After a taut pause, Mama murmured, “Forgive me, dearest?—”
“There’s naught to forgive. Ah, here comes the pineapple gelée, another favorite of mine.” James changed the topic, his tone as pleasant and bloodless as if he were discussing the weather. “Evie grew the fruit herself. You must try it.”
After supper, the others withdrew to the drawing room. It was Evie’s duty to preside over the post-prandial entertainment, but she simply couldn’t bear it. Taking Mama aside, she made her excuses.
“A megrim?” Worry shone in Mama’s eyes. “It is not surprising, given the stress of what you and Gigi recently endured. Have you seen a physician?—”
“There’s no need,” Evie said quickly. “I am merely tired.”
“My maid has a splendid remedy for headaches. Shall I have her mix up a batch?”
“That is unnecessary. A quick nap will, um, set me to rights.”
“Get some rest, then. Don’t worry about us; we are perfectly capable of entertaining ourselves.” Mama paused. “In truth, we should not have intruded, but we were concerned after your abrupt departure from Bottoms House.”
With a guilty pang, Evie said, “It was ever so rude of me. But my experiments?—”
“You needn’t apologize.” Mama placed a gentle hand on her cheek. “I hate to interfere, but I must ask…is everything all right?”
She knows. She knows my marriage is a fiasco…that I make James unhappy.
Shame and self-loathing cinched Evie’s throat.
Swallowing, she said, “All is…all is as it should be.”
The compassion in Mama’s violet gaze was almost more than she could bear.
“Go rest,” Mama murmured. “If you ever wish to talk, I am here.”
Evie fled but not to her bedchamber. Instead, she headed to the greenhouse, where the lush, shadowed silence felt like a reprieve. She could lose herself here, perhaps make further progress on her experiments. During supper, an idea had come to her that she wanted to explore…
As she approached her desk, she saw that the lamp on its surface was flickering even though she could have sworn she’d doused it. Not only that, but her leather-bound journal—the one where she recorded her observations—was lying open. She would never treat her work so carelessly, and frowning, she rushed over…
When she saw the plant clipping that lay upon the open page, her heart jammed in her throat. The purple, bell-shaped flower and trio of pointed leaves looked pretty and harmless, but she knew better. Atropa belladonna, deadly nightshade, was the most lethal of poisons. The words, inked boldly on the page beneath the cutting, were equally venomous:
Accidents happen when you least expect it—especially around you, dearest Evie. You know that better than anyone, don’t you?
The past rose and enveloped Evie like a cold, dense fog. She tried to breathe, but she was suffocating, smothered by everything she remembered...and everything she did not. Blackness wavered at the edges of her vision, splintering into dots. As her knees buckled, she caught herself against the desk.
Who wrote this? What do they know? What do they want?
Panic swamped her as she gazed wildly around the greenhouse. The flickering wall sconces and faint moonlight revealed that she was alone: the only movement came from the occasional sway of fronds.
“Evie?”
She spun around and saw James striding toward her. He halted inches away, close enough for her to see the lines slashing around his mouth and anger blazing in his eyes.
“What the devil is going on?” he bit out.
Chapter Five
Finding Evie hiding in the greenhouse caused something to snap inside James.
Supper had been an ordeal. All his life, he had striven to be worthy of his family legacy. He lived by principles of honor, duty, and fidelity. He had dedicated himself to his roles as heir, brother, and husband because he believed that was the right thing to do and the path to fulfillment. Yet there at the supper table, surrounded by the people closest to him, he’d come to an ugly realization.
He wasn’t fulfilled. He wasn’t even happy. Even though he’d done everything right, the true Blackwood tradition eluded him: his marriage was not a love match.
Not even close.
