And once it is done, he will have to find a way to live with the regret.
Stiffening my shoulders, I say it all in a single breathless burst.
Astonished, he stares at me.“What?”
Nodding sympathetically, I murmur an apology, mortified by the inadequacy of my reply. But I do not know what else to do.Mama’s lessons never encompassed how to comfort your suitor after revealing his sister to be a wanton murderess.
Obviously, a smile will not do.
Perhaps a moue of concern.
Or is that still too flippant?
“No, Flora, I did not hear what you said,” Sebastian explains calmly. “You spoke too quickly. You will have to repeat it.”
Repeat it?
When the last time nearly shattered me?
That is decidedly unfair.
Gathering my courage once again, I speak clearly and deliberately, letting each word exist in its own bubble for a fraction of a second before adding the next one. “In the course of my investigation into the murder of your father’s steward, I realized the murderer is one of your sisters, and by a process of elimination, I can say with almost one hundred percent certainty that Eleanor is the culprit. She was conducting an affair with the steward, and when it finally became clear to her that he would not do the honorable thing by her or their baby, she strangled him with the shawl. She then invented Eternally Devoted to cast suspicion away from Red Oaks. Leaving the shawl behind was a fatal misstep because it is too dear for an impoverished widow. I came here to compare her handwriting against the letters to prove my theory, then realized I did not want to know. I was leaving when you found me.”
He smiles, which is the worst possible reaction because I do not know how to interpret it. A scowl means anger and a glare means fury, but a smile means…amusement? He cannot beamusedby his sister’s moral vacuity.
Does he think I am teasing?
Does he believe my refusal to admit to a minor transgression is so consuming that I have concocted a slanderous story about an innocent young lady?
Or does he still not understand?
Did I race through it again?
IthoughtI had slowed down, but if I am oblivious to the speed with which I blink my eyelids, then perhaps I am equally ignorant about the pace at which I speak.
Good God, never say I have to repeat it athirdtime!
As if to confirm these speculations, Sebastian strides deeper into the room and presses a kiss against my forehead. “You are sweet, Flora.”
Pained by his misplaced tribute, I close my eyes.
More than anything I want his approval, but for this I do not deserve it.
Diligently, I begin again.
For the sake of clarity, I start with the shawl.
I have barely explained the importance of the shawl before Sebastian interrupts to insist that he comprehends the allegation against his sister. “Rather than take offense at your grotesque conclusion about Eleanor, I choose to be moved by your show of mercy. I know how seriously you take your responsibility as an investigator and realize it is no small thing for you to put it aside. Thank you.”
And then he kisses me again!
Sebastian mightclaimto understand the accusation, but his actions suggest otherwise. If all he cares about is his sister not being held to account for Mr. Keast’s murder, then he has failed to grasp the significance of my revelations.
Eleanor is depraved.
Is she lost to all decency?
I certainly hope not, but her chances for redemption grow vanishingly thin if her own brother does not recognize the need for it. A steady hand is required to guide her, not hours of Bible study and auricular confession.
