but she was distraught. She seemed strong but she also appeared vulnerable. She was either a bloody brilliant actress or the most unlucky woman in the kingdom, and damn it, James couldn’t tell. He’d always prided himself on being able to sum up people quickly, make decisions about their character, their integrity. But the duchess remained a mystery to him. A beautiful mystery.
She expelled a long breath. “Oh, they might as well just burn me now. I know my story sounds just dreadful.”
“Stay strong, your grace. You’re doing an excellent job,” Abernathy replied.
The duchess’s jaw clenched. “Please, Mr. Abernathy, do not call me ‘your grace.’”
The barrister nodded. “Very well. Now.” He grabbed up his quill again. “After your argument, your husband left the room?”
She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. “Yes, I assume he went to his own bedchamber.”
“And when did you … see him next?” Abernathy asked.
She rubbed her forehead. “It was less than an hour later. I wanted to ask him when he planned to leave. I should have sent a servant.”
Abernathy made a note. “Did you go to his bedchamber to apologize?”
She shook her head and straightened her shoulders. Her voice was steady, calm, direct. “No. I did not.”
James’s gaze snapped to her face. He respected the hell out of that answer. It would have been so easy for her to say yes. It might have made her look a bit less guilty. Instead, she held her head high and told … the truth. She hadn’t gone to Markingham’s bedchamber to apologize. And from what James had just heard of the man’s treatment of her, he couldn’t blame her.
“Forgive me, but I must ask,” Abernathy continued, eyeing the duchess carefully over the rims of his spectacles. “What did you see when you entered your husband’s bedchamber?”
“Take your time,” James added, watching her closely.
She was quiet for several long seconds, and James saw the tears she was valiantly trying to quash shimmering in the blue depths of her eyes. “I knocked,” she whispered, holding up her fist as if she were back there in front of the door to Markingham’s room. “Quietly at first and then more loudly. There was no answer.”
“Go ahead,” Abernathy prompted, in a calm, steady voice.
She shook her head slightly, and one red-gold curl came loose from her bun and fell to her cheek. “And then I don’t know why, but something … something made me decide to open the door, to not turn away and assume he’d already left.”
A nod from the barrister. “Yes.”
Kate expelled a shaky breath. “I turned the handle and opened the door. I pushed it open and stepped inside.”
“What did you see?” If Abernathy was anything like James, he was holding his breath too.
“It was cold in the room. Dark. I had to blink to focus, to see anything.”
“Yes.” Abernathy nodded.
Kate’s voice shook. “There he was.” The far-off look was back in her eyes. James was certain she was reliving every awful moment of it.
“He was lying on the floor. Twisted, bloody.” She cupped her hand over her mouth.
“He was dead?” Abernathy prompted.
“Yes.” She mumbled through her hand. Her voice cracked.
“You’re sure.” Abernathy’s eyes bored into her.
The duchess remained in a trance of memory. “Yes. I walked over to him, so carefully, so slowly. ‘George,’ I called. ‘George.’ He’d been shot in the chest. I … I couldn’t believe it.” She shook her head frantically.
“You hadn’t heard a pistol fire?” Abernathy asked.
“No, no, I hadn’t. I’d been in my bedchamber which was on the other end of the floor but I never heard anything like that.”
Abernathy jotted a note. “When you entered the room, did you see the pistol?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “It was on the rug in front of him.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No.” She shook her head frantically. “No, I didn’t want to touch it.”
“But you…” Abernathy audibly gulped. “You touched him?”
A single nod. “Yes. I touched him. I fell to my knees. I cradled his head.”
Abernathy sat up straighter and met her eyes. “Forgive me, but I must ask. Did you love your husband?”
“No.” The single word seemed to echo off the wooden bookcases. Tears fell freely down her face now. She shook her head. “I didn’t love my husband. I don’t think I ever did.” Her eyes were like wet velvet, sparkling with tears. “But I never … never wished him to die and certainly not like that. And when I think about his poor mother being told … We had no love lost between us, the dowager and I, but I just can’t imagine losing a child.” Her voice cracked and her chest heaved.
Mr. Abernathy reached out and squeezed her hand. “I’m nearly through. You’re doing well. Just a few more questions. What happened next? How were you discovered?”
She shook the tears away and wiped at her eyes. James leaned forward and offered his handkerchief. She took it with a small nod of thanks.
“Lady Bettina,” Kate said. “Lady Bettina came into the room. She looked … horrified.”
“Did she say anything?’
Another nod. “‘What have you done?’ She screamed it. ‘What have you done!’”
“And after that?” Abernathy prompted.
“The entire household came rushing in, all of the servants.”
The barrister scribbled another note on the parchment. “And the magistrate came soon after?”
Kate bit her lip. “Yes. One of the servants must have summoned him. I still don’t know for certain.”
“Did the servants say anything?” Abernathy asked.
“They defended me. They said I couldn’t have done it.”
“All of them?” Abernathy prompted.
“Well, Mrs. Anderson, the housekeeper, and Edwards, the butler. My maid, Virginia. They were all in shock, of course, but they knew I couldn’t have done it.”
“Did they say that to the magistrate?” Abernathy asked.
“I think so. Oh, I don’t know. It all was such a blur to me.”
“One last question.”
“Yes?”
“Who do
The duchess shook her head slowly. “I’ve had nothing to do but think about that question for weeks now. Believe me, it’s on my mind every moment.”
“And?” Abernathy prodded, and James leaned forward too, suddenly extremely interested in her answer.
“I just don’t know. I don’t know who would have wanted him dead. Not Lady Bettina, surely, and the servants never seemed unhappy with him. He was never there to make them miserable. I honestly don’t know who shot my husband, Mr. Abernathy. All I know is that it was not me and I’d take my own life before I unjustly accused another person.”
Abernathy set down his quill. “That’s enough for today. Thank you for telling me your story.”
Kate hastily wiped at her eyes with James’s handkerchief one more time. “If you gentlemen don’t mind, I think I may just go lie down for a bit.”
“By all means,” they both said simultaneously, standing while she stood.
After Kate left the room, James lowered himself back into his seat, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at Abernathy. “Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
Abernathy’s expression was blank. He plucked the spectacles from his nose, folded them neatly, and slipped them back inside his coat pocket. “It’s not my business to determine whether she’s telling the truth, my lord. It’s
