d only managed to deliver a few bruising punches to the man’s face before Croft pointed out that they needed him to take them to Edwina’s location.
The anger Sebastian saw in her eyes when Murry tried to apologize to her, only cemented his own belief that Croft’s valet had held her against her will. Honestly, Sebastian ought to have murdered him on the spot, but removing his sister from the hovel in which she’d been living was more important.
He crossed to the nearest window and looked out onto the Faintree Hall garden at where she presently strolled. Two footmen walked close behind, shadowing her every step of the way.
What had occurred would never happen again. Even when they were here, she’d remain under constant guard.
This was the only way in which to ensure his own peace of mind.
* * *
James sat before the kitchen fire, his thoughts on what had transpired in recent days.
After leaving Marsdale House, rooms had been rented at Mivart’s hotel for a couple of nights.
After that, a house on St. James’s Square became the new Croft residence, with escape ladders installed at each window prior to moving in.
Being reunited with the rest of the servants felt good. As though everything was returning to normal. Even the wound he’d sustained when O’Leary stabbed him had mostly healed.
The only thing that bothered him was Lady Edwina.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. The accusative look in her eyes when she’d seen him last kept returning. He dreamt about it and woke feeling like he’d betrayed her once more.
For that was what he’d done, was it not?
He’d sworn to her that he’d keep her safe and that he would not hand her over to Wrengate.
Yet that was exactly what he had done in the end.
He’d broken his promise for Croft, and as much as he tried to justify doing so, he couldn’t convince himself that he’d done the right thing.
“Are you well?” It was Mrs. Croft who eventually posed the question while he escorted her to the seamstress. A new wardrobe had been ordered for her to replace the clothes she’d lost in the fire. The same was true for the servants and for Mr. Croft as well.
James attempted to soften his expression. “Of course. Why do you ask?”
She stopped on the pavement and turned to face him. “Because you’re obviously moping.”
The turn of phrase produced a short laugh of surprise. “I most certainly am not. If I’ve been somber, it’s because of the tragic events we’ve been through. Susie’s funeral yesterday was difficult.”
“Agreed. But you are not the sort of man who lets tragedy take control of his life. You persevere, your sights set on what comes after. So I don’t think your despondency has anything to do with what you’re claiming.”
“Mrs. Croft. I—”
“If I were to guess, I’d blame Wrengate’s sister.”
He held her gaze a second too long before looking toward the shop where they’d been headed. “We should keep walking or you’ll be late for your appointment with the dressmaker.”
Mrs. Croft sighed but resumed her progress, allowing James to fall into step beside her. However, if he’d thought his comment would make her drop the subject she’d chosen to broach, he could not have been more mistaken.
They’d barely gone two more paces before she said, “My reasoning squares with the day when you and my husband escorted Wrengate to the house in which Lady Edwina was staying. When you returned, it looked almost as though you’d died inside, and you’ve been despondent ever since.”
He attempted a smile which felt horribly strained. “I did my duty.”
“Yes, but at what cost?”
Suddenly angry, he swung toward her, only to get himself under control at the very last second. He swallowed hard and gritted his teeth, allowed a deep calming breath, then told her, “I did what was right, and I’d do it again if I had to.”
Something curious flickered within Mrs. Croft’s blue gaze. She didn’t believe him. Hell, he wasn’t so sure he believed himself either.
She jutted her chin toward his face. “I was referring to the marks left by Wrengate.”
“Right.” His jaw was still sore, his left eye still puffy.
The duke had launched himself at him as soon as they’d met, much like Croft had done when James returned right after the fire.
He’d expected it — had actually thought the duke would kill him.
But then Croft had said something, and the man had backed off, though not without issuing James a ferocious threat.
If you ever go near her again, I’ll shoot you dead.
And if I find out that you touched her, I’ll murder your master as well.
To Mrs. Croft James said, “I deserved to be punished. If anything, the duke was more lenient than most would have been.”
“No regrets then?” she asked, those quizzical eyes assessing.
“None at all,” he told her without even blinking.
What else could he say? That he hated himself for what he had done?
That he resented her husband for making him turn his back on a woman who’d placed her trust in James?
It wasn’t Croft’s fault. It was James’s.
He only had himself to blame. Sympathizing with Lady Edwina, then helping her hide from her brother, had been a colossal mistake.
And for what?
She was a noblewoman. So high above his station she might as well be on the moon for all the difference it made. And why was he even thinking like that? It wasn’t as though it mattered.
In all likelihood, she’d forgotten about him already.
After all, he was only a valet. A servant who’d held her hair while she vomited into a bucket. An unrefined ruffian who’d no business being in the same room as her, never mind imagining he might be worthy of her affection.
Not that he was deluded enough to think in such terms.
He wasn’t.
It was all pointless nonsense.
* * *
Edwina’s only comfort was being reunited with Claire. She’d missed her sister terribly and had so much to tell her. More than what could be said in the space of one single day.
That was how long she’d been back here.
Her return to Faintree Hall had been swift. As soon as she’d arrived at Number 2 Cavendish Square, Sebastian had ordered the carriage be readied for when she’d finished bathing. Another demand he’d insisted upon. That she be scrubbed clean.
“Why didn’t you want to return home as soon as you’d been rescued from those horrid people?” Claire asked.
They were having tea in the sunroom. Between arriving here yesterday and now, Edwina had pieced together bits and pieces about her ordeal.
Since the last thing she wanted from Claire was pity, or worse – for her to look at Edwina the way Sebastian had – she’d omitted the fact that she’d killed someone.
She also hadn’t mentioned James Murry. The man to whom she owed her life.
The very same man who’d betrayed her trust.
“I…” She shook her head. “I wanted to take charge of my situation, not give up more control.”
Claire tilted her head, confusion marking her features. “I don’t understand.”
A wobbly smile caught Edwina’s lips. Of all the people in the world, she believed Claire to be the only person who might.
“Do you remember how Sebastian used to treat you before you got sick?” A slow nod made her say, “And how does he treat you now?”
“Like the invalid I am.”
“Is that how you wish to be treated?”
“No. Of course not. At least not until I’m truly unable to walk unassisted.”
Edwina toyed with the ear of her teacup, then picked up the cup and sipped the warm brew.
She set the cup aside, then said, “Sebastian will never look at me the same way again. He will always imagine the worst was done to me, even if I tell him otherwise. Especially since he knows I was drugged into unconsciousness. Offered up as a slab of meat to the highest bidder.”
Her voice broke and Claire immediately placed her hand over hers. Tears swam in her eyes, nearly undoing every effort Edwina had made to bolster herself against emotion.
“I wanted to escape what Sebastian has in mind for me next.”
Claire frowned. “Sebastian loves you, Edwina. He would never be cruel to you.”
“He won’t have a choice if he’s to preserve the family’s reputation. I’ve become…a liability. The only way to improve the situation in the eyes of Society will be to marry me off. Not to the man of my choosing, but to pretty much anyone who will have me.”
She did not mention the other option — that she could remain a spinster forever, cloistered away with her invalid sister at Faintree Hall. Somehow, she feared she’d make that sound like a far worse fate, which wasn’t fair to Claire, who had no other choice.
Ironically, Edwina hadn’t thought much of this before going to London. She’d never imagined she’d ever dance at a ball or engage in conversation with other young ladies.
But then she had.
She’d met Mr. Orwell, who’s tragic murder was what had caused her to be alone that day in the park. Because she’d needed space for her emotions.
But before all of that, she’d lived.
And now the idea of remaining in this stone edifice for the rest of her days felt impossible. Like a tomb built around her. She’d slowly suffocate here while dreaming of what-ifs.
Her throat tightened. Before she could get a hold of herself, tears burst from her eyes in heaving sobs that made her shoulders shake. “It’s all my fault.”
“How can you say that?” Claire sounded so calm, so sympathetic and so much older and wiser. “You were targeted by the worst kind of people imaginable. They did this to you.”
“Yes.” Edwina gulped down a breath, increasing the ache in her throat. “But I made it possible. If I’d only applied some common sense, this never would have happened. But I was na?ve, too trusting, and very stupid.”
“You were also incredibly brave,” Claire murmured. “I don’t think I would have had the courage to try and escape. I still can’t fathom how you managed.”
Claire’s words, her searching gaze, were a subtle request for additional details. It forced Edwina to think of what she’d done. The pliable feel of flesh beneath the tip of the blade resurfaced. Grover’s choked-off gasp. The wet and sticky blood on her hands.
She shuddered. “It is surprising what one is capable of doing out of desperation.”
You did what you had to.
Murry’s words echoed at the back of her mind.
“There,” Claire said as she gave Edwina a penetrating look. “There it is again. That pained sense of loss in your eyes, as though someone dear to your heart just died.”
Edwina flinched a little and tried to cover the response by picking up her teacup once more. “That is how I’m experiencing it. As though my soul has been murdered.”
“Oh dear, Edwina.” Tears welled in Claire’s eyes, leaving Edwina with a rotten sensation in the pit of her stomach. Not because what she’d said wasn’t true, but because it wasn’t the cause of her misery in that moment.
However, she did not want to discuss the man who was.
Her feelings for Murry were complicated. Considering their different stations, her only response to what he’d done should be anger. There should be no other sentiment involved, and yet he’d managed to hurt her in a way only someone she cared for could do.
It was terrifying.
Especially since he remained in her thoughts, every second of every day.
Removing him from her mind had proved impossible. She’d tried, but their shared experience had bound her to him in a way she’d never be bound to anyone else. He’d killed a man for her, had tossed her the dagger she’d used on Grover, and had shown no horror over what she’d done next.
On the contrary, he’d applauded her for doing what was required.
And he’d risked his own life to protect her. A woman to whom he owed nothing.
Whatever his choices later on, the fact remained that he’d saved her. More than that, he’d held her hair while she vomited into a bucket. He’d ensured she bathed and received clean clothes. And before parting ways with her, he’d placed her in Mr. Fairborne’s care.
Mr. Fairborne and his wife had nursed her back to health.
She’d felt safe there until her brother arrived together with Croft and Murry.
The only thing she’d been able to grant Murry in that moment was resentment. Even though what he truly deserved was her endless appreciation.
Judging from the bruises staining his rugged face, Sebastian had given him the opposite. And she, to her shame, had been glad of it then.
Now, she wished for a chance to speak with him — to properly thank him for what he had done to help her. Perhaps…
She sipped her tea while Claire did the same.
“Forgive me,” she said when she set down the cup, “but I’m horribly tired all of a sudden. Do you mind if I go and rest for a while?”
“Of course not.” Claire swiped the lingering tears from her lashes. “I should probably practice the new piano piece I’ve been working on. Perhaps I can play it for you when you wake?”
“I’d like that,” Edwina told her.
She pushed back her chair with great effort and stood, waited for Claire to do the same without offering her the assistance she would resent. Instead, Edwina took her time rounding the table while Claire collected her cane.
They left the sun room together, Claire hobbling along at an awkward gait while Edwina kept her pace deliberately slow.
“I’ll see you later then,” Edwina said when they reached the door to the music room. Claire nodded and turned into the room while Edwina continued toward the stairs.
She climbed them with sluggish steps, the only thing propelling her upward an indestructible will.
Once in her room, she glanced at her bed. The comfortable mattress and soft cotton sheets pulled at her desire to simply collapse into oblivion for a while.
She resisted the urge and went to the desk that stood below one of the windows. Once seated behind it, she opened the center drawer and pulled out a clean sheet of paper, then dipped her quill in the inkwell, and proceeded to write.
Dear Mr. Murry…