Ford looked thoughtful. “Not if they were afraid of facing the marquess’s wrath. He clearly doesn’t want to hear his son was at fault.”
“That’s true,” she said, reluctant to succumb to the thread of hope that suddenly tugged at her heart. “A different way to look at this. He did, after all, offer an enormous reward for information that would prove Lord Armstrong guilty. Perhaps people are reluctant to approach him with anything that would prove the opposite.”
Her father nodded sagely. “It’s wise to keep on top of it.”
Judith reached for more bread. “She said ‘the opposite,’ Lord Trentingham. Someone could be frightened to bring Lord Hawkridge evidence that proves the opposite.”
“Eh?”
Evidently giving up, Judith slathered butter on the bread. “You must trust Rand, then,” she told Lily, taking a big bite. The solemn atmosphere had failed to curb her appetite. “You love him, and you have to believe he’ll find proof.”
Yes, Rand had promised they would find a way. After giving Judith a shaky smile, Lily turned to Ford. “Thank you. You’ve given me hope.”
“It was nothing. Just another way to look at a solution that had already been offered—nothing has changed.”
While that was true, Lily was holding as tight as she could to that thin thread of hope. For the first time since she’d awakened this morning, she felt able to breathe.
Violet returned, her satchel in one hand and An Antidote Against Melancholy in the other. “I’m ready.”
“Why did you want that book?” Ford asked.
As her gaze flicked to their parents, Violet flushed a delicate pink. “Oh, I just thought it might help Lily.” She took his arm. “Come along. I cannot wait to see Nicky and the twins.”
“What’s the book called?” Chrystabel asked.
Having failed to escape, Violet forced a smile. “An Antidote Against Melancholy. Lily was feeling a bit melancholy last night, you see, and—”
“Oh, then would you mind leaving it here? I expect she may feel a bit melancholy again the next few days.”
“We already read the whole thing,” Violet said, clutching the book possessively.
“Well, then.” Mum was nothing if not persistent. “Leave it here for me. I adore helping people, as you know, and it seems to me I could learn a lot from a book called An Antidote Against Melancholy.”
Lily suspected Mum would learn more than she anticipated. In specific, she’d learn her daughters weren’t quite the innocents she imagined. And if she could judge by her sister’s face, Violet was thinking much the same.
Looking amused, Ford pried the book from his wife’s hands and set it on the table. “Here,” he told his mother-in-law with a grin that would do the devil proud. “I hope you and Lord Trentingham will enjoy it.”
As Chrystabel smiled and reached for it, he hustled Violet from the room, laughingly ignoring her protests.
“Come upstairs, Joseph,” Chrystabel purred in her husband’s ear. “We can read this educational book together.”
FIFTY-SEVEN
BY THE TIME Rand told the whole story, he and Kit had long since finished dinner and were nursing tankards of ale.
Last night’s rain had ceased, but the day had dawned depressingly gray. The dark paneling inside the King’s Arms made it dreary, and the crackling fire near their table did little to warm the room or lighten Rand’s mood.
“Of all the rotten things your father has ever done to you, this wins the prize.” Kit shook his head. “Margery. Is she all grown-up, then?”
“Very much so at twenty-one, and she’s a beautiful woman, too. But I cannot imagine myself married to her.”
“For all intents and purposes, she’s your little sister.” Looking thoughtful, Kit signaled for another round. “Margery was always very sweet.”
“I’d say you’re welcome to her, but I’m afraid Bennett Armstrong would have something to say about that. Especially considering she’s carrying his child.”
Kit blinked. “On top of everything else, she’s with child?”
“Yes, and she’s asked me to raise the babe as my own.”
“You will, of course, should it come to that.” Kit knew Rand inside out. “But we must find a way to fix this.” He paused, musing as he drained his tankard. “Skinny old Bennett, huh?”
Despite the gravity of his situation, a ghost of a grin materialized on Rand’s face. Bennett had been rather scrawny when they were all lads. “He’s not skinny anymore. I wouldn’t challenge him were I you. Remember, he’s killed once already, even if it was in self-defense.”
“True, but the man he killed was Alban. He did the world a favor.” A serving maid set down two fresh tankards, and Kit flipped her a coin. “Some of my most amusing childhood memories are of Alban’s fury whenever you deciphered his diary.”
“It was never amusing when my father found out.” Rand took a deep swallow; then his mouth dropped open as his tankard hit the table. “That’s it!”
“Pardon?”
“The evidence I’ve been looking for to prove Bennett Armstrong’s innocence. Alban’s diary.”
Kit frowned. “I must’ve had one ale too many. What evidence?”
Ales notwithstanding, quite suddenly Rand’s head felt crystal clear. “You know that Alban always kept a diary—he was obsessed with putting his thoughts on paper. If he’d planned to kill Armstrong, there’s an excellent chance he’d have recorded that fact. The marquess cannot refute proof written in Alban’s own hand. All I have to do is find it.”
“All you have to do is find it? That could turn out to be a tall order, my friend.”
“It’s my only hope.” He drained his ale and stood, a new energy singing through his veins. “I must collect some things, talk to some people. I’ll leave for Hawkridge at dawn.”
Kit rose, too. “I’m coming with you. Your house can wait.”
FIFTY-EIGHT
“I’M WORRIED.” Chrystabel sighed as she shut the bedchamber door. “After all I did to push Lily and Rand together, it’s frustrating to find them in this predicament with seemingly nothing we can do to help.”
Joseph sat in a chair and set An Antidote Against Melancholy
