“Do you know what I think?” Nate crossed his arms. “I think you were infatuated with her, and you saw yourself as her ‘white knight.’ If you came to her rescue, perhaps she’d be so grateful that she would fall in love with you. You would be her savior, and she would owe you her life. But that’s not what happened, is it? Instead, she fell in love with George Otis—a man even younger than you—and you couldn’t stand it, could you? So you killed Otis and took his heart.”
“What?” Gerald half rose out of his seat.
“But that didn’t change anything, did it?” Nate raised his voice, and Gerald backed down into his chair again. “Lady Matheson didn’t turn to you for comfort. She’d all but forgotten about you. After everything you did for her. That must have enraged you—perhaps enough to kill her?”
“You…you’ve got it all wrong,” the driver said, and Bridget could see beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
“How so?” Nate leaned forward on his desk. “Tell me what I’ve got wrong.”
Gerald inhaled and then closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again and looking directly at Nate. “I did indeed fall in love,” he said, “but it wasn’t with Lady Matheson. It was with Louisa.”
Bridget covered her mouth to stifle her gasp.
Nate looked momentarily taken aback. “Louisa?” he said.
“Yes. We were…are in love. And with Sir Roald dead, Louisa was certain to lose her job when Lady Matheson was sent away by the new baronet. We didn’t know what to do…and when Lady Matheson asked Louisa to come with her, well, I weren’t going to let her go without me. So we helped her escape. But I didn’t kill anyone. Why should I want my lady to die? She were good to us. Now, we are both without positions once again.”
“Oh, you mustn’t worry about that now,” Bridget said, her heart going out to the young man. “I am certain we can find a…” she started, but stopped when she caught sight of Nate’s frown. He was likely feeling frustrated and not in a generous mood right now, but that would change later. Then she’d be sure to secure positions for Louisa and Gerald at Villa De Lacey.
In the meantime, they had a killer to catch.
*
“We shall needto take a trip to Knaresborough,” Bridget said. “It’s imperative we speak to George’s parents and find out what their connection is to Lady Matheson.”
“I cannot. How can I leave Villa De Lacey when there might be a killer among us?” Nate rubbed his forehead and then slammed his fist onto the desk.
Bridget jumped involuntarily.
“I’m sorry.” Nate glanced at her. “It’s just that…it’s Henry I worry about. I don’t think this is the best or safest place for a child. But Helen will not listen to me. She refuses to take Henry back to Scotland. I tried to explain things to her without revealing any of the details about the possible murder of Lady Matheson, but she accused me of not wanting her and Henry here because of….” He sighed.
“Because of what? How can she say such a thing? You love Henry. Doesn’t she know that?” Bridget felt outrage on behalf of Nate rising in her chest.
“She’s using him to blackmail me—emotionally, I mean. She accuses me of having feelings for you, and she thinks I want her and Henry out of the way.”
“Accuses you?” Bridget felt as though she’d shrunk inside.
Nate came around the desk toward her. “That’s the way it sounds when it comes from her—as if caring for you is a crime.”
Heat spread across Bridget’s cheeks, and she dropped her gaze, remembering their earlier almost-kiss in the garden. The conversation had now taken a turn into something else entirely. For almost a year, she and Nate had danced around their feelings for one another. And with her having been in mourning for all of that time, it hadn’t seemed an appropriate subject. But now—no. They couldn’t. There was Villa De Lacey to think of, not to mention Henry. He was a father! Whether he liked it or not, he’d have to do Helen’s bidding for years to come. She looked up at him and met his midnight blue eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t wish to come between you and Henry. I know how—”
“You’re not coming between us. His mother is doing all she can to use him to control me.” Nate threw his hands up. “And what can I do about it? Nothing. I have no claim on Henry, so I am at her mercy.” He pressed his eyes closed and took a deep breath. “If anything happens to Henry,” he said, opening his eyes, “I shan’t ever be able to forgive myself.”
“Don’t say such things. It’s unnerving that a killer might be lurking among us, but we don’t know that to be true. It seems that Lady Matheson was rather unstable. She may have been the one who killed George and then took her own life. We know she slashed Angert’s paintings, so she wasn’t behaving rationally—although I tend to think her awful husband drove her to madness by locking her up for years.”
“You may be right. But until we know that for certain, I cannot leave our guests or my son alone.”
“Of course not. Henry needs you here. I shall go,” Bridget said.
“No.” Nate shook his head. “I can’t allow you to go. It’s too dangerous.”
“You cannot allow it?” Bridget raised her eyebrows.
Nate at least had the awareness to blush a little. “I mean, your aunt won’t allow it. You know it would upset her greatly.”
“Then she shall come with me.”
“Who will run the inn? Mrs. Harley is with child. I cannot impose on her.”
