'Constance,' she asked, 'do you remember anything about the night your brother died?'
It was strangely easy to forget the reason why they had all come to Penhallow. Only when she saw the marchioness, silent and pale and pathetic-and darting venomous glances at Freyja when no one else was looking- did she remember that they were all waiting for the next development in a bizarre, possibly dangerous game.
'Nothing,' Constance said. 'It was stormy and got worse as the night went on. I did not even know Albert had not come home until the next morning.'
'But you did know he had gone out?' Freyja asked.
'He went to Lydmere,' Constance said. 'He said he was going to talk to Joshua.'
'About what?' Freyja asked.
'I-I do not know,' Constance said, dipping her pen into the ink bottle again but not proceeding to write with it. 'About Miss Jewell, I believe. She was Chastity's governess and had been turned off because . . . Well, it does not matter. Joshua had found a cottage in the village for her and Mama was upset about it. Albert agreed to go and talk to him.'
'The governess was with child?' Morgan asked, wide-eyed. 'And your mama and your brother thought Joshua was responsible? I cannot believe it of him.'
'Joshua was not the father,' Chastity said fiercely. 'No one knows who the father was. Miss Jewell would never say.'
In the rather tense silence that followed, Constance bent to her task again, and after a moment Morgan followed suit. Chastity was unable to write, Freyja noticed with narrowed gaze. Her hand was shaking. Perhaps she was fearing that her two guests were drawing the conclusion that if the father was not Josh, it must be her brother.
'Do you remember anything of that night?' Freyja asked.
Chastity shook her head. 'Nothing,' she said firmly. 'But you must not think ill of Joshua, Freyja. I know he did nothing improper with Miss Jewell-he came to the house each week to visit Prue, not her. I know-I was always either with Miss Jewell myself whenever he was here or else with him and Prue. And I know he did not kill Albert or do anything to cause his death. It was an accident, that is all.'
Freyja continued to watch her for a while before resuming her own task-she had four more invitations to write-and giving the girl a chance to recover enough to pick up her own pen.
She wondered if either sister had loved the brother. Certainly neither of them was prepared to suspect foul play in his death, though both had known that he went to the village that night to confront Joshua over the nasty situation concerning the governess. Chastity at least realized that it was her brother who had fathered the child.
Miss Anne Jewell was a sad figure, Freyja thought-somewhat accepted in the village now, though not really one of the villagers. A woman with an illegitimate child, with only a very little of the work with which she had once hoped to make a living, forced to accept at least partial support from a man who was in no way responsible for her. What the woman needed was independence and occupation and a restoration of all her pride. What she needed . . .
Miss Anne Jewell was none of her concern, she told herself firmly.
The task was finally completed and Constance gathered the folded invitations into a neat pile and took them away to be delivered. Chastity excused herself to go up to the nursery to see Prue.
'Freyja,' Morgan said when they were alone together, 'there is much here that is still unspoken and unresolved, is there not? As well as a murder charge still looming over Joshua's head. How very challenging and exciting it all is.'
A typical Bedwyn reaction, Freyja thought.
'I almost envy you,' Morgan said.
'Almost?' Freyja raised her eyebrows.
'Well, I love Joshua dearly,' Morgan said, 'and he is by far the most handsome man I have ever seen-including Alleyne. But I love him as a brother-in-law. I am going to have to find my own challenge and my own excitement-if there are any still out there somewhere.'
It was on the tip of Freyja's tongue to tell her sister that her betrothal was not a real thing at all, but she did not say it. There were a few matters to resolve first, not least of which was the planned boat ride over to the island sometime today.
I may not be able to keep my hands off you, sweetheart.
Perhaps I will not be able to keep mine off you.
Her heart beat faster at the remembered words.
'You will find someone who is perfect for you one of these days,' she said. 'Everyone does.'
Everyone except me.
The only perfect men she seemed to meet, Freyja thought ruefully, were unavailable for a permanent relationship.
Freyja had been able to swim for as far back as she could remember. She could jump into lakes from banks, from overhanging tree branches, from the sides of boats. She could swim on the surface or underwater, in a crawl or a backstroke or a simple float. She could hold her own in a fierce water fight. She could sail along in a small, leaky boat, lying, sitting, or standing. It had never occurred to her to be afraid of water.
Until, that was, she had seen the sea for the first time at the age of ten or so.
She had never been sure quite what it was about it that was so terrifying. Its vastness, perhaps. But she had never had to admit her terror, even to herself, until now. She had never before had any opportunity either to swim in or to sail upon the sea.
