Chapter Eight #3
Oliver was angry, with himself and with Lisbeth.
He entered the overheated ballroom and wanted to immediately leave again.
Too many bodies, too many eyes, and the drone of too many voices was like an assault to his nerves.
Nerves that were already stretched to the limit.
Things had gone way beyond a kiss. He could still smell her on his clothes, on his fingers.
She had been more passionate than he had anticipated, and it had shocked and delighted him.
His body had taken her tokens of encouragement and charged ahead.
Her response, initially so promising, had suddenly gone cold.
For what reason, he had no idea. The puzzle which was Lisbeth was both complex and multilayered.
She desired him, but something was holding her back.
Surely she knew she was free to do what she wished as a widow.
The whole of London was convinced they were already lovers.
Perhaps she really did dislike him or simply distrusted him.
Perhaps Blackhurst had been a bore in bed or just simply a boar.
“Bellamy, penny for them?”
Oliver turned towards the voice. “Dalmere, how long have you been here?”
“Long enough to know you have been gone from this room for some time and only just returned.” Dalmere gave him a knowing wink.
Oliver smiled in reply. If only he knew…
“Where is the lady who has so captivated your nether regions lately? Honestly, I don’t know why you even bother coming to these events at all if you don’t actually stay around to attend.”
Oliver laughed. “What can I say? The lady is… demanding.” And that was no lie. “She will be here shortly, I am sure.”
He looked around the crowded room before turning back to Dalmere. “Tell me, what was Henry like before he passed? My aunt said he was much changed in the weeks leading up to his untimely death.”
Dalmere took a sip of his drink before regarding him. “He was changed.”
“How so?”
Dalmere looked away. “I hesitate to tell you.”
“Why?”
When Dalmere looked back Oliver saw anger in his eyes. “Because you loved him.”
Oliver tensed. “I don’t quite get your meaning.”
“I do not want to alter your memories of him. I loved him too; he was my friend. You are better to remember him as you do now.”
“He was that bad?”
Dalmere ran a hand through his golden angelic curls. “Do you really want to know? Once I tell you, you cannot undo what has been done.”
“I have to know.”
Dalmere sighed. “Very well. Your brother was in love with the Countess of Blackhurst.”
Oliver closed his eyes. He knew this. Why then did it hurt? Shouldn’t he be happy Henry had fallen in love? Even if unrequited? It wasn’t like the countess was his wife. Yet it felt so much like betrayal. He didn’t understand his own feelings when it came to Lisbeth. “Were they lovers?”
“I don’t think so, although he would have done anything for her. Anything! He hated Blackhurst,” Dalmere said with a shake of his head. “We all did in our way. Henry, however, once saw the aftereffects of Blackhurst’s temper in the form of bruises and such on the lady and went into a fury.”
Oliver’s blood stopped. Blackhurst had beaten Lisbeth?
Disgust filled him with a fury that made his head throb, his gut clench, and his fists tighten.
Henry had always been softhearted towards women.
Oliver could imagine him wanting to come to her aid like Sir Galahad on a white steed.
It answered quite a few questions and yet left so many unanswered. “What did Henry do?”
“He was going to call Blackhurst out. He told me he was going to put a bullet between the Earl of Blackhurst’s eyes and send him to hell where he belonged.”
Oliver gasped. “Good God!” This he could not picture his brother doing.
Dalmere shook his head. “I managed to talk him out of it, but the damage was done. Henry became like a man possessed. He cursed Blackhurst to the devil at every opportunity. He said he told her of his feelings and vowed to keep her from harm.”
“And?”
“And what? I don’t think she took him seriously.
Either that or she was happy to be slapped around by Blackhurst. Would it surprise you to know that what she gives to you, she never gave to Henry?
Yet, he was her slave, ready and eager to do her bidding.
I worry he may have gone too far and committed the ultimate crime of passion—for her. ”
Oliver leaned against the wall for support. No! Henry would never have done such a thing. What Dalmere was implying was impossible, improbable, and completely mad. He felt like casting up his accounts.
“I see I have upset you. I have no proof, of course, and I, myself, am disgusted I could even think it of him. But really, if you could have seen the murder in his eyes that day.”
“And you told no one of this?”
“Why would I? The duel never happened. No one else but I knew of his feelings towards Blackhurst or his wife. Who would have believed it of mild-mannered Henry Whitely? It is possible Lady Blackhurst had him under the thumb though. He seemed consumed by dark thoughts before Blackhurst’s death and plagued by paranoia after. ”
“Do you think he was capable of murder?”
Dalmere shrugged. “I don’t know. A desperate man will do anything under the right kind of pressure and with the right kind of incentive.”
Oliver paled.
Dalmere looked at him thoughtfully. “I shouldn’t have told you.
I have no proof, and I do not think you should delve into this issue any further.
It will only make your memory of your brother tainted.
The fact is Blackhurst was an arse. A manipulative, Machiavellian genius with brutal tendencies. He deserved what he got.”
“I just can’t imagine my brother like that. He was a gentle, dependable, steadfast sort of fellow.”
“Yes, yes he was,” Dalmere said. “It is how you should remember him.” He gave Oliver a pat on the shoulder.
Dalmere left Bellamy frowning into his drink. How quick the fool had been to believe his brother possibly capable of murder. Dalmere could not stop himself from smiling as he headed towards the card room.
A seed, once sown, was bound to grow with the right tending.