Page 56 of My Deceitful Duchess
“So have we. Still, she does not believe.” A gusty sigh broke over the silence. “You destroyed her faith, Mr. Knight.You.”
Fear was a scrabbling, clawing creature that shredded his throat with razor-sharp talons. “She’snotgoing to—”
“No doubt of that. If it becomes necessary, we’ll smuggle her out of the country ourselves. But when you live with the fear of something long enough it becomes apartof you. And Jenny has lived with this longer than most.” Clybourne cast himself back in his seat, and his fingers went to the bridge of his nose, pinching. “Your actions do not only affectyou, Mr. Knight,” he said. “My wife is in a delicate condition. She is consumed with worry for her friend.”
“You’ll forgive me, I’m certain, if the largest part of my concern is reserved for Jenny.”
“So is my wife’s,” Clybourne snarled. “Time is of the essence, Mr. Knight.”
Heknewthat. Of course heknewit. It was an inescapable fact, but he could no more halt its progress than he could will the sun not to rise. “There’s seven, perhaps eight months—”
“Two,” Clybourne said, his voice harsh, clipped. “Three, maybe a little longer, with some clever cuts of gown. Or had it not occurred to you, Mr. Knight, that eventually it will be impossible for Jenny to conceal the fact that she is increasing?”
In fact, it had not occurred to him. He supposed itmusthave, on some level—but it had seemed a distant thing, and with little practical experience on which to draw, it had not been something he had consciously noted.
“She’s going to start showing eventually,” Clybourne said, and the words hit like the twist of a knife lodged between his ribs. “And what do you think her reputation will be then, with no husband, pregnant with a nameless child? Do you think she can continue to work at Ambrosia? Do you think she canlivethere with achild?”
Sebastian couldn’t breathe properly past the odd lump that had risen in his throat. “I offered to marry her,” he said, although that wasn’t quite true. He’dcommandedit. He had been angry then, so very angry with her, with himself—and still her casual dismissal had troubled him.
“Wouldyoube eager to hand your life over to a man who has proved himself so careless with it already? Would youtrustthat man with your life? With yourchild?” Clybourne asked.
I would rather hang, she had said.
And she hadmeantit.
Ill-used enough by men already in her life, and still she had, however briefly, trustedhim. Until he had killed it. And still, somehow, he had been operating on the assumption that shewouldmarry him, eventually—when he’d given her life back to her. As ifrespectabilitywere an object she could hold in her hand, one he could obtain for her and present to her like a gift. Her good name, polished and formed anew, and for which she ought to be somehow grateful.
But it had always been hers. It had simply beenstolenfrom her. And he—he was as much a thief as Julian Amberley. The Amberleys had stolen her name, buthehad stolen everything else. She might find herself absolved of murder, but the stain of an illegitimate child would be indelible, and it would take everything else from her. Her career, her friends, her home. Every tiny bit of happiness she had managed to hoard would be taken from her.
He’d destroyed all of it. And there was so muchlesstime left to fix it than he’d thought. Than he’d hoped.
“I can’t—” His voice scratched from his throat, raw and ragged. “I can do nothing until I clear her name,” he said. Because she was left in a precarious limbo—neither living nor dead; simply proceeding through the rote paces of her life until her fate was determined. There was nofixingwhat he had done—at least, not until she was once more in full control of her life.
“Then I suggest youdoit,” Clybourne said fiercely. “What have you got thus far?”
Sebastian struggled beneath a wave of anxiety. “Little enough,” he admitted. “I gained an interview with her former butler.” In fact, it would have been more accurate to say he’d prevailed upon the man’s guilt. “He’s worked for the family for decades. Confirmed Jenny’s version of events. He was kind enough to give me the direction of which servants have moved on to new positions, and where, that I might interview them. And he…raised some interesting claims about the Amberleys.”
“Anything new?”
“Nothing I hadn’t already suspected.” Sebastian’s spine touched the back of his chair. “No firmproof.Everything is circumstantial at best, and could be easily written off as a disgruntled servant telling tales.” His fingertips drummed upon the arm of his chair. “Patterson, the butler, is certain that the Amberleys helped the late duke to his grave. He said none of the staff would have batted an eye had Jenny done the deed herself, and she’d had ample opportunity over the year they were wed. It would have been beyond foolish for her to wait to commit murder in the presence of the duke’s relations under the circumstances. The fact is, the only people who ever believed that Jenny killed the duke were those manipulated into doing so by the Amberleys.”
“You’ll have the devil of a time proving it.”
But he didn’tneedto prove it. Solving a murder that had taken place twelve years in the past was a virtual impossibility. But solving one that had occurred only weeks ago?Thatmight well be within his reach.
∞∞∞
The knock at the office door had not been unexpected; Jenny had secluded herself away for several hours already upon waking, given that her stomach had yet to settle itself and she had not wished to make an impromptu dive for a chamber pot and risk embarrassing herself before Ambrosia’s patrons. Or worse, revealing her condition.
Tonight, she had begun as she meant to go on—letting the staff run the establishment to the best of their abilities, and to disturb her only with necessary questions, the answers to which she jotted down in her new ledger, which would become the property of whoever it was that would inevitably replace her. It was time that the patrons grew accustomed to her presence being a rarity. Perhaps a visit here and there, a brief appearance, until they stopped expecting to see her. Until she was forgotten altogether.
“Come in,” she said, barely glancing up from the ledger in which she was engrossed, detailing as many of Ambrosia’s operating procedures as she could call to mind. There was the softswishof the door opening, its well-oiled hinges betraying not so much as creak, and then the whisk of skirts as the intruder shuffled in.
“Beg pardon, ma’am, for interrupting.” The low, respectful tone pulled Jenny’s attention from the ledger.
“Eliza,” she said, somewhat surprised. Of course, she had been aware that the woman was still present, but Jenny had seen nothing at all of her since that first, devastating conflict in the hall by the servants’ entrance. Her injuries had been substantial, and only a few days had passed since her arrival. “I don’t think you ought to be out of bed just yet,” she said. There was still swelling about Eliza’s face, the kind of distortion that made one wince only to look at them, to imagine how much pain they must still cause.
The woman’s fingers knitted before her. “Why did you let me stay?” she asked. “After…after what I said of you?”
