Bridget stiffened. “Go on then.”
He put the book back on the shelf and fingered the spine of the next as if deciding whether or not to select it. “I think your preoccupation with Madam Bouffant’s death might have something to do with your papa,” he said kindly. “It can feel unjust when someone takes their own life. It feels unfair, and there’s no one to blame. You want justice, but there is none to be had. So perhaps you wish to seek it elsewhere.”
Bridget’s chest flamed. She straightened her shoulders and looked directly at Nate, but she no longer saw him. Instead, she saw the Earl of Westerly sitting across from her papa at the gambling tables, raking in a pile of money with the keys to Villa De Lacey on top.
“I know who is to blame for my father’s death,” she said. “There was no justice for him, just as there will be no justice for Madam Bouffant. They’re mere commoners to you lot, after all.” Tears pricked her eyes, and she turned quickly from Nate.
“That’s not fair,” Nate spoke gently. “I never—”
“I’d like to be alone, please,” she said.
Nate remained silent for a few seconds before he said, “Of course,” and moved past her.
Bridget wiped her eyes and waited until she heard Nate leave the library before taking shelter in a nook between two massive mahogany bookcases. It was a place she’d liked to sit as a child whenever she feltalone or afraid. The enclosed nook shielded her from the world and gave her complete privacy whenever she needed it. There, she crouched in the dark and let her tears flow freely—the heartache she’d been trying so hard to push aside was now exposed and raw like an open wound.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting in the concealed space before she’d finally exhausted her tears and lifted her head from her knees. Her first thought was of Bijou. It was time for her to dry her eyes and collect the terrier from Cook. She smiled as she imagined her little dog, snuggled next to the fire with his tummy full of scraps. Perhaps she should leave him in Cook’s care tonight. He hated to see her sad, and she hated to see him distressed.
Bridget started to get up when she heard voices and stopped to listen. A man and a woman had entered the library.
“I tell you, I can’t do it anymore.” A woman spoke in a hushed voice, and Bridget strained to hear. “She’s put me in confinement. I’m hardly allowed out of my room. And it’s all for nothing. If there truly was a babe then I could bear it, but—”
“There will be a babe,” a man’s voice interjected. “Just give it more time.”
“We’ve given it five years!”
The speakers, Bridget realized, were Mr. and Mrs. Harley. Good Lord, she was inadvertently eavesdropping on a private conversation between a husband and wife. How awful! Bridget pressed herself against the wall, wishing it would open up and swallow her so she could disappear.
“Things are different now. I have a plan. One that will guarantee us a child.”
“Do you mean the maidservant?” Mrs. Harley’s tone grew bitter.
Bridget stifled her gasp with her hand.
There was a heavy silence.
“Did you think I didn’t know?”
“I’m doing it for us. She doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said defensively.
“Which one is it? The pretty redhead or the plain brunette?”
Abigail and Sarah!Bridget’s eyes widened in the darkness. She could not believe what she was hearing. Did Nate know about this? If so, it was far worse than he’d let on.
“It doesn’t matter which one. The only thing that matters is that we get what we need. If we don’t, my aunt will cut us out of her will. Is that what you want?”
“How do you know this plan will work? What ifyouare the one who can’t sire children?”
“What a thing to say to your husband!” Mr. Harley said. “The responsibility to bear a child lies with the woman.”
“I realize as much. Believe me, I am keenly aware of my failure to give you a son.” Her voice faltered. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of malice.”
“No, you didn’t. The truth is that the same has been suggested to me. Apparently, there are such occurrences in men, and I have taken that possibility, and the one that the housemaid herself could be barren, into consideration.”
“How so?”
“Lord Frederick has agreed to help—for a fee.”
“I beg your pardon?”
