Page 83 of A Devil in Silk
“Not entirely alone. I told your father once, but he dismissed it as nonsense. The ramblings of a grieving fool.”
A heavy silence settled in the room. Clara watched Bentley shake his head as if at war with himself. For all his anger, compassion won out. He rose and took his mother’s trembling hand, urging her gently from the chair. “You should have told me.” He drew her into his arms, and at last the proud woman crumpled, sobs muffled against her son’s shoulder.
Clara looked on, moved by his strength and capacity to forgive. She prayed her brother granted him the same grace.
After composing herself, Lady Rutland sat down and told the story of Miss Forbes, how word of her affair with a tutor spread through the seminary. Shamed and cast out, she’d taken poison, leaving behind a letter blaming the women in her dormitory for exposing her. Only Mrs Woodall had written to the girl’s family, insisting the rumours were lies. She alone escaped mention in the malediction.
“You need to tell us everything you can about Miss Forbes,” Bentley said, returning to his seat.
“Charlotte was a private person, and it was so long ago.” Lady Rutland pressed her lips together, as if speaking the name aloud might summon famine, fire, and every ill omen imaginable.
Bentley’s slow exhale belied his frustration. “Never mind. One of Daventry’s agents can visit the seminary and access the records. The murders must be related to what happened there years ago.”
Something troubled Clara.
How had Miss Nightshade learnt of the incident? Had Lord Tarrington spoken of it when he asked her to commune with the dead? Had his aunt told him of the so-called curse, hinting his wife’s fate was part of something darker? Did he fear Miss Nightshade might expose it and tarnish her memory?
If so, Lord Tarrington had a motive for murder.
Chapter Eighteen
Bentley waited until Clara left the dining room to tidy her hair before turning to his mother. Disbelief clung to the silence, thick with old misunderstandings and steeped in sorrow.
As he drained the last of his tea and set the cup aside, he thought about the book Gibbs was reading. “Marcus Aurelius said the soul takes the colour of one’s thoughts. Your belief in this curse is as damaging as the curse itself, if there is such a thing. Please tell me you see that.”
His mother stared into her china cup as if the tea were a mirror to the past. “I have every reason to believe it is true. It sounds foolish, even to my ears, but when Marcus died—” Her voice cracked, the next words lost.
“It was easier to blame a curse than the doctor, or yourself,” he finished. How many times had he sat and listened as she dissected those crucial minutes?
Too many to count.
She looked up, her eyes heavy with regret. “If only I had fought for a second opinion, and that useless physician hadn’tcome straight from his club. If only your father had been at home.”
“The world is full of if-onlys, Mother.” If only he’d fought to see Clara two years ago and rejected the idea of marrying Sarah. “I have more than a few of my own.”
“Regret clings like a malevolent spirit. It has haunted me most of my adult life. I’ve never wanted that for you.”
“Then you should have told me about Rosefield. Thoughts are often darker when left to fester in silence.” He glanced at Clara’s empty seat, wishing he’d been there to quieten the cruel lies she told herself when she looked at her reflection.
His mother followed his gaze. “Miss Dalton is nice enough,” she said, the words already pricking his temper, “but hardly suitable for someone of your station. If you’d only marry Sarah, I could see my final days out in peace.”
As a man known for his calm resolve, he did not disappoint. “How strange you speak of peace and a desire to change the past, yet seem intent on destroying the future.”
She frowned, somewhat puzzled.
Bentley clasped his hands on the table, ready to deliver an ultimatum, a statement he’d replayed many times in his mind. “We’ve reached the point where you must decide.”
“Decide?”
“I’ll never marry Sarah. She’s shallow, unkind, and?—”
“Will mellow in time. She’s desperate to impress you.”
“I hope to marry Miss Dalton. God willing, I’ll fill this house with children. Their mother will teach them that warriors are born from adversity. Their father will offer one piece of advice. Never let anyone tell you how to live.”
Tension rose, as thick as fog from the river.
His mother’s hand shook, the cup clattering against the saucer. “Children? With Agnes’ daughter? After everything you’ve just learned?”
