Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
“He really did think of everything.” Adele ran her hands along the rows of beautifully bound books that lined the sewing room of her new townhouse.
The sewing room had everything she would need for her projects, and the window placement meant that the room would get light throughout the day. The chairs were comfortable, and Adele had a suspicion that Warner had commissioned them to fit her perfectly.
Most things were usually a little too short for her, given her height, but not these. The desk was the most comfortable she had ever worked at.
Her heart twisted as she thought of Warner. She had not heard from him since she had left. “He does not miss me.”
She hated the way that made her feel. The way the coldness of the thought seeped into her bones. Adele heard a knock at the front door and made her way to the hallway.
Mr. Jenkins was already standing at the front door and opening it. “May I ask who is calling?”
It had taken Adele a day or so to decide that it would be easier to bring some of the staff from Kidlington house to the townhouse. Mrs. Patmore had assisted, clearly determined to make things right between them, and Adele did not have the energy to try and start from scratch.
“Lady Anne Danby, Countess of Montrose.” Anne’s voice rang out, and Adele felt her heart leap. “My sister is expecting me.”
“And your companion.” Mr. Jenkins voice was polite, but firm.
The staff had adopted a protective air since Adele had been in the house, and while it warmed her, it also made her heart ache. The ache was worsened when she heard a familiar voice answer Mr. Jenkins’ question.
“I am Lady Bianca Swinton, Countess of Crowley.” Bianca’s voice held an edge.
Adele had reached the doorway, and Mr. Jenkins turned to face her. Anne was beaming at her though she could see a hint of nervousness in her expression. Bianca stood a little behind her, holding an ornately wrapped box in her hands and standing stiffly.
“I hope you do not mind our popping in, Addie; we wanted to give you a little house warming present.” Anne gestured to Bianca. “Is now a good time?”
For a moment, Adele hesitated, and then she nodded. “Mr. Jenkins, will you have some refreshments brought into the Eastern drawing room?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mr. Jenkins bowed and stepped aside to let Adele’s sisters into the townhouse.
“Oh goodness, it is beautiful!” Anne clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Thank you.” Adele swallowed. “I cannot take much credit for it, I am afraid. Warner —I mean the Duke — he did all of it.”
At the mention of Warner’s name, Adele’s heart seized, but she ignored it and focused on guiding her sisters to the drawing room. “I would offer you a tour, but I fear I am getting used to it myself.”
“That is quite all right; we came here to see you, not your house.” Anne sat across from her, and Bianca sat beside her.
“Really?” Adele asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes. And to give you this.” Bianca handed Adele the box.
Adele took it and unwrapped it. Inside was a beautiful sewing kit with needles and thread and a thick volume on French dressmaking. Adele looked at her sisters.
“When I was staying with you, I could not help but notice your sewing room. I did not know if you would have everything in the new house, but I thought perhaps you would enjoy this. It is quite a rare book — the dressmaker was actually one of our distant relations, and well…” Anne trailed off, looking between Adele and Bianca.
Bianca sat stiffly in the chair, and Adele felt the tension between them. “Thank you. They are lovely. But why are you really here?”
The question was directed at Bianca, but Anne answered, her voice a higher pitch than usual, “What do you mean?”
“The last time I saw Bianca, I left with the impression that she had little desire to see me at all,” Adele said coolly.
Bianca winced, and Anne paled, but before Anne could explain, Bianca’s eyes found Adele’s. “I know what I said, and I know that you must still be angry with me.”
“Not angry, just hurt,” Adele corrected. “I would have thought with the latest bits in the paper, you would have avoided me like the plague.”
“I deserve that.” Bianca took a deep, steadying breath. “And I might have, if Anne had not knocked some sense into me.”
Adele saw the spots of colour on Bianca’s cheeks and suspected that the words might be more literal than metaphorical. Clearly Anne is rediscovering some of her fire. It was a comforting thought.
She swallowed and met Bianca’s eyes. “Then you do not believe I killed the Marquess?”
“No.” Bianca shook her head. “To be honest, it was not really me who believed it. Martin has been distant recently, and when I asked him about it, he mentioned the rumours around you. That it had made him look differently at me. I thought if I could cut ties, then perhaps it would fix things.”
“And did it?” Adele asked, her arms crossed over her chest.
“No. I caught him with one of the maids a fortnight ago, and three days ago, I received a letter from a friend asking why I did not visit her when I was in Cambria. Apparently, she saw Martin and I strolling arm in arm — she was quite convinced until I explained I was in London the entire time.” Bianca’s eyes narrowed, her hands curled into fists even as her voice cracked with emotion.
“I do not think I have ever been so embarrassed.”
“Apparently our brother-in-law has something of a type,” Anne added grimly. “While his eyes wander, he has little imagination. Most of the women look very similar to our Bianca.”
“It is partly how it has gone unnoticed. If he was spotted from a distance, one would assume he was with me.” Bianca’s lip curled. “Though, perhaps he simply did not care if he was caught.”
“I am sorry, Bianca.” Adele thought of the way her sister’s husband had often looked at her and supressed a shudder. “I had hoped he had mended his ways. Or that perhaps the rumours were untrue.”
“I am sorry that you were caught up in the unpleasantness, Adelaide. You did not deserve that. And well… I think I would rather have my sisters than some cheating excuse for a husband. That is… if you would be willing to forgive me?” Bianca’s eyes met Adele’s, and it was impossible to miss the fear and hope within them.
“I would like to know you — for my children to know their aunt.”
“I would like that too.” Adele took Bianca’s hand in hers. “I find that I am also rather in need of my sisters at the moment.”
Bianca gave her a sad smile and pulled her into a hug. “Oh little, Adelaide, what a trio we are.”
Adele let out a soft laugh. “Please, call me Adele or Addie. I have always hated Adelaide.”
“I did think it rather a stodgy name when mother and father gave it to you,” Bianca admitted, smiling at her. “It really is a lovely house.”
“Thank you.” There was more warmth in Adele’s thanks this time as she felt a heaviness shift from her heart. “If I am honest, it feels a little lonely at the moment.”
“Then we should fix that.” Bianca squeezed Adele’s hand. “What if we visited you again tomorrow? We could bring the children as well.”
“I think I would like that very much.” Adele beamed at her sisters.
She may not have Warner, but perhaps wanting him was simply greedy. She had the widows, and now, she had her sisters. It was everything she had ever dreamed of.
In time, she was sure the pain of a life without Warner would fade. The hole in her chest would be filled with the sound of her nieces and nephews, her friends and her family. That would be enough.
“Your Grace, you have — you have —” Mr. Jenkins knocked on the door, his voice shaking.
“Tell them to come back another day —– I am spending time with my sisters.” Adele waved Mr. Jenkins away.
“I fear that will not be possible, Duchess,” a voice said from behind Mr. Jenkins.
A tall man stepped into the room, accompanied by a handful of uniformed men behind him. He had greasy black hair and ill-fitting clothes. “I am arresting you for the murder of Lord Eric Rothwell, Marquess of Kidlington and heir to the Duke of Erindale.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Anne and Bianca were on their feet, standing between the man and Adele.
“Exactly what I said.” The man gave them a smile so vicious it would have made a wild dog flee. “If you two want to join her, I’m sure we can make that happen.”
Anne opened her mouth, but Adele put a hand on her arm and shook her head. “They have nothing to do with this.”
She was pleased that her voice did not betray her and that the thick fabric of her dress hid the shaking of her legs. “I will go with you.”
The man moved towards her and held out thick, iron manacles. Adele let him place them around her wrists as her mind worked furiously. When the man reached to grab her arm, she glared at him.
“That will not be necessary. I am still a duchess, and you will not touch me.” Her voice was iron, matching every bit of cold anger she had ever seen Warner use.
The man shrugged and jerked his head towards the door as he gave her a mocking bow. “Your carriage awaits, Your Grace. You are to spend the night behind bars, and your trial will be in the morning.”
“No.” Adele shook her head. “I demand an audience with the King. It is my right.”
“You little —” the man began, but Adele cut him off.
“I would think carefully about your next words. My husband is not known to tolerate slights against me.”
“Your husband cannot save you now, girl.” The man leaned close to her. “You might get your audience with the king, but it will do you little good. Who do you think he will believe? A little chit like you or a duke?”
Does he mean Warner? Panic flooded Adele, but she forced herself to look coolly back at the man. “I expect he will believe the truth.”
The man let out an unpleasant laugh that made Adele feel as though someone had covered her with oil and grime. “Oh, dear. I thought you were clever. The truth is what men of power make it, and you are no man.”