Page 43 of Avenging the Earl's Lady
Madame’s cousin, Monsieur Guignard, reported that the advertisement placed in the paper had spurred strong interest.
But he’d also heard murmurs, that others had heard of the painting’s discovery even before they’d placed the notice.Worse, the substitute painting she’d wrapped for transport to Cransdall, the landscape from the Gorse Point Cottage bedchamber, had disappeared.The men conveying it had been attacked.One of them had died of his wounds.
Moisture clogged her throat.Because of her actions, a man haddied.Did he have a wife or children who loved him?What was her sorrow about her son’s rejection compared to that sort of loss?
But had the murder truly been because of her?The men were attacked and the package stolen before they’d ever opened it.
Still…she wanted to curl up and weep over this day.
“There now.”Jenny had reached the last hook.“Lord Shaldon was here, my lady, asking to be let in.”
She tugged out of her sleeves and pulled down her bodice, her head pounding.Running into Shaldon at Quentin’s had been a stroke of terrible luck.
He had seen the Hackwell carriage.He had puzzled out Lady Hackwell’s ownership of this property.
Ewan had tracked her to the modiste’s, of course, and promptly informed his master.Had they seen Guignard at the shop?Shaldon would know who he was—Shaldon knew everything.
She would need to act quickly.She’d instruct Guignard to take the best offer and make the deal, tomorrow if possible.
“I turned him away.He offered me a gold sovereign, the cheeky old codger.”
“Jenny.”She choked back a laugh.Cheeky the man was, and old she supposed, but he was no codger.
She stepped out of her gown.“I’m glad you didn’t take it.”She couldn’t have faced him again this day.She couldn’t face him tomorrow either when he would surely return.
Perhaps Marie knew of another place she could lodge for a few days.
Jenny shrugged.“It might have been painted lead.”
Jane turned and took the girl’s hand.“Dear Jenny, coming from him, it would have been genuine.But never mind.In a few days, I’ll have enough money to give you a gold coin before I leave England.You may even tempt some bounder like Fergus MacEwen to marry you.”
Jenny stepped back and put her hands to her hips.“I’ve no interest in a faithless man, my lady.And you’ll need a maid wherever you go.Lady Perry once said we could live well in France at far less cost.”
“Should we run off to Paris together?”The girl’s steadfastness cheered her.“Help me out of the rest of this.”
Jenny went to work, undoing her stays and dropping the nightgown over her head.This one was a sheer lawn, with soft lace framing the deep rounded neckline and capped sleeves.
“This looks new,” Jane said.
“Madame sent this home for you.”Jenny smiled.“The nights have been too warm for Lady Hackwell’s old woolly nightrails.”
Jane held back a sigh.She had yet another debt to Madame.She sat and began removing her stockings.“Go on then.Off to bed with you.”
“There’s just this, my lady.”Jenny reached into her pocket and pulled out a letter, placing it into her hands.“From Lord Shaldon.”
She knew Shaldon’s writing, and this wasn’t his.
When the door closed on Jenny, she poured a glass of sherry and downed it, examining the letter again, unable to determine who’d sent it.
Once Shaldon took hold of a notion, he was relentless.What was he up to now?He would insist on an interview.He would persist until she’d told him everything.
And then, if he didn’t see her arrested, he would drop her, just as he’d dropped her father after her brother’s death.He’d rushed out of Kent as if nothing had happened, as if she and her father had not had their hearts torn out.Shaldon had been involved, her father had implied, but he wouldn’t say how.
Damn the man and his games—this letter could wait for the morning, when he’d launched his next move.
When she’d recovered more courage.
She propped the letter on the mantel next to the china shepherdess, settled onto the armchair near the cold fireplace and began taking down her hair.Long and still thick, it hung almost to her waist.She’d once had dark blonde hair.Now, it was a light brown, and in the light of the lamp, the strands of gray threading through it shimmered like silver.She should cut off a good length of it, but she often felt this was all she had left of her femininity.
