* * *
Down the stairs I floated. Warwick was a buzz of gentle noises. Servants in silver going about their duties—dusting, sweeping, sauntering about the stairs on some important task.
Agatha and Amelia ran through the hall below.
Singing. A maid offered a hymn of thanksgiving.
No.
That was me. Singing to myself like I used to do when I comforted myself as I walked. Like a butterfly, I fluttered my shawl over my simple moss-green gown. It was more color than I’d worn in months. I didn’t mind being seen by the Lance family because I had mine, with Felton and the girls and Enna and Noah and my sister.
In the hall, the plinking keys of the pianoforte raged. Was it Mozart—a drunk one?
Popping into the main parlor, I saw Lady Jane at the pianoforte. She looked anguished tapping out the tune. At least this time it sounded from her heart.
Soft, then slow, and every meter in between, she kept hitting the instrument. When I could take the haphazard tune no longer, I clapped. “Well done. Much improved.”
She lifted a tearstained face to me. “I don’t need your pity.”
“Well, that’s good. I have none to offer.”
Lady Jane stretched her fingers and began a new song, something soft and airy. “I didn’t want you hurt. I just wanted you gone. I thought Felton didn’t care for you.”
“You weren’t the only one.”
With a nod, I turned, readying to go. There wasn’t much else to say, especially if she was determined to ruin her life marrying Gladstone. “Have a good morning, Lady Jane.”
“I love my brother very much.”
Stopping at the doorway, I clasped the trim, the beautiful gilded trim that wrapped the walls like ribbons on hems. “I know you do. He can love me and still love you. He sees you. You don’t have to marry a monster to have attention.”
Her hands banged the keys. Then her fists. “Felton told me. I can’t believe it. But I do believe him.”
“Yes, he betrayed his last wife, my sister.”
“What? No, that Papa cut him for attacking you.”
I leaped to the pianoforte. “What?”
“Yes, Felton told me. He told me everything this morning. And the duke agreed to every fact.”
“Jane, are you lying?”
“That’s what he said. It’s you who are lying. Trying to cover some bastard’s baby you had. Why do you want them all—Felton, my father, and now Gladstone?”
Wrapping my shawl tightly about my arm, I wanted to strangle her. “Where’s Lord Gantry?”
“He left a note.”
Ripping it from her fingers, I snapped the note instead of her chicken neck.
I popped the wax seal.
Dearest Cecilia,
Debts will be paid by noon.
F.
