The Marquess Who Loved Me (34 page)

Salford responded by pulling a gun from his coat. “It never hurts to be prepared, though.”

Nick hadn’t stopped watching Norbury during this display. The viscount seemed very close to apoplexy. He edged his chair back as though thinking, vainly, that he might be able to run — or perhaps risk serious injury by tossing himself out the closed window.

“There’s nothing to fear, Norbury,” he said in a soothing voice. “Just tell us what we need to know.”

“I don’t know what you need to know,” Norbury said.

“Do you really have no idea?” Nick asked. “Or are you just telling yourself that?”

Norbury took a deep breath, which led directly into a coughing fit. When he could finally speak, his voice turned into a wheeze. “No idea, Folkestone.”

“I suppose we could shoot you,” Nick mused, “but it would make it hard for me to live in England going forward. I will do it without remorse, though, if it means that Lady Folkestone and our guests are out of danger.”

Norbury’s eyes still watered from his coughing, but they widened as he dabbed at them with a handkerchief. “What danger do you believe Lady Folkestone to be in?”

Nick leaned forward. “If you were better at this, I wouldn’t be concerned. But you and your minions can’t seem to kill me, and eventually she’s going to pay the price for it. They already came close once.”

Norbury blanched. “Whatever has happened to you, you can’t lay it at my doorstep.”

He stood, unexpectedly, and all three of them leveled their guns at him. Marcus leaned against the door and crossed his arms over his chest. Norbury’s eyes darted between them. “Do you really mean to shoot me?” he asked incredulously.

“I would rather not,” Nick said. He set aside his gun and gestured for Norbury to sit. “We confronted you here, rather than in public, because I want to give you an opportunity to save face. I know your friendship with Lady Folkestone is of long duration, and there is no need to ruin your family for your misdeeds. We can settle this quietly. I have a ship that will take you anywhere in the world, as long as you never return. But if you don’t tell us what you know, I’m not averse to beating it out of you.”

Nick didn’t want to beat him any more than he wanted to shoot him — although the longer Norbury delayed, the more he was tempted.

Norbury squeaked. Then he coughed again.

Salford put aside his pistol. “You know, Folkestone, I believe the man really is ill.”

“Did you think I lied about that?” Norbury asked. “What are you accusing me of?”

Nick’s temper broke. “We know you have been trying to kill me. It all makes sense — your India investments, your friendship with Lady Folkestone, your absence from last night’s fireworks. Now, would you rather be transported to Australia quietly, or stand trial for attempted murder?”

If Norbury didn’t kill Nick, she was going to do it herself.

It took her an hour to reach that decision, but she didn’t make it lightly. She mulled over it as she finished her breakfast. She pondered it as a maid dressed her in a simple lavender day gown with a purple sash — something that would be appropriately mournful for marshaling the servants to dispose of a body from her house party. She considered sending someone to make room in the ice house, but the weather was still cold enough that a body would keep in an outbuilding — provided people didn’t continue burning the outbuildings to destroy the bodies within them.

She was losing her mind. She let it happen, though. Making a plan for how to store a dead Norbury was better than imagining Nick’s body in his place. But she didn’t fully decide to murder Nick until, as she and Prudence sat quietly in her salon an hour after Nick had left her, Madeleine marched in and demanded to know what Nick had gotten Ferguson into.

“I didn’t know Ferguson was involved in anything with Nick,” Ellie said, laying aside her newspaper and sitting up from her lounging position on the chaise. “I thought they hated each other.”

Madeleine shook her head. “I think they came to some sort of understanding while ice skating. Or, at least, Ferguson says they did. You know how he is. Folkestone probably thinks my husband still hates him, but I think Ferguson was quite charmed.”

Ellie rolled her eyes. “Trust Ferguson to give up on protecting me the moment someone charms him.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be protected,” Madeleine said pointedly.

“Would you care for some tea, Madeleine?” Prudence interjected. “I shall pour.”

“What I would care for is an explanation,” Madeleine said, sitting down in the armchair next to Prudence’s. “Ferguson left before I was even half awake, saying he had a pressing errand with Folkestone. But I haven’t seen him this excited about someone other than me since that stupid duel he was in last autumn. If Folkestone leads my husband to an early grave…”

She trailed off. Prudence pushed a cup into Madeleine’s hand, then looked at Ellie. “Do you know anything about this?”

Ellie drummed her fingers on her teacup. “It doesn’t concern us, not truly. And it’s not my story to share.”

“Tell me something,” Madeleine said. “Please.”

She was going to kill him. This wasn’t the conversation she wanted to have with Madeleine and Prudence — not now, when she was worried for him and couldn’t control her inflection as she shared the story with the other women.

But if Ferguson had been coerced into helping Nick, Madeleine deserved the truth.

“Did Ferguson tell you what happened during last night’s fireworks display?”

“No. He just said he needed to discuss something with you.”

Ellie added her brother to the short — but growing — list of bodies she might need to dispose of. “Then you will like this even less than I thought. Folkestone is convinced that Norbury is behind several attempts on his life. Since Ferguson became aware of this when my maid was accidentally shot last night, I’m sure Folkestone asked him to help apprehend Norbury.”

Madeleine’s mouth dropped open.

“Surely Ferguson took you into his confidence?” Ellie asked innocently.

Madeleine glared at her. “He did not. Your gloating is unbecoming. I’m sure he merely thought to protect me.”

“I’m sure he did,” Ellie said, trying to sound reassuring. “He was most annoyed with Nick for hiding all of this from him when you and our sisters were in residence.”

“I am going to kill him,” Madeleine muttered.

Prudence held up a hand as though to negotiate a truce. “No need to plan a murder until we know whether they have been successful. Ellie, do you know if Folkestone asked Lord Salford to assist him as well?”

Ellie shot her a look. “I do not. Is there a reason for your question?”

“No,” she said tartly. “If Salford dies today, I’m sure Sebastian will give me just as much of an allowance for caring for his mother as Salford does.”

Ellie laughed, but Madeleine couldn’t be distracted. “Why didn’t you tell us all of this already? I would have told you immediately if a potential murderer came within twenty leagues of us. You’re as close to a sister as I’ve got, or nearly so…”

She stopped talking abruptly. Ellie bit the inside of her own cheek, tamping down on the swell of guilt. “Nick asked me not to say anything. He thought it would be easier to catch the culprit if the party stayed intact.”

Madeleine looked down into her cup. “You could have trusted me, you know.”

There was an awful silence.

Ellie’s guilt grew. And she knew that it wasn’t just Nick’s request that had kept her from speaking to Madeleine and Prudence.

For a moment, she was nineteen again. What if that moment when she had told Charles’s sisters about her love for Nick — that awful fork in the road of her life — had never happened?

She had always thought it was her fault — that if she had kept her own counsel, Charles never would have noticed her and she never would have been coerced into marrying him.

But should she regret what she had told them? Or should she simply regret that they were human, and likely well-meaning, and had never known the consequences of what they had done? All her silence in the years since then, all the secrets and all the moments when she had refrained from sharing anything with anyone — that hadn’t punished anyone else.

She had only punished herself.

Ellie leaned forward, over the table between them, to touch Madeleine’s knee. “I trust you. I just…it didn’t occur to me to ask for your help. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“But that’s what friends do. That’s what sisters do — worry over each other. I’ve seen you worry over all of us. Can you allow us to worry over you?”

Ellie pulled back. “You don’t need to worry over me. Everything will come out all right, and we can finish our party as though nothing happened.”

Madeleine scowled. “This isn’t just about the murderer. I am worried about you and Nick.”

“I am, too,” Prudence chimed in.

Ellie sighed. “Two against one isn’t fair.”

“Fair or not, you’re stuck with it,” Prudence said. “Unless you’d rather not be.”

Would she rather not be stuck with them? Life had been so easy without them wanting an intimacy she didn’t know how to share.

But perhaps easy wasn’t what she wanted. What did she deserve — endless punishment for a secret someone else had accidentally betrayed? Or a chance to begin again?

She drew in a breath, exhaled, and then drew in another. “Very well. You may worry about me.”

Prudence grinned. “Thank you for the decree, your highness.”

Ellie’s laugh broke some of the tension. “You are welcome.”

Madeleine looked at the clock. She didn’t seem to notice how momentous this was for Ellie — but then, she wouldn’t find it momentous for one friend to worry about another. “Did Folkestone say when he expected to be done with Norbury? Should we go and make sure they’re not all murdering each other?”

“No. I promised Nick I would stay away. Whatever his plan is, I don’t want to ruin it by interrupting at the wrong time.”

Prudence tried to turn their attention to the latest news from London, but none of them cared to discuss anything else. They weren’t silent for long, though. When someone tapped on the door, Ellie leapt up. “Nick?” she asked.

The door opened. It wasn’t Nick.

It was Christabel. She still wore her cloak, a dark, sturdy wool without any of the trimmings that someone of her age and class should have had. A dark blue bonnet framed her pale face. The shadows under her eyes seemed dark enough to be permanent, not a mere trick of the light. Trower, Nick’s batman, hovered slightly behind her, frowning as though he wanted to bar her from the room.

Ellie stood to greet her and she accepted the embrace, but Christabel barely returned it. “I apologize for disturbing you, Lady Folkestone. May I have a word, if you have a moment?”

Her voice was urgent. Ellie glanced back at Madeleine and Prudence. They both stood at the same time, too gracious to mention that Christabel’s visit was unfashionably early. “We will leave you to your talk,” Madeleine said. “But if either of you should need anything — or learn anything — please don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Christabel said, dipping into a slight curtsey. “I am sorry I cannot be more sociable this morning.”

Prudence laughed. “I never feel sociable in the morning myself. But it was lovely to see you again, Lady Christabel. I do hope to meet you in London if you come for a visit.”

She nodded as though her life still held every possibility she deserved. “I shall send a card if I come to the capital.”

Madeleine and Prudence left. Ellie gestured at Trower to stay outside — an order that he didn’t seem to like, but he closed the door between them.

“Do you want tea?” Ellie asked her visitor. “Or something stronger?”

Christabel’s laugh was shaky. She untied her bonnet, but she left her gloves on. From the way she twisted her fingers in front of her, perhaps the gloves gave her comfort. “I’d prefer something stronger, but it won’t help. And there’s little time for it, in any event. Perhaps I should have gone directly to Lord Folkestone with this…but I can’t.”

Ellie nearly pushed her into a chair before returning to her chaise. “What is the matter? I can help you with anything if you tell me what it is.”

Christabel didn’t speak for a moment. Her breath rasped in the silence. Her eyes, when she finally looked up, were clouded by a concerning mixture of fear and hope. “Do you ever think something awful may not come true as long as you don’t say it aloud?”

Ellie nodded. “The things I’ve refrained from saying could fill volumes. But that doesn’t mean you should stay silent.”

“Very well.” Christabel squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. The transformation — from tentative girl to confident lady — was shockingly sudden. “I have been the worst kind of fool. But when I stopped being a fool, I realized that I know who your highwayman is.”

“What? How?” Ellie asked, stunned to the point of incoherency.

“Yes, I know it’s unlikely,” Christabel said. “When would I have ever met someone new, let alone someone who might be a highwayman? I should have known from the very first that he was after something other than me…”

Ellie cut her off. “Don’t tell me Norbury was pursuing you?”