Waking up to bright sunshine, Chastity lay back against her pillows and sipped her hot chocolate. How much had changed in less than forty-eight hours.
Despite Lord Cottesmore’s earlier avowal that their marriage would be a business arrangement only, she finally dared hope that it might become more than that. Perhaps she hadn’t entirely given up on romance, but even if he did not wish to pursue the…physical side of marriage, she still needed them to be friends. She could not countenance living the rest of her life in a frosty atmosphere. She would just have to ignore the part of her that reacted so strongly to his presence. It wasn’tthatdifficult to do. Indeed, she’d become quite accomplished at it, though it was admittedly usually for the exact opposite of reasons. Unbidden, her mind conjured up thoughts of Viscount Trebworthy.
Hurriedly, she threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. This morning, as soon as breakfast was finished, she would seek out her sister and enquire after her health. Though the fact that Grace felt well enough to accompany them to Hyde Park this afternoon indicated that perhaps the nausea had subsided.
Without bothering to wait for the maid, Chastity pulled on one of her sisters’ hand-me-downs, giggling at the thought of her maid Rose’s outrage should she lay eyes on her. This afternoon she’d be spending more than enough time primping and polishing, and really, she needed to give her ribs a rest from the deuced stays. They were unlikely to have any visitors before then, so though Grace might tut at the sight of her, at least she’d be able to breathe for a few hours.
Breakfast was a lively affair, despite the spectre of John Witherspoon hanging over them. Percy was a little more cheerful after Malcolm reported that he’d spotted Lizzy alive and apparently well, helping her husband out of her brother’s gambling den, which Witherspoon had whimsically named theFlying Horse. Clearly, the thought of her was what had been concerning him during the dinner.
As they were finishing, Nicholas read out the announcement of their betrothal, and Chastity couldn’t help but feel a small thrill at hearing the words. Naturally, she couldn’t help wondering whether Lord Cottesmore would even have given her a second glance if she hadn’t tied her garter in public, but then to her knowledge, at least two of her sisters’ marriages had begun equally inauspiciously and had flourished since. No, today, she was determined she would not fall prey to uncertainty. Forever second-guessing oneself was exceedingly tiresome.
As soon as breakfast was finished, she followed her eldest sister up to the nursery.
‘How are you feeling?’ Chastity asked as soon as Briony had left them alone. ‘I must say you have much more colour in your face than you did a few days ago.’
Grace didn’t answer immediately, being busy fastening up the dress on the doll Jennifer had given to her. ‘I swear this deuced dress has more buttons on it than mine,’ she muttered, handing the doll back. Watching daughter toddle off towards her dolls house, she finally turned and smiled. ‘I do feel better, thank you dearest. And I don’t believe there is any doubt that I am increasing.’
‘Have you told Nicholas?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I plan to tell him as soon as we’ve got this business with the Earl over with.’ She held up her hand as Chastity opened her mouth to object. ‘Felicity knows and she is making sure I eat my greens and don’t do too much. You and she are all the confidantes I need at the moment.’ She paused and chuckled. ‘Once I’ve told Nicholas, he will immediately go into mother hen mode. I simply wish to hang on to my freedom for as long as I can. Now let’s talk about your wedding dress.’
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. After spending an hour in the nursery with Grace, Chastity sat down to write a letter to her twin. She hadn’t written since Christmas, and it was difficult to know exactly where to start. Indeed it was even harder to consider that the person who’d always been closest to her actually had no idea of what had transpired, and as she scribbled away, Chastity feared her sister would lose the will to live before she even got to the important part.
She was just placing the missive in an envelope as Rose knocked on the door. Glancing down at her watch, Chastity gasped. It was almost one. So much for primping and polishing. But then, did it matter really? It was unlikely the Earl would get within ten feet of her with their entourage.
Forty-five minutes later she was seated in the drawing room, nervously waiting. She watched Prudence as she played a game of dominoes with Peter. Grace and Felicity sat calmly side by side with their embroidery. Chastity forced back a laugh. If anyone had suggested needlepoint to her sister when she first wed Nicholas, Grace would have thought them addled. In truth, most of her pieces ended up in the servants’ quarters even now.
The fact was none of the Shackleford sisters had achieved any real proficiency in the skills considered so essential by ladies of theton.Especially musically. Indeed, collectively they could give an alley full of cats a run for their money, though Patience was the worst. Her singing voice was truly awful. Their father had frequently given her a shilling just so she would mime when she was in church.
Her thoughts on Patience, she was reminded of the last time they were seated in a drawing room waiting for the Marquess of Guildford to call. Her eyes caught those of Felicity, and she could tell the matron was thinking exactly the same thing. Both of them burst out laughing. Grace and Prudence looked over at them enquiringly.
‘Please my dear, if you could refrain from uttering any profanities in the Earl of Cottesmore’s presence, I would be most grateful.’
Chastity shook her head, endeavouring to get her mirth under control. Just as the doorbell rang.
∞∞∞
Lizzy spent the entire night sitting with her dead husband, and it was only as the first streaks of red appeared across the horizon that she finally heaved herself out of the chair and covered him up.
As she pulled the sheet over his head, she spied her hands, still caked in crimson. With a small moan, she wiped them on her skirt, but the gore was dried and incrusted. Looking down, she realised Charlie’s blood was all over her. She fought the urge to cast her account, forcing herself to breathe deeply despite the overwhelming acrid stench of copper. There was no way she could leave until she’d changed her clothes. Rummaging around her bag, she pulled out a small, cracked piece of glass – part of a mirror her mother had given her when she was a girl. Holding it up to her face, she gulped back a sob. She looked as though she’d been rolling around in a bloody abattoir.
She hurried outside Charlie’s room which was little more than a shed at the back of her brother’s gambling den.You’ve got a lot to bloody answer for, John Witherspoon, she thought, gritting her teeth. Whatever happened next, she wanted some bleeding answers.
Looking round in the early morning light, she spied a bucket containing some brackish liquid. Lifting it to her nose, she sniffed cautiously. Water, though a few days old. With a last glance around, she took the bucket back into Charlie’s room and stripped off her outer garments. Using her bodice as a cloth, she wiped herself down as best she could, then pulled on her Sunday dress. Looking at the stained garments she’d taken off, she was sorely tempted to simply throw them away, but she had no other clothes. Somehow, she’d have to get the stains out. Shaking her head, she rolled the bodice and skirt up together and shoved them into her bag.
Next, she searched the room for any coins, knowing she was likely wasting her time. The only wealth Charlie had possessed lay in her purse. As she searched, she thought back to his words just before he’d cocked up his toes. Something about a ruby and splitting it.
She’d always wondered how her brother had been able to afford this place. Clearly he’d snaffled the gem and promised to share what he got for it with Charlie. Her poor gullible idiot of a bloody husband. John had kept him hanging on all these years.
Well it was time for an accounting. She’d have her say or die trying, and if the scab thought to lay a hand on her…she’d scream the bloody place down.
Her anger holding back the fear, Lizzy marched out of her husband’s tomb and shut the door behind her. John had rooms at the top of the warehouse from what she heard him say yesterday. Quietly now, she walked across the yard and slipped in through a door on the side. It had been locked, but a sharp tug had opened it easily enough. Typical bleeding John. Never did anything properly-always looking to save a few bob.
She came to a shadowy corridor, leading to a narrow set of stairs. She took a step forward, intending to march up the stairs yelling her brother’s name. Then, abruptly she paused. She would have done that not hours ago. Back when she thought her brother was just a good-for-nothing fatwit. But now she knew different. He was dangerous.
Everything was silent and she shook her head to clear it. What the bloody hell was she doing? John Witherspoon’d see her dead and buried without a tear. There was no way she could call him out.
By rights, she should just cut her losses and escape while she still had a bloody pulse. She took a hesitant step backwards, her bag, with its pathetic purse inside, knocking against her hip. She thought of Charlie’s tooth. The only thing worth a damn she had in the whole bloody world. And that bastard upstairsowedher.
