Page 9 of The Dove
Winifred nodded. “It was he who came to me, you see … he who revealed the truth about Lord Fairchild to me.”
Daphne noted the way she referred to Bertram, formally instead of using his Christian name. She had clearly moved on from their short-lived courtship and engagement.
“When was this?” she pressed. “What exactly did he say to you?”
“It was not long after your uncle’s unfortunate passing,” Winifred replied. “He approached me at a soirée and signed my dance card … for a waltz. He terrified me out of my wits, if I may be honest, and I wondered what a man such as he might want with a girl like me. We had never been formally introduced before that night, and what I knew of him did not suggest he sought a wife. Besides, I had already accepted Bertram’s suit and the banns had already been called once. Yet, I had no choice but to accept, and while we danced, he warned me that to marry Bertram would be a grave mistake. When I became angry and asked him what business he had saying such things to me, he asked me why I thought a man like your brother had courted so many women without offering them marriage … why so many of the ladies he’d danced attention upon in the past few years had gone on to become spinsters, or make less than advantageous marriages.”
Daphne sat her tea aside, no longer able to stomach another sip or bite of food. She had lost many a night’s sleep wondering about her brother’s victims, and how his brand of evil had destroyed the futures they might otherwise have had if not for him.
“He challenged me to seek one of them out,” Winifred continued. “To find the truth for myself. He said … he told me I would thank him someday.”
Raising her eyebrows when the other woman fell silent, Daphne leaned forward in her chair. “And then?”
“And then, the dance was over, and I never saw him again beyond that night,” Winifred replied. “I did, however, seek out Lady Cassandra Lane.”
Daphne winced, remembering that Lady Cassandra had been on the list of women she’d made at Dunnottar—a list of women she could remember her brother being seen with.
“She told me a most horrifying story about letting Bertram coerce her into slipping out of a ball and into a private drawing room,” Winifred whispered, still avoiding Daphne’s gaze. “He took certain … liberties with her. When she tried to cry off, he pressed the issue … until she began to fight. But, she was not strong enough, and he overpowered her.”
Winifred finally looked up, staring into Daphne’s eyes with a sigh.
“I could not, in good conscience, marry such a man,” she stated. “Even if he had never done to me what he had done to Lady Cassandra. She hinted that there were others, and I … I just felt so dreadful. How could I have let myself think I loved such a man, when I hardly knew him, or what he could be capable of?”
“I understand entirely,” Daphne agreed. “I came to learn I did not know him very well, either.”
“I know,” Winifred replied. “You see, I have always wondered what Hartmoor stood to gain by coming to me—what his motive might have been. And then, the rumors of your affair began making the rounds, and it became clear to me. Lady Olivia has not been spotted in London in years … not since she was seen being courted by your brother during her first Season.”
Daphne’s mouth fell open, shock rippling through her. It should not surprise her that the lady was so astute. Bertram had never known what a prize he’d almost had in Winifred.
“Yes, that is right,” she hedged, torn between wanting to be honest and needing to keep the secrets of the Callahan family.
No matter what Adam had done to her, Olivia and Serena deserved protection.
“I realized that you were just as much a victim of Bertram as the rest of us,” Winifred said with a sad smile. “You were hurt by his actions, just as Olivia was … just like Cassandra.”
Daphne shook her head, but did not reply. It was not her place to tell Winifred just how thoroughly Bertram had ruined Olivia. What he had taken from her, and what her father and uncle had done to help keep it quiet, had led to a madness that seemed incurable.
“So, I came to apologize for refusing to see you,” Winifred said when Daphne remained silent. “And to offer my aid, should you need it.”
Daphne forced a smile. “Oh, that will not be necessary. I am fine, truly. But I do thank you for coming. It relieves me to know that Bertram never harmed you. I hope you will be able to move forward with your life now.”
Winifred smiled. “Oh, but I have. I’ve met someone … well, he isn’t the son of an earl or anything so important. But he is a barrister, and he seems to care for me a great deal. I expect a proposal sooner rather than later.”
Daphne’s smile became genuine. “Then I am glad for you.”
“Oh, and I also wished to give you this,” the other woman said as she stood, reaching into her reticule.
She produced a sealed envelope—an invitation, Daphne realized, as it was placed into her hand. Peeling it open, she found the details of a musicale to be hosted at the Bellingham residence that evening.
“You are kind,” she replied, glancing up from the card. “But, I couldn’t possibly. The gossip.”
“Oh, pish posh!” Winifred objected. “My parents and I do not care for gossip, and I certainly do not intend to treat you like a leper due to circumstances that were outside your control. The rest of those sanctimonious fools might blame you, but they do not understand.”
Rising as well, she tucked the invitation back into its envelope. “I would be a distraction … it would ruin the evening.”
“It might make it a bit livelier,” Winifred teased. “Do consider it, at least. You cannot hide from the world forever, Lady Daphne.”
“Please, just call me Daphne,” she insisted. “And I will consider attending.”
