Page 2 of The Captive Duke
“Reputation matters little if one is to swing for murder.”
“It won’t come to that,” Martin said, but he remained poised by the door, bag in hand, as if lingering in Gilly’spresence might taint him not with her guilt—for she was innocent of wrongdoing toward her late spouse—but with her vulnerability to accusations. “I had Harrison consult on the case, and he confirmed my diagnosis by letter not two days after the apoplexy.”
Dr. Theophilus Martin had observed this precaution not because he was intent on safeguarding Greendale’s young widow, but because his late, unlamented lordship had created an air of mistrust thick enough to pollute every corner of the house.
“What am I to be charged with?” Stupidity, certainly, for having married Greendale, but Gilly’s family had been adamant—“You’ll be a countess!”—and she’d been so young…
Dr. Martin smoothed a soft hand over snow-white hair. “You are not accused of anything.”
His lengthy, silent examination of the framed verses of Psalm 23 hanging over the sideboard confirmed that Gilly would, indeed, face suspicion. Her life had become a series of accusations grounded in nothing more than an old man’s febrile imagination, and he’d made those accusations where any servant might have overheard them.
“They will say I put a pillow over his face, won’t they?”
“They can’t. You had a nurse in the room at all times, didn’t you? Lovely stitch work, my lady.”
Gilly had been accompanied by two nurses, as often as possible, and the stitch work would go to the poorhouse as soon as the inquest was over.
“If I was with his lordship, a nurse was always present—or you, yourself. Will the nurses be suspect?”
She did not ask if Martin would come under suspicion, because quite honestly, she was too afraid to care. He’d been summoned to Greendale Hall on many occasions, and had socialized with Lord Greendale as often as he’d treated him. His solicitude of Gilly now likely had to do with seeing his substantial bill paid.
“I hired the nurses based on my personal experience of them, so no, I shouldn’t think they’ll come under suspicion,” Martin said.
Because the physician was eyeing the door, Gilly fired off the most important question, and to Hades with dignity.
“Who’s behind this, Theophilus? My husband is not yet put in the ground, and already you’re telling me of an inquest.”
Though thank a merciful Deity, Martin’s torpid humanitarian instincts had resulted in this warning, at least. Another smoothing of his leonine mane followed, while the fingers of his left hand tightened on the black leather handle tellingly.
“I thought it the better part of kindness not to burden you with this news prematurely, but Lord Greendale himself apparently told his heir to see to the formalities.”
And to think Gilly had prayed for her husband’s recovery. “Easterbrook ordered this? He’s still in France or Spain or somewhere serving the Crown.”
“As heir to Lord Greendale’s title and fortune, Marcus Easterbrook would have left instructions with his solicitors, and they would in turn have been in communication with King’s Counsel and the local magistrate.”
Men.Always so organized when bent on aggravation and aspersion. “Greendale was the magistrate. To whom does that dubious honor fall now?”
“Likely to Squire Gordon.”
Gordon was a hounds-and-horses fellow, and he’d never toadied to Greendale. A fraction of Gilly’s panic eased.
“Shall you have some tea, Theophilus? It’s good and hot.” Also strong for a change, Gilly’s second act of independence from the infernal economies Greendale had imposed on her.
“Thank you, my lady, but no.” Martin turned toward the door, then hesitated, hand on the latch.
“You needn’t tarry, Theophilus. You’ve served the family loyally, and that has been far from easy.” He’d served the family discreetly, too. Very discreetly. “I suppose I’ll see you at the inquest.”
He nodded once and slipped away, confirming that he would not call in even a professional capacity before the legalities were resolved, not if he wanted to maintain the appearance of impartiality. Not if he wanted to keep the Crown’s men from turning their sights on him as well.
Gilly added coal to the fire—rest in peace, Lord Greendale—and stared into the flames for long moments,weighing her very few options as best one could weigh options when in a flat, terrified panic.
As her strong, hot tea grew tepid in the pot, she sat down with pen and ink, and begged an interview with Gervaise Stoneleigh, the coldest, most astute, mostexpensivebarrister ever to turn down Greendale’s coin.
And that decision very likely saved her life.
“Girard gave me final orders concerning you.”
Christian turned his head slowly. He was still recovering from the last teaching day, a sorry effort on the corporal’s part, consisting of familiar tortures enthusiastically applied the better to impress Anduvoir, while Girard had stood bristling with silent censure.
