“I wanted to catch you whilst we have a few moments’ privacy.” Marianne sat on the snowy chaise longue, her skirts fluttering gracefully around her. “The girls are with the dancing master, and Edward is still sleeping.”
Plopping herself on the adjacent settee, Emma said with sympathy, “Did he have another bad night?”
Edward, Marianne and Ambrose’s seven-year-old, had recently started having night terrors. During the episodes, the little lad was inconsolable and difficult to wake.
“Poor thing was beside himself. I stayed with him until dawn,” Marianne said ruefully.
“I remember when Polly suffered a similar bout of nightmares. The only thing that helped was a glass of warm milk and a biscuit.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Clearing her throat, Marianne said, “What I really wish to discuss with you, however, concerns the Duke of Strathaven. Ambrose told me everything last night. I do wish the two of you had consulted me before bringing the matter to the magistrates.”
Emma’s shoulders stiffened. Not because her brother had shared this information with Marianne—she knew he and his wife kept no secrets from one another—but because of the judgment she heard in her sister-in-law’s tone.
She lifted her chin. “All I did was report a crime that I witnessed.”
“I know you meant well, dearest. You always do. But this is London, and things are different here than in Chudleigh Crest.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Are you?” The hesitation was uncharacteristic of Marianne and put Emma on guard. “I can’t help but wonder if you acted too hastily. No, don’t look so put out, dearest—I mean no insult to you. Or to Ambrose, for that matter. I know you both believed you were right to go to Bow Street. I do have some information, however, that might have influenced your decision.”
“What information could change the truth? I know what I saw,” Emma said stubbornly.
Marianne’s lips formed a faint smile. “How you remind me of Ambrose, dear.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As it was meant to be. The integrity that runs in the Kent bloodline is a quality that I admire greatly.” Marianne’s shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. “Until Ambrose came into my life, I did not concern myself greatly with morality or living by anyone’s rules but my own.”
“You’re a wonderful wife and mama. And you’ve been nothing but kindness to the rest of us Kents,” Emma argued.
“I am glad you think so.”
Marianne’s sincerity sent a squiggle of guilt through Emma. Since moving to London, Emma had felt a slight degree of tension toward her sister-in-law. It wasn’t the other’s fault; all Marianne had done was take the Kents under her wing, treating them to luxury after luxury. Yet in doing so, she’d inadvertently made Emma… extraneous. When it came to leading a fashionable life, Marianne was an expert guide—and Emma as necessary as a fifth wheel.
Shame suffused Emma. She didn’t want to be ungrateful; she did love her sister-in-law.
“I know you have our best interests at heart,” she said, flushing.
“I do,” Marianne agreed, “which is why I must talk to you about Strathaven.”
“What about him?” Emma said warily.
“While I cannot lay claim to being as honorable as you and Ambrose, I do have my areas of expertise, and one of them happens to be theton. Simply put, I have access to a surfeit of gossip. In this instance, there are things I know about the duke that you do not.”
With trepidation, Emma said, “Such as?”
“First off, his so-called victim was not a stranger to him.”
“I know they were acquainted. In fact, I believe Strathaven might have had some hold over Lady Osgood. He probably forced her to his cottage and—”
“They were lovers, Emma.”
Chill trickled down Emma’s spine. “Lovers?”
Marianne nodded. “From what I gather, theiraffairewas not longstanding. They kept it discreet owing to the fact that Lady Osgood is married.”
Emma’s mind was working furiously. Goodness, Lady Osgood and Strathaven had been amorously involved? “But it doesn’t change what I saw. He was hurting her,” she blurted. “I saw the duke restraining Lady Osgood. He tied her up, said he would make herbeg.”
