“I—” Vincent began.
“He is. Step away please.” Lady Arianna was obviously made of the same stock as his wife. He’d have found humor in the two sisters’ stubbornness under other circumstances.
Once the woman had reluctantly backed out, Vincent followed the girl into her father’s chamber.
Not one, but two people laid on the bed.
On the nearest side, a man, Quimbly, his skin a parchment-like white, his lips blue, his eyes…
Gazing lifelessly at the ceiling.
An uncovered chamber pot sat on the table beside him emitting a vomitus odor: a foul, almost chemical stench that stirred a vague memory in the back of Vincent’s mind.
“Mama?” Lady Arianna had gone to the other side of the bed and leaned over her mother.
“I took care of him, darling.” The countess’ words barely sounded between her gasping breaths. And then the woman held out her hand atop the coverlet and slowly opened her fingers. Inside of her hand lay two vials. Lady Quimbly chuckled. “Gave him a taste of his own, my dearest Arianna.”
Seeing it in her hand, smelling the stench of death, Vincent was not mistaken. It was the same vial he’d found in his brother’s palm. The same red cap. The same traces of powdery substance lining the glass.
“No more,” the countess said, sounding weaker. “He’s taken too many lives, hurt too many people.”
Lila’s sister’s shoulders began to shake, the magnitude of this moment in time penetrating her calm. “But why you, Mama?” She pressed her cheek beside her mother’s.
“He killed my brother?” It wasn’t really a question. But Vincent needed to know.
The woman finally seemed to notice he was in the room. Meeting his eyes, she nodded. “My husband needed a duchess for a daughter. I never understood. But your brother refused to marry her. My poor Lila. She’d already been rejected once.”
Vincent struggled between the relief he felt to learn his brother hadn’t taken his own life and anger at the dead man lying on the bed.
Disgusted by all the tragedies caused by a madman, Vincent accepted the former emotion and dismissed the latter.
It was over.
The sudden desire to leave all of this behind and return to Lila was all that mattered now. She was his life now. Lila…
“You love my oldest daughter?”the countess implored him. “She is happy?” Her breathing had become labored. If she’d swallowed the arsenic, she was likely moments from death, nothing could be done.
“I love her.” Vincent’s own throat felt thick. “She is happy.” And she would be, too, as soon as he could get home and clear up all of their misunderstandings.
The countess fell back with closed eyes. “She won’t be needing my sleeping draught then.”
* * *
Vincent rodeas though the hounds of hell chased him. Thank God for the moonlight. Thank God a horse had been available at the last inn, a good, strong horse.
He never would have driven an animal so hard, but…
His wife.
He dared not contemplate what he might find at his own home.
Please, don’t go!She’d begged him.
And his words. Words he’d regret for the rest of his life. Words said out of temper, and hurt, and shame:Get some sleep, Lila. Take some of that draught your mother gave to you.
Why hadn’t he recognized it then? The vial was the same as the one he’d discovered with Keenan. He’d been so blinded by his own damn pride. He allowed the horse to slow to a walk. He could not make any animal run such a great distance. He’d be more the villain for doing so.
And then he realized… he could run.
