Page 47

‘So stuffy in there. Surely that’s far too many people to invite to a funeral.’

Meg froze, one hand stilling in the act of reaching for a petal. Someone else was in the garden… She’d assumed all of the funeral guests had stayed in the drawing room, but clearly she’d been wrong, and the absolute last thing she wanted currently was to have to make conversation with anyone. There was no way of diving back into the house without being seen, and with no other options open to her she ducked down, praying the leaves would hide her from whomever was about to pass.

Another voice joined the first. ‘I agree, but does it really surprise you that everyone accepted? It’s not every day one gets to see a murderess up close. I daresay for some their attendance is based on morbid curiosity rather than wanting to pay their respects to Anthony.’

‘You’re right. I can hardly believe the woman has the nerve to show her face. The whole affair is too sordid for words.’

Meg’s mouth dried as the unseen gossips drew closer. A murderess—was that what some people were calling her?

Alarm coursed through her. She knew Isabella’s accusations had gained traction, but that was a terrible thing to be labelled. Being aware people were talking about her was a very different thing from actually hearing it and horror pinned her to the spot, unable to block out the slander not meant for her ears.

‘I can’t imagine what Jacob was thinking of, marrying such a creature,’ the first voice went on. ‘Being a farmer’s daughter may have been forgivable in time, but now she’s shown she’s criminally insane…? If I were him, I’d sleep with one eye open.’

‘As would I. He’d only have himself to blame if something were to happen to him. Making her his wife will tarnish his family name for generations to come—and perhaps destroy the line completely.’

‘Yes. He may be content to wed a madwoman, but even with a great fortune behind them any children they have will never be able to make a match.’ The disembodied voice sounded almost eager, apparently delighting in having such dramatic events to discuss. ‘Who would marry a girl with an insane mother? Who would entrust their daughter to a son coming from such dubious stock? The taint will follow them for ever. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if this is the last Lord Fernley we ever see.’

‘Nor I. Perhaps the name deserves to die out. Certainly, I can see little to recommend its continuance.’

Two pairs of footsteps pattered by Meg’s hiding place, heading for the door she had recently passed through herself. Whomever the dainty slippers belonged to didn’t see her, although it would hardly have made a difference if they had.

Even if they’d spoken directly to her Meg might not have heeded them. Sick dread had taken hold of her, strangling her until she could scarcely breathe, everything in her focused on what she’d just heard.

I could be responsible for ending Jacob’s family name?

The thought hadn’t occurred to her. She’d realised she might bring shame down on him, but the potential for their children to be affected too somehow hadn’t crossed her mind, and as she shakily straightened up from where she crouched she wondered how she could have been so stupid.

Of course any child she and Jacob produced would pay the price for the rumours that surrounded her. Of course nobody would want their son or daughter to wed beneath the shadow of evil intent that was attached to her now. If everyone believed she was responsible for Anthony’s demise, then there would be little hope of Jacob’s heir finding a bride, and even less of any Miss Fernley being sought as a wife. Apparently even among Society there was a limit to what sins money could cover, and a mother suspected of wanton violence was where the line was drawn, no family likely to want to connect themselves with notoriety, no matter the fortunes involved.

Leaning on the house’s back wall helped support her, which was just as well. Her legs weren’t doing a very good job. Rendered weak with unwelcome realisation, she sagged against the red brick, staring unseeing at the garden laid out in front of her as visions of the future flashed before her eyes.

Her daughters shunned at every dance. Her sons taunted by their peers, then left to stand alone. Jacob’s family name reduced to a byword for malice and instability—and then Jacob himself, forced to grow old with the knowledge everything had been ruined by one well-meaning mistake…

It felt as though her heart had been flayed open. There was no way she could allow him to suffer such a fate. He’d married her to save her life and in return she’d brought him nothing but trouble, a poor reward for a selfless choice. He deserved so much more than what lay in store for him, and as the wind chilled her pale face she knew there was only one way to prevent it from coming to pass.

‘Go on, then. What is it you want?’

Jacob regarded his sister-in-law with undisguised suspicion as she steered him into a small anteroom just off the hall. Her grip was surprisingly strong but all the same he was quick to yank his arm from her grasp as she closed the door behind them.

‘Well?’

To his annoyance, she didn’t reply. Instead she lowered herself onto a sofa set beneath a window overlooking the drive and firmly patted the seat beside her.

‘Sit down. I really do need to speak to you.’

‘About what? Come on, Isabella. I want to get back to my guests.’

Again she declined to answer. She sat there, gazing up at him with the most unconvincing trembling bottom lip he had ever seen, but when he made an impatient move towards the door she hurriedly threw out a hand to stop him.

‘Very well. I’ll tell you.’

She arranged herself more decoratively on the sofa, her hands now clasped innocently before her. ‘It brings me no pleasure to do this, but I think you ought to know what people are saying about your wife.’

Jacob scoffed. ‘If anyone is speaking poorly of Meg, it’s only because of the lies you’ve been spreading. If it wasn’t for Celia’s sake, I’d have made you leave my house already.’

Isabella’s mouth pursed angrily. She looked on the verge of snapping something acidic but then appeared to change her mind. ‘I understand you feel bound to her. I think it’s admirable that you feel you need to take her side, but things have gone far enough.’

A kind of faux sympathetic concern edged into her tone. ‘I’ve heard more than one person today saying she isn’t fit to be your viscountess after what she did to Anthony, and can you blame them? That’s not even taking her shocking connections into consideration. When all is said and done, I think you owe it to yourself and my poor husband’s memory to do the right thing.’