The words slithered through me like poison.
Nelly continued, almost giddy. “When Julien escaped, he went to London. He spent weeks pretending to be his brother. He inquired about you, learned your habits, your favorite books, even the color of your gowns. It truly was all too easy to convince you that he was Lord Blackthorn at that Masquerade. You were utterly defenseless.”
I stared at her, my vision swimming. “No…”
“Oh yes.” She smiled, her lips stretching wide. “And when the real Lord Blackthorn learned what had happened, he married you to protect you. To salvage your name.Andto lure Julien out of hiding.” She laughed. “He’s been searching for Julien ever since, poor man. Never realizing his dear twin has been right here, living under his roof the entire time.”
She stood, moving toward the stone wall where a pair of gleaming iron shackles hung limp. She lifted one as if weighing it in her hand. An incredulous laugh escaped her.
“How ironic that your dear, ignorant husband thought he could outsmart a madman and cage him in the very tower where he already dwelled.”
My chest constricted.
Sylum’s disappearances…
His long nights away…
His frantic secrecy…
The conversation he’d had with Mrs. Ashby about preparing the tower…
He was never deceiving me. He was never trying to drive me mad or lock me away…
He was hunting his own brother. He was trying to protect me. Trying to keep the past from consuming the present.
My voice shook. “And you’ve been helping him. You’ve been drugging me.”
She crossed back to me, crouching before tapping my forehead with one finger. “Now you’re starting to understand.”
“Why?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“It’s simple.” She shrugged. “We meant to drive you mad—or make you think you were. It was a perfect plan. We just had to make you believe that your darling husband was behind it all. You’d go raving, everyone would gossip, and his precious wife would kill him, believing he was poisoningher. Or at least that’s how we planned to make it look. Lord Blackthorn would be dead and you would be locked away in the asylum for his murder. Two birds, one very pretty stone.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, sighing theatrically. “Oh, the misfortune. The Duchess gone mad, the poor Duke murdered by his lunatic wife. So tragically romantic, don’t you think?”
I could only stare at her.
“You truly were difficult, though,” she added with a pout. “Refusing your tea, wandering where you shouldn’t. You spoiled my cleverest trick—the asylum records I placed in your husband’s desk. I thought surely that would push you right over the edge.”
Her tone darkened. “Nonetheless, I’m glad your little exploration expedited the plan. I was growing tired of babysitting you.”
It was all starting to make sense now, the pieces falling into place. But there was one thing still bothering me.
“What about Lydia? Did you kill her?
“Oh yes,” she answered, clapping her hands. “I planned to use her more to make you think she was your husband’s mistress, but unfortunately she had to go. She was becoming suspicious. She caught me mixing hemlock into your tea water.”
She hesitated, smiling cruelly at me. “Don’t worry, you didn’t kill her. It was me you elbowed that night. I simply took the opportunity to make you think you did. Julien killed her.”
I stared at her in silence, licking my dry lips. “She was theirsister.”
Nelly snorted. “Half-sister and an annoyance.”
“So it was you I saw in the garden with Sy—Julien?”
She laughed. “Yes, of course. I played many roles in your demise.“ She lifted her hand, tapping each finger as she listed them off. “Lydia. The ghost of Elizabeth. The wailing in the walls. Your precious maid. Your poisoner…”
I swallowed hard against the burn rising in my throat, but the tears still gathered, hot and traitorous. My voice slipped out, thin and frayed.
