Page 68 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
Alexander silently nodded, encouraging his mother on.
‘Then there were strange visitations in the night—men attending the house to meet with Marcus when he should be sleeping. I would hear arguments and sharp whispered words as I stood on the landing listening to them muttering under their voices in the hallway.’
Alexander narrowed his eyes as he listened to this account.
‘In short, Alexander, I believe that Marcus caught himself up in some dark business dealings with unsavoury characters and began gambling to pay them back. One knows never to gamble money that is not your own, but Marcus always had such an entitled way about him.
Your father questioned him on the discrepancies on the accounts and—knowing he was in trouble, not only with his father, but potentially also with the law—Marcus killed my poor husband in a desperate act of violence.’
A sob of anguish broke free from Margaret’s mouth. Alexander realized this might possibly be the first time she had ever expressed this belief verbally. He reached for a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to his mother, who buried her face in it for a moment, her shoulders bobbing rhythmically with the emotion of venting it all. She took a few deep breaths and raised her head.
‘He framed you, Alexander, and—strangely— this may be the part that hurt the most. It is inexcusable and unforgivable that he killed his own father, but to blame you and have you exiled from your home and your family during our season of the utmost calamity and grief was beyond cruel. And to tell us all that you, too, had died!’
‘But you knew I survived my escape?’
‘Thomas kindly told me. Marcus still thinks I believe you are dead. His heart is so cruel that he could inflict the devastation oftwodeaths upon his mother, even when he knows one of those is false. Kind Thomas, I must confess he is more of a son to me than Marcus has been.’
‘It has been such a shock to me, Mother, to discover my sweet younger brother could execute such atrocities, but I must apologize that there is more barbarism to reveal–’
‘More?’ Margaret’s brow knitted together in concern.
‘Edmund.’
With that one word, the stark reality of Alexander’s insinuation hit Margaret, and she let out a single cry of distress, covering her face with the handkerchief.
‘I am so sorry, Mother, to be the one to tell you. But Edmund was investigating who could have killed father—my faithful cousin believed in my innocence—he kept a journal and notebooks documenting his findings.
It is apparent from the books Edmund left behind that he had come too close to exposing Marcus’s crimes. In his final journal entry, he wrote that Marcus was coming to visit. And the physician has now ruled that Edmund’s death was a poisoning.’
‘No!’ Margaret’s eyes were wet and pleading as she peered over the handkerchief. ‘Poor, sweet Edmund …’
Alexander embraced his mother and held her while she sobbed. As her breathing calmed down, she extricated herself and reached inside her shawl. She brought out a leather-bound notebook and placed it in her lap decisively.
‘What is this, Mother?’
‘My journal. I keep it with me always, tucked about my clothing. For it to fall into the wrong hands would be disastrous. But I would like to share the contents of it with you, Alexander.’
Margaret lifted the book and opened it, pointing out a passage.
‘Just as Edmund did, I suppose, I have been keeping a journal, documenting the erratic behaviour of my youngest son.’
‘You have?’ Alexander leaned in. ‘I hear from Arabella that he has been aggressive and enthusiastic within the same beat; that he has dismissed servants, and I bear witness myself to the neglect with which he has mistreated the Wellwood estate.’
‘Yes.’ Margaret nodded mournfully. ‘It is all here. The time he brought a live rabbit into the sitting room, announcing we should all meet him before the cook killed him for supper!’
‘Really?’ Alexander flinched.
‘Oh, yes. And the time he set a fire on the front lawn in the middle of the night, for no reason at all.’
‘Mother, he sounds absolutely mad!’
Margaret could only agree.
‘How has this fiendishness become of my little brother?’ Alexander swallowed down the swell of emotion in his throat.
‘Your uncle’s madness, Alexander. I fear it is hereditary. I thank the Lord you have been spared, but it has taken Marcus over entirely.’
The mother and son bent their heads low, together, in grief. It dawned on Alexander at that moment that they had never been blessed with the opportunity to mourn the death of his father together, nor the passing of Edmund. So much pent-up sadness hung in the air between them.
