“Like Abigail,” Eliza whispered.
Bartlett nodded grimly. “Lady Margaret Whitfield, the second wife, died from a fall down the stairs. Two servants witnessed the aftermath, but not the fall itself. One of them, a housemaid, told me that Lady Margaret had confided in her that she was planning to leave Lord Whitfield. She’d written to her family asking for help. That was three days before she died.”
“And no one found that suspicious?” Morgan’s voice was hard.
“Suspicion and proof are different things, Your Grace. And Lord Whitfield is a powerful man. No one wanted to make accusations they couldn’t substantiate.”
“What about Abigail?” Eliza asked. “Lady Whitfield…the third wife?”
“Ah. That’s where things get interesting.” Bartlett leaned forward. “I’ve been investigating Lord Whitfield’s former valet, a man named Thomas Pritchard. He left Whitfield’s employment very suddenly after Lady Abigail’s death, with what I’m told was a very generous severance package.”
“You think Whitfield paid him off?” Morgan asked.
“I think Pritchard might have seen something. Or knows something. I’ve tracked him to a boarding house in Cheapside, but he’s been… most reluctant to speak with me.” Bartlett’s expression was apologetic. “Fear, most likely. If he testifies against Whitfield, his life could be in danger.”
“Can you convince him?” Eliza asked desperately. “Please, Mr. Hartley. Abigail deserves justice. All of them do!”
“I’m working on it, Your Grace. But these things take time. I need to earn his trust, convince him that he’ll be protected if he comes forward.” Bartlett closed his notebook. “I’ll continue investigating. If there’s evidence to be found, I will find it. You have my word.”
“Thank you,” Morgan said.
“Your welcome, Your Graces.”
“And Mr. Hartley? Money is no object. Whatever you need, bribes, protection for witnesses, anything, you have my full financial backing.”
“I appreciate that, Your Grace. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have more information.”
After Bartlett left, Eliza sat in silence, processing everything they’d learned.
“Three women,” she said finally. “He killed three women, and he’s walked free all this time. It is madness!”
“Not for much longer,” Morgan said grimly. “If Pritchard knows something, we’ll get it out of him. One way or another.”
“And if he doesn’t? If we can’t find proof?”
Morgan knelt before her, taking her hands in his. “Then we’ll find another way. I promised you we’d bring him to justice, Eliza. I won’t break that promise. I would walk to the ends of the earth for you.”
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“The Ashfords are hosting a ball next Friday,” Morgan mentioned over breakfast the following day as he brought a piece of toast to his mouth and crunched on it.
“Oh?” Eliza said nervously as she looked at her husband.
“We’ve been invited.”
“Have we?” Eliza’s fork paused halfway to her mouth. “A ball?”
“Yes. I know we’ve been keeping to ourselves since returning to London, but I thought… perhaps it’s time we made an appearance. Show the ton that we have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Eliza set down her fork, her appetite suddenly gone. “Morgan, I don’t know if I’m ready. What if… Oh, what if people stare? What if they whisper?”
“They will stare. They will whisper. That’s what they do.” Morgan reached across the table to take her hand. “But they’ll stare and whisper whether we attend events or hide away. At least this way, we control the narrative.”
“What narrative?”
“That we’re happily married. That you’re my Duchess, and I’m proud to have you by my side. That whatever scandal surrounded our marriage, it’s old news now.” His thumb stroked over her knuckles. “But if you’re truly not ready, we won’t go. I’ll never force you into something that makes you uncomfortable.”
