I’m a fool. Of course, the man outside the shop had been the seamstress’s husband—Mr. Taylor. That explained everything—their distress, his hand on her shoulder, and the bag of coins.
“It’s another beautiful doll,” Ottilie’s voice sounded behind Henry, and he turned to see her pulling the dark-haired, green-eyed porcelain doll from the package. “Thank you, Uncle Henry.”
“Ba Ba.” Alice clapped her chubby hands.
“She’s lovely,” Ottilie said, holding the doll in front of Alice. “She looks just like your new nanny, doesn’t she?”
“Ba Ba.” Alice pulled the doll to her chest and squeezed it.
Bastin’s eyes flicked to Henry, but he couldn’t meet his friend’s gaze.He’d behaved dreadfully to Anne. Would she ever forgive him?
*
Of all thetimes she’d thought about Henry returning and finding her living at Greyson Manor, Annabel never imagined him being cross or cold toward her—but accusing her of being loose with her morals and assuming Mr. Taylor was her lover—thatwas beyond her comprehension. But she only had herself to blame. It had been foolhardy to believe he loved her. Perhaps she was a Female Quixote, after all.Maybe Papa had done right burning my books. I proved his point, behaving like a silly girl, foolishly hoping—
Mrs. Teal snorted; Annabel jumped in fright as though her private thoughts had been spoken aloud and her shame lay displayed before the world. She peered at the elderly nanny, who snored in her rocking chair. Annabel sighed her relief. The woman slept as soundly as Alice did in her cot. She reached into her skirt pocket and retrieved her collection of folded newspaper articles. Peeling open the first article, she held her breath as she revisited it:
Body fished from Thames Suspected to be Daughter of Confectionary Giant, Bernard Leonard
The last time Mr. Leonard saw his daughter was 27 July. She was in excellent spirits, preparing for her wedding and her future as the Viscountess Craventhorp. The day morning, she’d vanished from her home, with only a note to say she’d eloped to Scotland with a mysterious lover left in her wake. The young lady’s father immediately suspected foul play, but wary of scandal, he was reluctant to go to the police and so hired a team of investigators to trace his daughter’s whereabouts. Months of intense searching yielded nothing. Still, Mr. Leonard vowed to continue searching and refused to believe his daughter had left the house willingly. Unfortunately, he was correct.
A breakthrough in the case emerged last Thursday when detectives fished a bloated and decaying body from the Thames. They suspect the corpse became trapped under a barge after being dumped into the Thames weeks earlier. Nonetheless, they were able to determine that the victim was a young female in her early twenties, petite in stature, with dark hair. These features match the description of Miss Leonard. But the most conclusive evidence comes from an emerald pendant found around the victim’s neck, which Mr. Leonard has identified as belonging to his daughter. The exquisite and costly piece of jewelry, detectives say, will also help to identify the killer and his motive. Whoever murdered Annabel Leonard had no interest in robbing her—it would take a wealthy man to leave such a fine piece of jewelry floating in the Thames. This begs the question—did Annabel Leonard leave home willingly with a man she thought loved her, or was she abducted by one who burned with jealousy and desire as he admired her from afar?
Annabel’s hand went to her throat as she tried again to remember what had happened to the pendant her papa had given her the night before Lady Dawley’s ball. She’d worn it to match the green dress her stepmother had picked out for her, but what had happened to it? Had it come home with her? Or had she lost it? She’d been so frazzled; she could not remember. Nor did she recollect seeing the pendant in the turbulent days that followed the ball.
Thinking back to that dreadful night, she recalled the pressure of Lord Craventhorp’s hand on her arm and heard the hateful whisper of his voice in her ear. Fear and anger flooded her, and she drew back, just as she had then. She’d run from him, and he’d tried to grab her—hadn’t he? Had the pendant come unclasped and slipped from her neck? She couldn’t remember. But the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that the pendant had indeed slipped from her neck and that Lord Craventhorp had used it to save face by faking her death. He would never stand to be labeled a jilted lover and have his reputation besmirched. No, he would have murdered her if he’d found her, but since he did not, he settled for a young lady who looked like her.
Annabel shuddered.
“My, how peaceful it is here.” Henry’s voice brought Annabel back to the present. Still shaking inside, she was relieved to see him standing casually in the doorway with his hands in the pockets of his black trousers. He flicked his eyes to the slumbering Mrs. Teal.
She lowered her gaze, pleased to see him but still too angry to forget how he’d treated her.
“May I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the empty chair beside her.
“Of course.” She tucked the newspaper articles into her skirt pocket. “I’m not exactly in a position to refuse you,” she said as Henry sat down.
He hung his head and clasped his hands together as if taking the time to absorb the sting of her words.
Annabel turned her eyes from him and wished she could silence her pounding heart.
Henry cleared his throat. “I came to apologize.”
“I’m sure there’s no need.” Annabel avoided looking at him.
“There is. I acted like a fool. I had no idea Mrs. Taylor fell ill—and Rupert—I’m so sorry. It must have been dreadful for you.”
“It was.” Annabel stared straight ahead. “That’s hardly the point. The fact is you thought—you—that I…” A lump rose in her throat.
“I was mad with jealousy,” he said.
His honesty caught her by surprise; she inhaled sharply.
“It’s true.” He glanced at the slumbering Mrs. Teal before angling his body toward her. “When I saw you with Mr. Taylor, I didn’t think—I merely reacted. It made me so angry.”
“But you thought I was capable of taking money from a man who wanted my company?” Annabel shook her head. “How could you?”
“My misjudgment is not a reflection of you but of me, and my own…selfishness.” He swallowed. “I despise myself for it; you must believe me.”
