But yet, despite all that, Bridget felt her cheeks go hot with shame. She did not deserve this woman’s compassion. Not when she would soon abscond with her son.
She would have responded, but her tongue refused to move, singularly frozen by guilt, shame, and self-loathing. Bridget felt the Duke of Carlisle’s gaze like a touch before she even scanned the assemblage to find him watching her.
“All the men responsible for the outrage against the Duke of Burghly have now been captured,” Carlisle said, his gaze remaining pinned to her. “Just yesterday. A treasure trove of information has been discovered along with them, and my Dublin sources assure me that more arrests will inevitably follow.” He paused, shifting his attention to Mr. Ludlow. “This nightmare is at its end. I was saving the good news for after the nuptials.”
Bridget felt the air expel from her lungs as if she had been issued a blow. Around her, the other wedding guests gave their reactions. There were sounds of joy, disbelief. Relief. Her gaze traveled to the bride, who was ethereal in her gown, her vivid red hair swept into a simple Grecian braid and knot.
The Duchess of Burghly raised a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob as she turned to her husband, her heart in her eyes, hope evident in her expression. “Oh, Clay, does this mean we are free at last?”
“It is my greatest hope,” said her husband, tugging her to him, and pressing a reverent kiss to her forehead, before the entire assemblage.
Nausea churned inside Bridget. Partially because she feared the release of the treasure trove of information the Duke of Carlisle promised, along with the additional arrests. She had friends and acquaintances caught up within this web. Too many to count. But also because she was witness to the sheer joy and relief of the duchess and her husband, on their wedding day, of all days, while she knew herself to be the evil in their midst. She knew she would—must—rob them of their happiness. Time was running out for her. If arrests had been made, her identity could already have been revealed.
She would have to act now, or never.
“This is wonderful news indeed,” said Mr. Ludlow’s mother. She was one of the kindest ladies Bridget had ever met, possessing a boundless heart and an infinite desire to get to know those around her. She had already coaxed Bridget into revealing more about herself than she would have comfortably dared. It was a gift the woman had. “I could not be more pleased. I only wish your father could be here now. How proud he would be of his two sons. How happy he would be to welcome Ara and Edward into our family.”
“My mama says that everyone in heaven is still with you in your heart,” the young duke offered solemnly, his earnest words tugging at Bridget’s heart in a way she wished they did not. “They will always be there, and no one can remove them or their love.”
Bridget bit her lip at the boy’s speech. Such a young child, without a father. How she hated that it had all been because of the cause she believed in, the cause she fought for even now. She felt too much for this young man. For his family. These were not faceless, unfamiliar enemies, but people she had come to know. People she respected. Cared for even.
“How right your mama is,” Mr. Ludlow said with a gentleness that belied his large, hulking form and the vicious scar cutting down his cheek. “No matter how great the distance, or how long the time apart, the ones you love will always be there in your heart.”
“I love you so,” the duchess whispered to her new husband, but it was loud enough for everyone to hear.
Even so, the entire table was smiling. It was a time of celebration. Of great relief. Of love and looking to the future. Bridget hated herself for what she would soon do. For being the one who would destroy this moment of perfect, absolute peace.
“That is certainly true,” added another one of the wedding guests, offering her husband a look that shone with unabashed adoration “Would you not say so, my husband?”
The look her husband gave her in return was every bit as lovestruck. “I would most certainly concur.”
“Forgive me,” drawled the Duke of Carlisle then, with the icy hauteur only he could affect. “Excessive sentiment makes me bilious. Let us carry on with the breakfast before I lose my appetite, shall we?”
“You do not appear to have lost your appetite, Your Grace,” Bridget’s charge observed out of turn.
Bridget had been watching Carlisle surreptitiously over the course of the breakfast, and she could not deny the lad’s truthfulness. The Duke of Carlisle had, unquestionably, cleared his plate of this course and all those that had come before it.
But she supposed it would require an immense appetite to satisfy a frame as large and as strong as the duke’s. He towered over everyone, save Mr. Ludlow, his height and his strength both formidable. Everything about him suggested he was dangerous.
“You may call me Uncle Leo, scamp,” Carlisle admonished Bridget’s charge without a trace of heat, his harsh exterior softening with an almost boyish quality. “And I will thank you kindly to mind your own plate. I do not suppose you can finish yours and watch mine at the same time, can you?”
The young duke smiled, undeterred. “No, Uncle Leo.”
“Just so.” Carlisle’s attention abruptly returned to Bridget, his dark eyes boring into hers with an intensity that stole her breath anew. “Perhaps your governess ought to teach you about manners if she has not yet done so.”
It was churlish of him to make such a remark. She pressed her lips together firmly, staving off a response. How dare he accost her and importune her in the library, make advances—flirt blatantly—beg her to stay, and then question her ability in her post?
She was about to speak, defending herself, when her employer saved her the task.
“Miss Palliser has only just joined us recently,” the Duchess of Burghly spoke up, flashing Bridget a reassuring smile.
“Plenty of time then,” Carlisle said mildly, his stare lingering upon Bridget with a noted intensity. “Plenty of time.”
Her cheeks went hot beneath his scrutiny from a combination of fear and embarrassment. She could not be certain if he had already received damning information concerning her true identity and was merely prodding at her like a wounded animal he would kill when he had grown bored of the game, or whether he simply enjoyed flustering her.
The moment was severed when Mr. Ludlow motioned discreetly for the next course to be served. “If you were hungry, brother, you would have only had to speak for yourself. No one knows better than I what a bear you become when deprived of nourishment, and we cannot have that on a day of such unmitigated celebration.”
Blessedly, Carlisle turned his attention back to Mr. Ludlow, grinning. “Today is not about me, brother dear. It is about you and your lovely bride. I wish you happy, today and every day that follows.”
