“Isn’t honesty the best path, ma’am?”
“Telling him that you infiltrated Hamlin as a manservant will not bode well.”
“But the truth—”
“The truth is not always enough.” The countess sat back, her countenance blanking, her lips becoming nonexistent. “Patience Jordan, why did you abandon your son?”
“I did not abandon Lionel!”
“You’ve never left his side, my dear?”
“Ma’am, you know very well I had no—”
“Answer the question. Have you left his side?”
I looked at the brown liquid in my cup. No help was in there. “Yes, I have.”
The countess leaned forward. “Where did you go when you abandoned your son?”
“I didn’t . . .” I knew what she’d pushed me to admit. I hated it but had to own it. Shoulders drooping, I coughed low. “Bedlam. Almost five weeks to the day I was told my husband committed suicide, I was tossed into Bedlam.”
“If I were my nephew, I’d have my hands behind my back and parade like a prized peacock presenting a winning argument in front of the jury box. I’d press you for the reason you were tossed into Bedlam. Was it a holiday from grief, Patience? An accident? A conspiracy?”
“It was a conspiracy. I was confused.”
“That’s not what the admission papers say. My nephew had to craft a bit of paperwork to overcome the eyewitness accounts stating you were a danger to yourself and your child. There’s sworn testimony about you being so guilt-laden over your husband’s death that you claimed to have seen his ghost and that you took the baby and nearly jumped over the stair railing. Hamlin’s stairs are steep. You or the baby could have been killed from a fall.”
Wanting to hide at the thought I might’ve hurt Lionel, I brought my palms to my face. “He had us locked in the nursery for weeks. I did what I had to do to keep up my strength and my milk for Lionel. I’d never hurt my baby. Never. I’d give my life to defend him.”
“I know, dear. You are good, Patience. A very good mother, but the duke will look at the account like a field report. Until he knows you, he’ll believe it. The man will never let you near the child. You have to trust me. We have to be smarter to outdo Markham’s treachery.”
My cup trembled within my palms; the tea inside sloshed but didn’t spill. The china was sort of like me, so full of heat, but yet I hadn’t cracked, hadn’t exploded. “Why is Markham doing this? I was good to his nephew. I followed the rules. Hamlin was immaculate. I burned the expensive beeswax candles, not cheap tallow ones, in the grand chandelier to welcome Colin home like a conquering hero, like all was well. I pretended not to notice his absences, his gambling. I even took him to my bed whenever he returned, even when I suspected he’d laid in others’ sheets. Why does Markham hate me? Is it my skin?”
“It’s never that simple. Yes, you were a good wife, but widows are cheated because of money and power. We find which one enticed Markham, and we’ll have the answer.”
The countess poured more tea. “Drink, Mrs. Jordan. It’s just chamomile.”
Staring at my full cup, I hadn’t thought it could be tampered with, but my heart believed the best too quickly.
This was my heel of Achilles.
I felt too much.
I saw the deepest love where there was tolerance.
The handsome hero but not the shadow of his demons.
I took a sip of my tea, almost wishing it had something in it to deaden my pain. “I don’t want anything more with Markham. I have means, independent of Colin. If I can get into Hamlin and retrieve my trust documents, Lionel and I can live safely.”
“Yes, if the duke would allow. But Lionel controls Hamlin and more money. Do you understand the terms of your marriage contract or your late husband’s will?”
“Paperwork? Not exactly.” I crossed my arms. “My father handled those things.”
“No wonder women are cheated. You have to know details. Your late father had doubts about your husband’s commitment. He put some rather odd terms in the marriage contract.”
The countess fluffed the lacy cuff of her robe. “Your husband was to collect four thousand pounds upon a son from your womb reaching four months of age and another ten thousand upon his reaching three years old.”
“Just a son? What if I bore a girl?”
