Sebastian knew he was never going to unravel as long as he allowed himself to dwell on the events of that distant summer and the lies it had spawned.
And so he forced himself to put away the rage and hurt and focus instead on what his new knowledge of his mother’s true fate added to his understanding of Guinevere Anglessey’s death. The tie between the Countess of Hendon and an unknown French poet with Venetian connections was troubling, although Sebastian was not yet convinced it was significant. Sifting through all that he had learned in the last few days, he decided it was past time he paid another call on the bereaved Marquis of Anglessey.
Reaching out, Sebastian gave the bell beside the mantel a quick tug. “Have Giles bring round my curricle,” he told Morey when the majordomo appeared.
Morey gave a stately bow. “Yes, my lord.”
But when Sebastian stepped out of the house some fifteen minutes later, it was to find his tiger, Tom, reining in the chestnuts at the base of the steps.
“What the devil are you doing here?” Sebastian demanded. “I told you to take a couple of days off and rest.”
“I don’t need no days off,” said the boy, his features pinched and set. “This is my job, and I’m doin’ it.”
Sebastian leapt into the curricle and took the reins. “Your job is to do what you’re told. Now get down.”
The boy gave a loud sniff and stared straight ahead. “It’s on account of I let you down, ain’t it? I flubbed it, and because o’ me, you almost ended up fish bait.”
“No, you didn’t let me down. I let
The tiger kept staring straight ahead, but Sebastian noticed he blinked several times, and the muscles of his throat worked hard as he swallowed. “There’s boys younger’n me servin’ as cabin boys in His Majesty’s Navy, and goin’ to war as drummer boys. I guess you reckon I couldn’t do those things, either.”
“Bloody hell,” said Sebastian, giving his horses the office to start. “Just don’t take any more unnecessary risks, you hear? And next time I tell you to do something and you don’t obey me, you’re fired. Understand that?”
Clapping one hand to his hat to hold it in place, Tom scrambled back to his perch and grinned. “Aye, gov’nor.”
THE MARQUIS OF ANGLESSEY MOVED ACROSS THE FLOOR of his conservatory with slow, painful steps. It seemed to Sebastian, watching him, that the man had aged visibly in the past week.
He looked around at the sound of Sebastian’s footfalls, one hand tightening on the edge of the shelf of orchids beside him as if for support. “What is it?”
Sebastian paused in the center of the room, the warm humidity of the place pressing in on him like a blanket, the smell of damp earth and lush foliage heavy in the air. “I want you to tell me how your first wife died.”
To his surprise, a wry smile lifted one corner of the old man’s lips. He turned away to begin carefully plucking yellowing leaves from a large China rose. “I take it you’ve heard the rumors about how I pushed her to her death.”
“Pushed her?”
Anglessey nodded. “She slipped on the stairs at Anglessey Hall. She was big with child, clumsy. She couldn’t catch herself.” His hands stilled at their task, his gaze becoming unfocused as he lifted his head to stare away as if into the past. “Perhaps she would have died in childbirth, anyway,” he added softly. “She wasn’t well those last few months. But there’s no way to know.”
He brought his gaze back to Sebastian’s face. “Who told you I killed her?
“Does it matter?”
“No. I suppose not.” Anglessey plucked another leaf and dropped it into the basket he held slung over one arm. “What are you suggesting? That I have a nasty habit of killing my pregnant wives? What possible reason could I have for killing Guinevere?”
“Jealousy, perhaps.”
“Because of the child she carried? You forget how desperately I wanted that child.”
“People in the grip of strong emotion often act against their own interest. It could be she discovered something about you. Something you didn’t want her to know.”
“Guinevere knew about my first wife. I told her of the rumors before we were married.”
“I wasn’t talking about your first wife’s death.”
The old man looked around, puzzled. “Then what?”
“Perhaps she learned of your involvement in a conspiracy to restore the Stuart dynasty to the throne.”
The Marquis looked unexpectedly pensive, his eyes narrowing. The man’s body might be weakening, Sebastian thought, but it would a mistake to assume that his mind was also failing.
“I’ve heard murmurs—innuendo, disgruntled whispers. But I must admit I never credited them. I assumed it was all just wild talk, wishful thinking. Do you mean to say there’s something in it? But…what could it possibly have to do with Guinevere’s death?”
“That’s what I haven’t been able to figure out yet.” Sebastian paused. “I’d like to take a look around your wife’s room, if I may.”
The request obviously caught Anglessey by surprise. He drew in a quick breath, but said, “Yes, of course. If you wish. Nothing has been touched. I know I should let Tess gather Guin’s things together and give them to the poor, but somehow I haven’t been able to bring myself to do it.”
