“Er, what revolution?” Rose tilted her head as she asked the question.
“Well, the…you know. The…the…revolution in the north about the Corn Laws and poverty and everything.” Miss Ringwood struggled.
“Ah. Indeed. A delicate situation.” Ivy paused for a brief moment. “You do know that all that information was completely unfounded, incorrect and terribly misleading?”
“I was assured it was all true.”
Ivy pounced. “By whom?”
Miss Ringwood bit her lip. “A friend.”
“Which friend?” Lydia snapped.
“I…just a friend…”
“A friend doesn’t tell you lies,” Rose moved closer.
“A friend doesn’t ask you to spread vicious and damaging untruths,” Judith closed in.
“A friend would never suggest you repeat potentially treasonous and libellous accusations.” Lady Maud’s voice was cold as she added her contribution, and Miss Ringwood’s bravado vanished in a shudder.
“I didn’t…I wasn’t…you must be mistaken…” the words were barely a whisper from lips that had lost any pretence to colour.
“You spread information that was completely untrue, Miss Ringwood. You placed my husband in a position that could have cost him his life, had they been sufficient to have him brought up on charges of treason.” Ivy leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the shaking girl in front of her. “This can most easily be proven, and thus puts you squarely in the limelight. Should his Grace decide to bring charges of libel against you, the results would be disastrous, not only to you but to your family. Disgrace would be the least of it.”
“Evidence will be provided to validate the Maidenbrooke charges, of course,” continued Rose in a level tone. “Many have said how they first heard of the matter from you.”
“Here, in my house,” added Maud. “Something which I find most distressing, as does my husband. We will be questioning our guests as to their recollections of your conversations.” She shook her head. “Face the truth, Miss Ringwood. Your goose, as they like to say, is well and truly cooked.”
With a shuddering sob, Miss Ringwood surrendered. “It was all his plan.”
“Whose plan?”
“My fiancé. Sir Timothy Barrett.”
Four faces glanced at each other as Lady Maud leaned back, satisfied at last. “That’ll do then,” she said. “That’ll do nicely.”
*~~*~~*
“After that, we had the hardest time trying to stop her from talking.” Ivy tied the belt of her robe around her nightgown as she emerged from behind her dressing screen and glanced at her husband. “Instead of stubborn silence, she began regaling us with just about every detail of her life, her engagement, all the things her fiancé has done and said—practically since they’d met—and I don’t know about the others, but after a while it all turned into some kind of low humming sound.”
The Duke chuckled. He was swathed in blankets and tucked into one of the comfortable chairs in his wife’s bedroom. He’d demanded every detail as soon as she arrived home, and so they had ended up here, together, reviewing the evening’s activities.
It was surprisingly natural, Ivy realised as she sat at her small table and pulled the few pins from her hair.
“So basically she confirmed that Barrett was the source?”
Ivy nodded. “In no uncertain terms.” She turned to face him. “This man bears a powerful hatred for you, Colly. And that worries me, since from what she said, he’s not a very stable person.”
“I heard much the same from Miles,” he nodded. “His conversation yesterday persuaded him Barrett might not be quite sane.”
“Well here’s another thing.” Ivy straightened her robe. “The connection you mentioned between Barrett and Streatford? It’s of recent date. Yes, it was a matter of gambling that brought them into each other’s orbit. But it seems that like gravitates to like.” She sighed. “Streatford is none too smart and has an axe to grind with you, mostly because you married me. Barrett, apparently, was banking on your marrying Fiona and bringing the Maidenbrooke fortune with you.”
“It’s not unheard of,” said Colly mildly. “The capture of a wealthy husband often brings a great deal of relief to other members of the family. And you would have been an acceptable match for Streatford.”
She nodded. “Yes. Agreed. And I can see where Streatford would wish you harm. If Barrett has ever mentioned disposing of you, then his way to me would be clear. Or so he’d think.”
The Duke snorted.
“I agree. But given Barrett’s unstable nature, his anger when Fiona married Rolfe was ungovernable, according to what Miss Ringwood either heard or surmised. Rolfe, of course, being a wise man, refused to give him a penny. Which probably aggravated his fury against you even more. All his problems had one focus. One target. You.”
“In an odd way, it all makes sense.”
“If you’re a madman,” shot back Ivy. “To be truthful? I couldn’t care less if it makes sense or not. All I want is this man put away somewhere he cannot hurt you or anyone, and to take something very hard to Streatford’s head.”
The Duke smiled. “Come here.”
She hesitated.
“There’s room. This is a big chair. Come here, Ivy. Let’s be comfortable while we talk.” He slid to one side, making more than enough space for her to wriggle in beside him, which she did willingly.
His warmth, beneath the blankets, was just what she needed. It was reassuring, secure, and snuggling like this was balm to the soul that had stressed about this man so often in recent days.
“How’s your wound?”
“So much better,” he answered. “Whatever Mrs Ashrayn is using is working miracles. The pain has almost gone and she tells me the whole thing is healing even faster than she hoped. I
