When he spoke, his voice was hollow.
‘I let you down, brother. I am sorry.’
Without another word, he turned to the Bow Street Runners and extended his wrists.
‘I am responsible for all the crimes.’
He did not look back.
A long silence settled over the foyer as the residents stood in varying degrees of shock and disgust.
Lord Harry was the first to speak. ‘I always knew he was on a disgraceful path, with his philandering and loose morals, but I had no idea he was such a monster.’ His voice was hollow, his shoulders heavy as he sighed and turned to leave.
Grace noticed something strange—relief. Lord Harry looked almost... relieved. As if a great burden had been lifted.
Had he known all along?
Elizabeth, however, was distraught. She sobbed into the Duke’s chest.
‘How could he have done this to us? It just doesn’t make any sense. He was always so attentive and kind to me. I just don’t understand how he could have done all those things!’ Confusion marred her tear-streaked face.
‘I know, Eliza,’ the Duke replied softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead and holding her close. ‘He deceived us all.’
He led her away to the morning room, followed by Lord Gerrard and Lady Jane.
Grace, Heather, and Mrs Merriweather quietly retreated, allowing the family some privacy. They made their way to Grace’s chambers, where they mulled over the morning’s events.
‘I just do not understand how Lord Harry did not know his brother was evil,’ Heather said, frowning.
‘Hush, child!’ Mrs Merriweather scolded. ‘Only God can read the hearts of men. We were all deceived.’
‘I know, Mrs M, but Heather has a point,’ Grace said thoughtfully. ‘They lived together, and from the way Lord Harry spoke of him, it seemed as though he knew at least some of his brother’s nefarious activities.’
‘Yes, Miss Grace, you are right, but he cannot have known the full extent of it,’ Mrs Merriweather replied, taking a sip of tea. ‘Besides, he has his own burdens. After all, he has been shunned by society because of that leg.’
‘I must say, sister, finding that watchmaker was a stroke of genius!’ Heather said, clearly impressed.
‘Not genius, my dear—more like a stroke of desperation!’ Grace replied passionately. ‘Lord Edward proposed to me on the day of the ball! Even after I refused, he was threatening to persist. What is more, Lady Elizabeth was encouraging the match!’
Both Heather and Mrs Merriweather gasped in astonishment.
‘Why did you not tell me?’ Heather cried.
‘I just did!’ Grace retorted, though she knew it was not the only significant event she had neglected to mention from that night.
‘Well, whatever the reason, you are quite the Bow Street Runner. You should do this sort of thing professionally!’ Heather teased.
‘Certainly not!’ Mrs Merriweather interjected. ‘Don’t you go putting ideas into your sister’s head. You know how flighty she can be!’
And before the conversation could continue, she firmly refused to discuss the matter any further.
But Grace could not shake a nagging doubt.
Something did not make sense.
Why had Lord Edward first insisted he was innocent, only to confess so abruptly?
She had seen deception before. People wore masks. But could anyone be such a convincing actor? There had been a look of desperation in his eyes when he had protested. A look of truth.
