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‘She might lift it, perhaps, but would a duchess know how to use the saw to its best effect?’

Jacob felt a rapid stab of anger. In Sir Edward’s mind, was Meg a suspect because of Isabella’s complaints or because she was a woman from the serving class? He hadn’t thought the magistrate’s opinion could be swayed so easily but perhaps he’d been wrong, and the social position of the dowager viscountess meant her accusations held more weight than a farmer’s daughter’s protestations of innocence.

‘I’m sorry, my lord. I appreciate this is unpleasant for everyone, but I’m duty bound to investigate such a serious crime, especially where blame has been apportioned by the victim’s grieving widow.’

Against his better judgement, Jacob couldn’t hold back a snort. ‘That’s showing a little too much generosity. If Isabella is grieving anything, it’s the loss of her title, not her husband. There was never much feeling between her and Anthony, and even less after she bore a daughter rather than the required son.’

He knew he’d spoken too severely when he heard Meg mumble something steadying under her breath, accompanied by Sir Edward’s uncomfortable clearing of his throat.

‘Even so, I still need to take her claims into consideration.’

The magistrate peered down at his notebook once more. ‘I think that will be all for now, my lady. I will most likely have to speak with you again, but for the time being I have nothing more to add. Thank you for your cooperation.’

Meg nodded. The relief emanating from her was almost tangible, but Jacob could tell she was aware she’d received only a temporary reprieve. Slim as it was, there was still more evidence against her than anyone else, and unless the real culprit was found it could only be a matter of time before she was forced to shoulder the blame.

Sir Edward rose arthritically to his feet. He bowed to Meg, and Jacob stood up to escort him from the study, shutting the door firmly once the magistrate had stepped out into the hall.

He didn’t return to his seat immediately. Leaning back against the door, he gazed across the room, taking in Meg’s closed eyes and downturned head. Her face was drawn and her shoulders hunched as if to protect herself from an incoming blow, and seeing her so vulnerable pierced him like an arrow.

‘Why didn’t you tell me, Meg—about Anthony’s threats, your intention to warn your father…? Why didn’t you tell me any of it?’

She lifted her head to look at him. She seemed to try to find the right words, but when they didn’t come she gave a hopeless shrug.

‘I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t want to cause even more trouble you’d feel you had to save me from.’

‘I wouldn’t have minded. As your husband, it’s my job to keep you safe. I can’t do that if you won’t confide in me.’

He pushed a hand through his hair, trying to restrain rising frustration. Was it for lack of faith in him that she hadn’t shared her predicament? He had thought they had grown closer of late, and that perhaps whatever had once caused her to doubt him had been pushed into the background, but still Meg had tried to tackle her troubles alone, and he wasn’t too proud to own that her decision to exclude him stung.

‘I wish you’d told me. No matter the problem, I’ll always want to know.’

A shadow passed over her face. ‘You’re right. I shouldn’t have tried to hide it, and for that I apologise.’

Her voice was low and he struggled to hear it from the other side of the room. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with weariness but still as guileless as they’d been on the day Anthony had died, haunted but entirely free of guilt.

He sighed as he came towards her, dropping back into the chair next to hers. ‘There’s no need to apologise. The situation does look bad, however,’ he said frankly. ‘I know you weren’t responsible, but I fear I may be in the minority.’

‘Yes.’ The set of Meg’s mouth was grim. ‘And of course, there’s something else.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Even if I’d told you what Anthony said to me it still wouldn’t have prevented someone from sabotaging his gig. As we’ve agreed I didn’t do it, the question remains: who did?’

He didn’t answer. How could he? He didn’t know who the real criminal was any more than she did, and as the grandfather clock in the corner of the study ticked away the minutes a quietness settled over them which each was too deep in thought to break.

Jacob was just scrolling through a mental list of everyone his brother had ever quarrelled with when she murmured something he didn’t quite catch.

‘Pardon?’

‘I said, what will happen to me if I fail to convince Sir Edward of my innocence?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Legally? Probably very little. He has no evidence against you other than what Isabella claims to have overheard. Nobody witnessed you carrying a saw or tampering with Anthony’s gig. It’s Isabella’s word against yours, and you have the benefit of a title—and, more importantly, a titled husband—to protect you.’

She didn’t sound entirely convinced. ‘Won’t I be tried? Or have to go back to jail?’

‘No. The rules that bind most people no longer apply to you. As Viscountess Fernley you possess privileges you didn’t have when you were Miss Margaret Wheeler.’

‘That’s incredibly unfair.’