Page 32 of The Inconvenient Compromise
“What precisely do you mean to do about it, John? You can’t divorce me very well. I’d tell the world about you, then.”
He shook his head sadly. “Do you think you are the only one who can plot a murder? You are not. And sadly, I am better at it than you. Downstairs, in the drawing room, I have two men from Bedlam. They are going to take you away and lock you in a small cell there forever. It’s dark, it’s dirty. There is no dignity at all. Your body will become infested with all the vermin that those dirty, wretched souls carry in with them—lice will be the least of your concerns. How long, Charlotte, would your beauty last in such a place?”
“You cannot do that!”
“I am your husband, Charlotte. By law, you are my property. I can do whatever I think is necessary,” he said softly. But even as he did so, he slipped a bottle of laudanum from his pocket and placed it on her dressing table, just inches from her hand. “But there are other alternatives to being locked up forever. You simply must decide if the longevity of your life is more valuable to you than freedom and comfort.”
“You want me to kill myself? And yet I’m the one who will be locked up!”
He reached out, his hands clasping her chin in a bruising grip. “I wanted a life of privacy… I wanted us to maintain a position in society and not induce the wrath and curiosity of others. But you had to rule them like a despotic queen—cruel and capricious. Now you are paying the price. Take the poison, Charlotte. It would be a quick death and one that would preserve the thing you value most… your beauty. If you go to Bedlam, you’ll be dead within two years. They will shave your head for the vermin. They will dress you in rags. You will waste away from the slop they call food, your figure becoming skeletal instead of slender and elegant. Is it really a choice? You have a quarter of an hour. I’ll tell them you’re getting dressed… oh, and here’s this. I took the liberty of penning it for you. I’m fairly good at mimicking your hand.”
Charlotte took the slip of paper he handed her and scanned the contents.
I am destroyed. Undone. Betrayed by friends who peddle lies about me, I simply cannot go on. I am sorry.
All my love,
Charlotte
As suicide notes went,it was not exceptionally shocking or revealing. Charlotte looked at the bottle. He’d asked her if she had a choice, and the truth was, she did not. Not a good choice. The only options available to her were equally abhorrent. Their only significant difference would be in how long she would have to suffer the consequences.
Grasping the bottle, Charlotte removed the stopper and quickly drank down the contents. She gasped at the horrid taste and fought back the urge to wretch. It would be quick. The laudanum was intended to be diluted in water or tea. It was not meant to be consumed directly. The quantity she had just ingested would surely end her life very quickly.
Within minutes, the room began to grow hazy and indistinct. It felt as if it were spinning about her so fast that she couldn’t focus on any one object. She had lost consciousness before she fell to the floor.
* * *
The three ofthem arrived at the Bruxton’s home to find it in chaos. Servants were screaming and yelling, and two dour-faced men in black coats stood next to Lord Bruxton, who was seated in the drawing room, his face in his hands, appearing for all the world to be grief-stricken.
“You have chosen a poor time to call, gentleman. My Charlotte is gone. Rather than face the ruin these horrid and false tales have caused her, she has taken her own life,” Bruxton said, his voice breaking convincingly.
Lucian watched him closely. For all that he appeared to be broken by the event, his eyes were curiously dry. “I’d like a word in private, Lord Bruxton. If I may?”
“It really is not a good time—”
“Only a moment. I think, once we have spoken, you will agree that it was for the best,” Lucian persisted.
Bruxton stared at him for a moment, then waved a hand to the black-coated men. “You may go. Your services are no longer needed…They are from Bedlam, you see? They were here to take her away. The moment I saw those gossip sheets this morning, I feared she would do the unthinkable, and now she has. I was too late.
Pretty words, Lucian thought, but they rang with insincerity. “Westerhaven, Ralston, you may go. Lord Bruxton will reach an understanding on our own.”
“We’ll be outside,” Ralston said, then he and the duke departed the drawing room, closing the door firmly behind them.
“Did she do it willingly, or did you assist her?” Lucian asked immediately.
“What do you mean?”
“Charlotte Farraday was hardly the sort to be maudlin or despondent. She was much more likely to take the life of someone else than herself. So what did you do? Persuade her that death was better than Bedlam?”
Bruxton’s jaw flexed, his eyes narrowing. “I will not be insulted.”
“You mistake me. It’s not an insult. It had to be done. She could not be trusted… not to keep her secret to yours. After all, a man in your position cannot afford the sort of scrutiny that Charlotte’s behavior would bring to his door.”
“My position?”
“Yes. Your solicitor… Mr. Bardwell. He lives in a house not far from here, doesn’t he? And I do believe, if I’m not mistaken, that the house he resides in is owned by you. A rather strange arrangement with one’s solicitor,” Lucian observed.
Bruxton dropped every pretense, then. His cold and very shrewd gaze settled on Lucian in a manner that he supposed should have been intimidating.
