“I suspect h is Grace owes you his life, at least based on what the staff has told me.” The physician ran a hand through his hair and nodded to Alaric. “Your body will need time to recover. Try not to do anything too strenuous.”
“I will see that he does not.” Catherine shot Alaric a look that clearly said she meant every word.
Amusement mingled with something else filled Alaric’s chest, causing him to frown. The movement triggered a rush of pain through his head, and he suspected it would not be hard for Catherine to persuade him to rest.
“You are not going to recommend another tincture for me, are you? I am sick to death of people giving me things to take.” Alaric gestured to the teapot Mrs. Langley had brought him the day before.
“If it will help you, you will drink it,” Catherine replied.
There was another knock at the door, and a footman appeared, holding a folded and sealed bit of paper. “A message from Viscount Frederick Hale of Elbury, y our Grace. He said it was urgent.”
Alaric gestured for the man to bring the note to him. “Thank you.”
He was aware of Catherine and the physician talking, and let his attention drift as he listened to her explain the tea and inquire about other remedies she might use to help Alaric.
“This is the tea?” he barely heard the physician ask as he broke the seal on Frederick’s letter and opened it.
The letter had clearly been written and sent in a hurry. Frederick’s normally perfect penmanship was now a messy scrawl, with several ink blots blotting the page.
Alaric frowned and began to read:
Deverell,
You were right. O is your father’s son.
Alaric’s heart tumbled several times, and he straightened in the bed.
“How long has he been drinking this?” There was something in the physician’s voice Alaric could not place, but he was too distracted to pay closer attention.
His hands shook as he read the letter. He had been right. The boy was not his son, but rather his brother. He cleared his throat and continued to read, forcing himself to focus on the scrawl in front of him.
His mother was one Marina Ashcroft. I found copies of letters from her in my father’s file – the ones he had that investigator look into when he planned on taking revenge.I think this woman is dangerous—her letters to your father are disturbing to say the least. It is why I have gone to the constables and sent my man with this missive; I only pray that it reaches you in time.
From a distance, he heard the physician say, “The smell of it—I recognize it.”
“What do you mean?” Alaric heard Catherine ask as he continued to read.
Marina was obsessive, truly a madwoman. Your father provided her with an annual sum of money in exchange for her silence. Nonetheless, this did not prevent her from abandoning her son. She changed her name and endeavored to begin a new life, leaving behind the disgrace of having given birth outside of marriage. She produced documents, albeit counterfeit, to sustain this falsehood. Either she possesses expertise in forgery or has connections with someone skilled in such arts.
Every hair on the back of Alaric’s neck stood up, and cold sweat dripped down his body as he remembered the documents that had been sent to the orphanage all those months ago.
How could I not have realized sooner?
“Who made this for H is Grace?” the physician was asking Catherine, and Alaric caught the whiteness of the man’s face out of the corner of his eye.
The name she took was—the letter cut off as Alaric turned the page, every part of him praying that he was wrong. His hands shook so violently that he fumbled the page, and his eyes struggled to focus.
“Our governess,” Catherine said as Alaric read:Mrs. Amelia Langley.
Alaric leapt from the bed, every ache in his body fading as the pieces clicked into place in his mind. His eyes went to the teapot, to the physician, and then to Catherine.
“It is poison.” Alaric nodded toward the teapot.
It was not a question, but the physician answered it anyway. “Yes. A lethal dose, if I do not miss my guess. It is a miracle he survived.”
“Charcoal,” Catherine muttered, shaking her head. “I smelled sweetness on his breath and remembered a rhyme I heard about coal driving it from the body. I made him drink charcoal.”
“A good remedy for poisons, Your Grace.” The physician gave Catherine a look of admiration. “His Grace is lucky that you are his wife.”
