Her wisdom shifted something inside him. He exhaled, feeling some of the tension leave him. His mama was right: marriage was a shared responsibility.
“I shall speak to Evie,” he said.
“Good.” Mama patted his cheek. “Now tell me about your campaign. Papa and I should like to help in any way we?—”
“There you are, Lord Manderly. I wondered where you were hiding.”
Lady Vernon glided over in a swish of crimson taffeta, her rosy scent tickling his nose and making him want to sneeze. He was about to introduce her, but Mama spoke first.
“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Lady Vernon sank into an elegant curtsy, diamond-tipped pins glittering in her elaborate coiffure. “Your reputation precedes you, Lady Blackwood. If I may be so bold, talk of your grace and beauty is not exaggerated.”
“Mama, this is Lady Morgana Vernon,” James said. “She has been a great supporter of my campaign.”
“Has she?” Mama’s smile was pleasant. “How generous of you, Lady Vernon, to volunteer your efforts on my son’s behalf.”
“I consider myself a patroness of worthy causes, ma’am. My dearly departed husband left me with an abundance of time and resources, and I like to put both to good use. There is much at stake when it comes to the next election.”
Mama sipped her champagne, watching the other over the flute’s rim. “On that, we agree.”
An awkward silence fell. Some unspoken message seemed to pass between the two women, which James knew better than to try to decipher. Before he could offer to fetch Lady Vernon refreshment, she tilted her head.
“I do believe they are playing my favorite waltz. Alas”—with a mournful sigh, she waved at the dance card secured to her wrist—“I am without a partner.”
This cue James understood, as any well-mannered gentleman would.
Politely, he offered his arm. “If I may have the honor?”
“I would be delighted, my lord.”
As he led her to the dance floor, he glanced back at his mama. She was watching him, twin lines between her brows, and he thought he heard her mutter, “Peas in a pod, as I said.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Heart pounding, Evie exited the ballroom onto the back terrace. She grabbed a lantern from the stand by the doors, then raced down the steps into the manicured hedgerows. Fortunately, the threat of rain kept the guests inside, and she hurried along without interruption as rising winds scattered leaves and debris. It was a quarter to midnight; she had barely enough time to meet the blackmailer’s demands. With each step, she felt the weight of her mama’s pearls concealed in her skirts.
A tear leaked, rolling down her cheek before she could stop it.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You must do what needs to be done. You must save James from scandal…even if you cannot save your marriage.
The image of James waltzing with Lady Vernon blazed in her head. Their dance had delayed her exit. She’d halted in the shadows by the terrace door, unable to tear herself away while her husband danced and enjoyed another woman’s attentions. To be fair, Lady Vernon had been doing most of the flirting, but James had asked her to waltz.
He didn’t ask me. He barely spoke to me at the ball.
The wall was between them again, more insurmountable than ever. Even worse, she had only herself to blame. When he’d given her that priceless necklace as a symbol of their second chance, she’d simply…frozen up. Guilt, shame, and despair had paralyzed her. She’d resorted to pretending nothing was wrong, because how could she tell her husband, who was speaking of love and happiness, that she was about to pay off a blackmailer who knew she was a murderess?
She didn’t know if James would give her another chance. Right now, she couldn’t worry about it. Couldn’t worry about anything but protecting him from the most imminent threat. As she and Harkness had planned, the latter was making excuses for her at the ball. If anyone inquired, Harkness would say that she’d gone to the retiring room or come up with some other pretext to explain her absence.
Evie left the garden, heading toward the wooded area behind the property. She spotted the gamekeeper’s cottage hidden amidst the oak and beech trees, her lamp illuminating the higgledy-piggledy silhouette of its thatched roof. Xenia and Ethan had recently restored the building, and although Evie had never been inside, she knew Owen sometimes stayed there because he liked the privacy.
Wind rustled through the woods as she continued past the cottage toward her destination. A snapping twig made her start; when she whipped her head in the direction of the sound, she saw glowing, unblinking eyes…an owl. Exhaling, she forced her feet to keep moving. Drops of rain hastened her pace, and she arrived moments later at the stone wall. The lantern’s light licked over the row of wet stones, and one gleamed, white as bone and bare of moss.
Setting down the lamp, she gripped the slick rock. It shifted readily; beneath was a gap, just as the note had described. She took out the velvet pouch that held her mama’s heirloom; pressing it briefly to her lips, she placed it into the hiding place and slid the rock over it. Before she could change her mind, she grabbed her lamp and began the trek back.
As luck would have it, the sky spilled over. She dashed wetness from her cheeks as the teeming rain turned her gown into a sodden mess. She had no idea how she would explain her bedraggled state back at the ball. By the time she reached the gamekeeper’s cottage, water was coming down in sheets, and her lamp had gone out. She had no choice but to take refuge. Finding the cottage door unlocked, she felt a surge of relief.
She entered the rustic abode, flickering with shadows, and smelling of linseed oil, smoke, and peat. Seeing the figure standing at the blazing hearth, she halted.
