“As I thought,” she murmured, her hand to her chest. “Very well, then it is done: stay away from me, Henry. Just… stay away from me.”
Determined not to cry in front of him, she whirled around and, with all the dignity she had left, she walked out of the manor. The boathouse was the only safe haven for her now.
CHAPTER 30
“She does not understand, Baxter,” Henry said, swirling his third glass of brandy.
He had no hope of sleeping that night when his wife no doubt despised him, thought him a rogue and a scoundrel like his father, as selfish as that vile man. To make matters worse, she was not even within the safety of the manor; she was out there at the boathouse, as far from him as the grounds permitted.
Four footmen had been sent to watch over her, and that was whereheplanned to spend his evening once the hour was late enough that he would not be seen in the darkness. At the lake shore, making sure no one harmed her.
Even though I am the one who has hurt her.
“With respect, Your Grace, I am not certain that I do, either,” the butler replied, standing rigid by the study’s fireplace as if awaiting an order.
Henry puffed out an exasperated breath. “I cannot tell her that I will stay when I do not know who harmed her. If it is someone from this household, if it is my brother, then I have no right to be anywhere near her. Icannotstay if it is my family that almost killed her.”
“Ah…” Baxter gave a slow nod. “Yes, I can see how that would be difficult to navigate. Although, if I may, would that not ultimately be her decision?”
Henry frowned at the man. “What do you mean?”
“If youdofind out that it was your brother, should it not be up to Her Grace to decide if she can live with that?” he replied. “You can still tell her that you want to stay. If she cannot live with it, the worst she can do is ask you to leave.”
A cold sort of laugh escaped Henry’s mouth. “And that would kill me, Baxter. That is why it is better to say nothing at all, until Iknowwho has done this.”
“What if it is no one?”
Henry’s eyes narrowed at the butler. “What?”
“It remains a possibility, Your Grace. What if shewasjust coming up to the tower to see you, and she slipped?” Baxter cleared his throat. “I cannot deny that someone wished to harm her four years ago and, of course, that person or persons must be dealt with. But… what if she just lost her footing?”
“I cannot believe you are saying this,” Henry muttered, knocking back a mouthful of brandy.
But the butler continued regardless, “It was late, it was dark, those steps are treacherous at the best of times. You said yourself that you did not hear anything unusual, until you heard her cry out.” He paused. “You heard no footfalls on the staircase, you heard no sound of doors or fleeing. No one was seen leaving the manor.”
Henry lifted his gaze from his drink, a grating voice of suspicion scratching at the back of his mind. “Tell me again, where were you?”
They had been over Baxter’s account of the evening several times, yet Henry could not help it; the butler was, after all, the last person that Thalia had seen that night.
“After I escorted Lady Frances to her carriage, I fetched Her Grace her usual cup of evening tea, and then I retired for the night,” Baxter replied with a weariness in his voice, as if he had been waiting for this.
“Is there anyone who can verify that?”
The butler shook his head. “Alas, no. All I can ask is for your trust; that I would rather cause injury to myself than ever see harm befall Her Grace.” He swallowed. “She has always been very kind to me.”
“I do not have much room for trust, at present,” Henry replied, staring at Baxter as if he might see some missing piece.
Would it really be him, though? He has had years to harm her if he wished to.It was not lost on Henry that the same could be said of his brother, but he would deal with that tomorrow. He and Walter had arranged to meet.
“I understand that, Your Grace.” Baxter bowed his head. “I wish that I could do more to help, but I have also reached something of an impasse with my investigations.”
It was all no good. Henry had no answers, Baxter had no answers, Owen had not had any luck with the rudimentary drawing, and the list of viable suspects seemed to be nought.
“Could someone have put something in her evening tea?” Henry asked, hopeless.
Baxter shook his head. “I prepared it myself, as I always do. It had not been tampered with.”
Downing what was left in his glass, Henry got to his feet. “I am going to take up my watch outside.” He headed for the door and paused. “I do trust you, Baxter, and I pray that I am not wrong to do so.”
