Chapter 32
Adrian stared at the letters that had been carved into the smooth granite headstone.
A thick layer of grass covered what had been a freshly dug grave twelve months earlier. The daffodils Samantha had planted here last October were now in full bloom, adding a touch of brightness — a perfect reflection of who Evie had been.
Throat tight, Adrian clasped his wife’s hand. “I can’t believe it’s been a full year since I sat across the table from her and chatted about inviting you over for tea.”
“A lot has happened since then,” she whispered. “However challenging some of it may have been, it kept you busy and probably helped you through it.”
“It also stopped me from keeping my promise to her.” He could scarcely stand thinking about the lack of progress he’d made with regard to finding the person responsible for Evie’s murder.
“You did away with the man who wielded the blade.”
“That’s not enough.” It would never be enough. Clive Newton might have done the killing, but he’d been guided to do so by someone else. “I won’t find peace until I discover who orchestrated her death and destroy them.”
Samantha’s fingers tightened around his. “Wrengate remains an option, I suppose. Even though he helped you when I needed rescuing, I still don’t trust that he wasn’t involved.”
“Is that what you truly believe or is your personal dislike of him starting to influence you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. The attempt we made at linking him to Evie’s death was inconclusive.”
“True, but that doesn’t mean he had anything to do with it.
” Adrian sighed. “We cannot afford to chase false clues, so let’s focus on what we know.
Wrengate came to our aid, despite the fact that he knows it was you who snuck into his house and that it was also you who killed the thugs he sent after Wycliff. ”
“He knows nothing for certain. He only suspects.”
“True.” He glanced at her and noted the way her brow creased in thought.
The damage done to her face by O’Leary had mostly healed.
Only a small scar on her lip remained — enough to make fresh anger simmer in Adrian’s veins whenever he saw it.
“I hope you’re not trying to plot a way through this.
You’ve too much at stake with the baby on the way. ”
“Don’t worry.” Her voice was hoarse. “I meant what I said when I told you about the pregnancy. As far as I am concerned, Wrengate is a problem I’d like to put behind me. But I also maintain the fact that you should dig deeper.”
“When I met him at the theatre last year and suggested to him that he’d been involved in Evie’s death, he told me he wasn’t.”
“And you believe him?”
Adrian wasn’t sure. What he did know was that the man would be on his guard now. Besides which, he was a duke. Not exactly the sort of person one went after unless one was certain that undeniable proof existed.
Upon reflection, however, Adrian had begun to wonder if he’d been seeking the impossible. Could it be that his dislike of Wrengate in general had clouded his judgement?
“What I said to him then offended him greatly. That much was clear.”
“Very well,” she said. “Let’s suppose for a moment that it wasn’t him. Who else could it be?”
“Any number of people, I suppose. There were over two hundred guests at the ball that was used to ensure Evie’s ruin. All, powerful people.”
He stared into Samantha’s blue eyes, and realized there was someone else he should have considered long before Wrengate. “Maybe it’s Harlowe?”
“What?”
“He’s crafty enough. After all, he did turn you and your foster sisters into his indebted servants. I—”
“That’s not fair.”
“It’s the truth, is it not?” When she didn’t respond, he told her, “I’m merely saying that I’d not be surprised if he had a hand in this too.”
“If that were the case, he’d not have worked so hard to destroy you.”
“That order came from Kendrick and his superiors, not from Harlowe himself. There’s a chance he was playing his own game and that everything that has occurred ties into whatever secret agenda he might have. Including the failure to bring me down if his ultimate goal was the opposite.”
“He’s always been very calculated,” she mused, “but this would involve a whole different level of strategy. However, I do have correspondence of his at the house, so we can easily check his writing against the anonymous note you received last year, informing you of a possible connection between the College of Surgeons and the murders we were investigating at the time.”
They had determined that the missive had likely come from the person who’d sent Clive Newton after Evie.
The series of events her murder had led to— of Adrian stepping into a role he’d otherwise planned on walking away from, of him ensuring the worst kind of criminals were reckoned with—suggested the ghost they sought wished to keep him in play. As a weapon.
A weight lifted from Adrian’s heart at the prospect of possibly making some headway.
Releasing Samantha’s hand, he dropped to a crouch and placed his palm against the headstone’s cool surface. “You will always be loved, never forgotten.”
He stood, offered Samantha his arm, and escorted her back to their awaiting carriage.
* * *
Gabriella followed the dirt path that led back to Deerhaven’s sprawling west lawn.
The Crofts had suggested she wait out the legal decisions pertaining to Miss Finch’s death here.
Their country estate’s remote location would make her harder to find than if she remained at their city residence.
No one knew she was here, besides the Crofts and Kendrick.
Not even her family had been provided information about her whereabouts.
All they had been told was that she was visiting friends at an undisclosed location.
The woodland on either side of Gabriella began thinning out before opening onto the wide panorama of Mr. Croft’s ancestral home.
She stepped off the path and turned right, toward the low stone wall that stood at the edge of the cliffside.
The view from there, of the coast and the expanse of water below, was unlike anything else she’d ever seen. She could lose herself in it for hours.
Especially on days like today when the sparse clouds allowed the sun to peek through more often than not.
The weather was warming up with summer’s approach.
Flowers already dotted the landscape with splashes of color.
But the air itself remained cool, so she always made sure to bring a shawl whenever she went for her walks.
She tugged the blue knitted wrap more tightly around her shoulders, cocooning herself against the brisker wind that swept in from the sea. It pushed past her face, undoing a few strands of hair and whipping them over her eyes. She tucked them behind her ear, where they remained for a brief moment.
A deep breath brought the fresh air into her lungs. She blew it out slowly and tried to quiet her mind. A challenge, when emotion tended to get the best of her these days. The events that had brought her here, what she had discovered since…
At times she missed Peter desperately. At others, she wanted to strangle him for what he’d done. Sometimes it was both at the same time.
Not that it mattered or made any difference when she could barely stand herself for the most part. How then could she ever expect him to do so? What she’d done was…
She still had no word to describe it in its entirety.
It didn’t matter that Peter had told her about the reticule Sally Finch had surely wielded against her. How could it when she hadn’t registered it? All she’d known in the moment was what the woman was capable of and that she had to stop her.
By stabbing her eight times, according to Doctor Fellowes’s report.
Surely that was more than enough to find Gabriella mentally ill. Unhinged, at the very least. A perfect candidate for either Bedlam or the noose.
A shiver raked her spine and she felt herself start to tremble once more. The nervous condition had become a common trait of hers since the incident, eased only by the laudanum she’d been prescribed by Mr. Croft’s family physician.
The outdoors helped as well, though only when she was able to keep her unpleasant thoughts at bay. For some reason, this was proving harder today.
She turned, preparing to head back inside, when she saw a man striding toward her. Not just any man, but…
“Peter.” His name was caught by the wind and transformed into a soft sound only she could hear.
Smartly dressed in a navy-blue jacket, fawn-colored breeches, and gleaming black boots, he cut a path straight toward her.
Her pulse leapt in anticipation of all that would now pass between them.
Every conversation she’d had with him in her head since departing London made her brain feel as though it were under attack.
Unable to get a single thought in order, she stood there, staring at him as he drew ever nearer. Until he finally reached her and she saw the concern etched in his features — the troubled yet hopeful look in his eyes.
“Gabriella.” He moved as though he might embrace her.
She took a step back and shook her head. “You stupid, reckless, foolish man.”
The words weren’t spoken with any particular consideration. They simply spilled from her tongue without any finesse. A naked reflection of all that was in her heart. The fear she’d harbored these past two weeks. Not for herself, but for him.
“I know about the knife,” she added when he looked confused by her reaction. “What in God’s name were you thinking?”
“That it was important to prove your life was in danger.”
“Sally Finch being a murderess — her victim being upstairs — ought to have been enough.” Yet she knew well enough that it might not have been.
Still… “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you, what might yet happen to you, if someone discovers you planted that knife? Your career will be over. You could face prison charges and…and…”