Frederick walked away, feeling like a blundering oaf. Of course Charles had not mentioned Marina’s disturbing behavior. He was too discreet for that. It was he who’d blurted out her name, embarrassed himself and the others too.Dashed fool.
He guessed Miss Lane had heard the rumors about his wife’s death. He wondered if she believed them. Would she exonerate him if she knew all? Why should she, when he owned a share of the blame?
When he’d met Miss Marina Seward, he’d been instantly taken by her beauty and charm and astonished that she seemed to find him charming in return. Everyone said Frederick was lucky to marry her. At the time, he’d agreed. But later he had cause to repent of his choice.
The first few years of their marriage had been difficult. Strained. Marina had remained distant from him, despite hisbest efforts. He’d concluded his efforts were lacking and had no idea how to bridge the ever-widening gap.
Then one night she announced she had something to tell him. Frederick had steeled himself for the worst—a deadly diagnosis, perhaps, since she had recently consulted a physician. But what she told him was good news, at least to him. Marina was expecting a child.
A child to love? An heir to the estate? He was elated. It felt like the sun finally rising after a long, dark night.
Marina, however, was clearly unhappy. Said she was not ready to be a broodmare and lose her figure. Insisted she was not meant to be a mother and possessed no maternal instincts.
Frederick had tried to reassure her, saying her doubts were only natural and that she would learn.Theywould learn together. She scoffed.
His wife started leaving Wickworth more often without saying where she was going or why. When she was home, she insisted on taking long walks alone. She drank too much and ate too little. Frederick began to fear she would injure her health or that of the babe. Or even that she would take measures to destroy the child.
He wrote to his friend Dr. Fox, whom he knew to be a capable, discreet physician who treated people with disturbances of the mind, including female hysteria and unnatural feelings.
Knowing Marina would resist going to the man’s establishment, he asked his friend to come to Wickworth at his earliest convenience.
Dr. Fox came as a personal favor and met with his wife. Of course, Frederick hoped Charles would suggest some cure, some simple treatment that could be completed before the child’s birth. But in the end, Dr. Fox was not convinced she was hystericso much as flighty, devilishly vain, and selfish. Even so, he gently counseled Marina and prescribed rest and a healthful diet.
When she lost the child—whether by God’s design or her own—Frederick had been devastated. His wife might not love him, but his child would have.
One evening Marina came into his bedchamber and found him weeping. Even now, Frederick’s face burned in shame at the memory.
She stood, hands on slim hips, and rolled her eyes. “What are you crying about?” she said, voice dripping with disdain. “The child was not even yours.”
At that, she’d turned and swept from the room. Fury and incredulity burned away his tears and drove him to his feet. He strode after her and caught up with her at the top of the stairs.
“Then whose?” he demanded.
“Does it matter?”
She started to turn away again, but Frederick grabbed her arm to stop her. She jerked away so forcefully that she lost her balance and fell backward down the stairs.
Even thinking about it now, his heart lurched, that startling, breath-stealing terror seizing him anew.
He’d lunged, reaching for her, but only caught the ribbon tie around her waist, which tore as she fell, and fell, and fell...
In a blind panic, Frederick hurried down the stairs after her, shouting for the footman to summon a doctor.
But it was too late. She had broken her neck and died instantly.
Despite everything, sorrow had swamped him. He’d never meant her any harm, never wished her ill.
How often he’d rehearsed that moment, wishing he had acted more quickly to stop her fall. He knew some people suspected he’d pushed his unfaithful wife to her death, but he had not. Even so, he knew he was not blameless.
The constable, physician, and coroner had unanimously declared it an accident and exonerated him. But the guilt still hung heavy on his soul.
———
Rebecca watched Sir Frederick leave, but her thoughts soon returned to John. Her dear, disturbed brother who could spew hateful disparagement one minute and sweet consolation the next. He needed help—more than she or Rose could give him. Could Dr. Fox help John? Maybe. But her brother would never willingly agree to enter an asylum.
She thanked Dr. Fox again and walked through the cloisters, lingering in that reverent place to add a prayer to all the thousands that had been offered there over the centuries.
Oh, God, please help us. I don’tknow what to do. Please give me wisdom.
