Evie nodded. “Once I allowed myself to consider the facts—the possibility that I did not make the grievous mistake I’d blamed myself for all these years—I began to wonder how the bottles could have been switched. I left my chamber with valerian in my pocket. Sometime between then and after Wilmington collapsed, when I had the wherewithal to check my pocket again, the bottles were changed.”
“Who was near you…Merrow.” A tingle crossed James’s nape. “You mentioned he was the first to come in when you called for help. He cornered you, pushed you against the wall, and demanded to know what had happened.”
“You have a memory for detail.” Evie looked impressed.
“I remembered the details because I wanted to plow my fist into Merrow’s face for threatening you,” he said bluntly. “But also because the behavior struck me as odd. Why not rush to his master, try to revive him first? That is what anyone would do unless…unless he knew that there was nothing to worry about.”
“Exactly.” Excitement glittered in Evie’s eyes. “Suppose this was all staged—all part of an elaborate ruse. Merrow knew Wilmington was not in any real danger, so he trapped me first. In my state of panic, I didn’t notice him switch the bottles. He took the valerian, leaving me with the belladonna…so that I would believe that I had poisoned Wilmington.”
“To what end?”
“Wilmington was up to his ears in debt. He married my mama for her fortune, and he gambled it away. When she refused to hand over my dowry, he…he, oh James.” Evie’s voice broke. “I think he killed her.”
Evie told him what Harkness had witnessed.
“The murderous blackguard,” James said with quiet fury. “I hope he is, indeed, alive, for I shall enjoy tearing him limb from limb.”
“My mama died to protect me from that villain.”
The tears that spilled were cleansing. Evie’s rage was equal to James’s, if not greater. For now that the illusion was gone, she saw with crystal clarity how diabolical Wilmington was.
“Afterward, he not only foisted his unwanted attentions on me, but he also tormented me, twisting my thinking so that I believed I was faulty…that I somehow deserved pain and misfortune.”
“Dying is too good for him. He will suffer,” James stated. “Greatly.”
“I think he must already be suffering. As I said, he spent my mama’s fortune. After her death, he took over my dowry and squandered that too. I remember him hiding when creditors came to call…and they weren’t the usual merchants. Unsavory characters would visit the manor, the kind that carried weapons and left a trail of broken things in their wake.”
“Moneylenders.” James’s gaze blazed with understanding. “The bastard went to the cent-per-cent men and dug himself a hole so deep that his only means of escape was?—”
“Faking his own death,” Evie finished. “While doing so, he saw an opportunity to keep me under his thumb. He must have figured out I was lacing his drinks with valerian. So he made me think I’d given him the wrong herb—the deadly herb—instead. Then he lay in wait until the time was ripe to manipulate me again.”
“He probably thought my political aspirations gave him leverage,” James said. “But he underestimated you. You are no longer a frightened young girl under his power. You are a strong and intelligent woman, and you figured out his dastardly scheme.”
“I wish I could have figured it out sooner,” she said wryly. “But, yes, I think I have most of the pieces. Merrow was a part of this from the beginning, as was Murdoch. After Wilmington collapsed, the two were the only ones to tend to him. Murdoch signed his death certificate, and before the ink was dry, they carted him off, saying it had been Wilmington’s wishes to have a quick burial.”
“Only, instead of dying, he did the flit. Years later, he is in need of money again and initiates the blackmail scheme, sending Merrow to do his dirty work. And Murdoch…” James gave a decisive nod. “He had come down in the world. He must have discovered what Wilmington was up to and demanded a cut—probably fancied he deserved it. Perhaps he even threatened to expose Wilmington.”
“And Wilmington did what I didn’t do,” Evie said with satisfaction. “He killed using belladonna. You do know what this means, don’t you?”
“That I admire and love you beyond words?” James said fiercely. “That I wish I could have protected you from all of this, but that I am bloody glad—and proud—that you have the courage and strength to not only survive such dark machinations, but to look past the lies and parlor tricks to see the heart of the truth?”
“Those are lovely sentiments.” Evie smiled tremulously. “However, I was referring to the fact that if Wilmington is alive?—”
“He is,” James said with cold certainty. “Cockroaches like him can withstand anything. How I shall enjoy crushing him.”
“Do leave some crushing to me, darling. I think I’m entitled. But back to my point: Wilmington’s continued existence means that there is no scandal.”
Seeing James knit his brows, she was surprised that he had not made the connection already. This was simple deduction compared to the more complicated scheme he’d had no trouble following.
“I didn’t kill Wilmington,” she explained. “You are not married to a murderess. Ergo, there is no scandal—only the gossip circulated by Ryerson and his ilk, gossip that will be proven false. Ergo, your campaign still has a chance. You can and will win?—”
“Do you honestly think”—James’s gaze burned, and he seemed to struggle for words—“that after everything you just told me, after everything you’ve been through, that I give a damn about my blasted campaign?”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Is this a trick question?”
He swore vehemently and with colorful vocabulary she didn’t know her proper lord would have knowledge of, let alone use. He took her by the shoulders.
“This is not a bloody trick but a fact,” he growled. “I want you to hear me. I mean it, Evie—pay attention.”
