He’d thrown the woman he loved in jail, and now she would ratherhangthan wed him.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course.”
An approving pat this time, and Mum passed him a plate stacked with biscuits. “So how is she, then?”
“Terrible. As anyone would be in jail. She’s not eating well.” And he washere, settled comfortably in his mother’s drawing room, with tea and biscuits—luxuries he doubted Jenny had been allowed the last month. “It’s clear she can’t wash well. Probably they only provide her a pitcher of water for the occasional rinse.” Her hair had been lank last he had seen her; her skin had lost its luminous glow. “I doubt she’s sleeping as she ought.” How much rest could a person comfortably obtain in her current residence? His coat felt as though it fit too tightly all of a sudden, and the collar of his shirt threatened to strangle him. “I…offered to take charge of her,” he said. “They don’t want to hang her, not really—not aduchess. I suggested exile, and to be her guardian to ensure she never returned.”
“Exile?” Mum’s hand flew to her throat. “Sebastian, you would have left England with her?”
His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “She’s with child, Mum,” he admitted. “I thought—it would keep them both safe—” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “She said she’d rather hang than wed me.”
And just now, when he reflected upon his actions and tried to put himself into the position of a woman wrongly accused—he had the sinking suspicion that she had, indeed,meantit.
∞∞∞
“I need your help,” Sebastian said, and he spoke the words as humbly, as penitently, as he could manage. He had not expected to find himself here in Lady Clybourne’s home once again, and yet—there was nowhere else he could turn,tono one else he could appeal.
“I could not be moved to help you under any circumstances,” Lady Clybourne said, placidly sipping her tea.
“And yet, you continue to admit me,” Sebastian replied. “One would think, my lady, that if you had no interest in helping me, you would simply have had me refused at the door.”
“I said I would nothelpyou.” Lady Clybourne’s eyes flashed with a fire reminiscent of the color of her hair; vibrant and flaming hot. “However, I find myself a trifle vindictive lately. I won’t help you—but I eagerly await the day you recognize your error and crawl on your belly like the snake you have revealed yourself to be.”
Sebastian could hardly hold her venom against her, not when he’d jailed one of her dearest friends. “Ifthere are apologies to be made, then I will make them gladly,” he said. “But as it happens, I am after thetruth, andthis”—he cast the leather folio down on the table before her—“thisis not it.”
One delicate auburn brow lifted in silent inquiry.
“It’s Jenny’s statement,” he said. “It may yet prove to be partial truth. But it is not thewholeof the truth, and that is what I am after.”
“Why?” she inquired icily, in stark contrast to the fury still brushed over her face. “Why would you bother, Mr. Knight?”
“Because Jenny would not agree to be released into my custody and exiled from England,” he said. “And I won’t let her hang. Thetruthwill either condemn her—or clear her name entirely.” He was hoping fervently for the latter.
“You suggestedexile?” Her shock, her horror, were palpable.
“It seemed a reasonable alternative to hanging,” he said. “Despite what you may believe, I have no wish to be the orchestrator of her death.”
“You might have thought of that before you had her jailed,” Lady Clybourne said tartly. “My answer is stillno, Mr. Knight. Pray remove yourself from my home. If you should wish to perform some sort of investigation of your own, no one is stopping you—though nothing could ever sway my opinion of Jenny’s innocence.”
“You misunderstand, Lady Clybourne,” he said. “I’m not asking for your assistance in my investigation. I’m capable of managing it on my own. What I should like for you to do—you, Lady Livingston, and your husbands—is to take responsibility for Jenny until I can uncover the truth.”
Her teacup rattled on its saucer, a fine tremor shaking her fingers.
“What—whatever do you mean?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“I’ve convinced the magistrate that she won’t risk running. She’s lived in London itself for nearly a decade, after all, right beneath everyone’s noses,” he said with hollow laugh. “She’d be confined to Ambrosia, and we would have to hire guards to watch the entrances every hour of every day—but if you will consent to it, she can be released into your custody to await trial.” She had, after all, made it excruciatingly clear that she would never consent tohis. “I am asking youto retrieve her.”
“She can come home?” Lady Clybourne’s hand lifted, swiping over her mouth. Her eyes glittered with a sudden mist of tears. “When?”
“Today.Now.” Please, God, make itsoon. “As soon as you and your husband can give your consent to take custody of her.” Home only until her trial—unless he managed to prove that she had not committed murder. But it was still the onlyhomeshe had, and it was a far sight better than her current accommodations.
Lady Clybourne rose to her feet, abandoning her tea. “Have the footmen call round for the carriage on your way out,” she instructed as she headed for the hall, no doubt to locate her husband.
“I’ve got a hack waiting. I don’t mind—”
She rounded on him in a swish of emerald skirts. “You are notabsolved, Mr. Knight,” she snapped. “Do not think forone momentthat simply because you have released Jenny from jail that I have forgotten that youplacedher there. Do not think forone momentthat I would inflict your presence upon her, even for convenience.”
Well. He supposed she had that right. And he found, as he collected his folio from her table and showed himself to the door, that curiously it did not seem to matter terribly much whether the conclusions he had drawn would prove to be correct or incorrect. Whether or not Jenny would prove to be a murderess, whether or not an apology was due to her, already he felt like crawling.
