Page 41 of Too Sinful to Deny
Miss Devonshire’s chin lifted. “He felt terrible about it, poor man.”
Susan felt the bones in her skull slowly cracking apart. Somebody needed to teach these two how to gossip properly before their nonlinear, nonsensical storytelling made Susan’s head explode.
Red popped in front of her, agitated. “If you would just—”
She slashed a hand through his face, and he was gone.
“Who can tell me in twenty words or less,” she articulated carefully, “how he killed her, why he killed her, and why nobody in this town did a bloody thing about it?”
“Pistol,” Miss Devonshire answered promptly. “And he did it out of love.”
“She’d gone mad and thrown herself from her bedroom window.” Miss Grey’s voice held a tremor of remembered terror. “It was a frightening sight. She didn’t die on impact, but there was nothing to do. Being mute, Lady Beaune couldn’t scream in agony from all the cuts, all the breaks. She could only lie there brokenly and whimper.”
“Yes. She had the most terrible, heartrending whimper....” Miss Devonshire’s eyes squeezed shut as if to block out the memory. “That’s when Lord Beaune went for his pistol. Lady Beaune was dying, and he didn’t wish for her to suffer. He said... He said...”
“He said it’s a sad day when a man has to put his wife out of her misery like a common horse,” Miss Grey finished. “And then he shot her.”
Susan’s head reeled. Lord Beaune killed his wife like a common horse?Nothingabout this story was common. Was that why the poor woman was haunting Susan? Because she was spending every night in the very chamber from which Lady Beaune had taken her own life in a desperate leap for freedom? Susan would never have another wink of sleep.
“Lord Beaune fell on his way down the cliff a few days later, leaving Lady Emeline the sole heir.” Miss Grey’s eyes glittered. “But not for long. Ollie Hamilton married Lady Emeline before she was even fitted for mourning clothes. They’ve sequestered themselves up in Moonseed Manor ever since. If there’s still money left,shedoesn’t come down to spend it.”
Susan swallowed. Poor Lady Emeline had a macabre explanation for her lack of shopping excursions.
“Are—aren’t you at all worried about her?” Susan asked hesitantly.
Miss Grey scoffed. “Worried about what? She’s married, isn’t she? Her husband will provide anything she needs.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Susan insisted.
“Heownsher.” Miss Grey flicked her red hair over a bony shoulder. “That’s the point to every marriage contract. A bride becomes her husband’s property. I, for one, do not choose to get mixed up in other people’s personal lives. Particularly Ollie Hamilton’s.”
“Speaking of marriages,” broke in Miss Devonshire, her voice brittle. Susan realized Miss Devonshire had never once forgotten to whom she was speaking, or the circumstances thereof. “I’ve decided not to mention the impropriety we glimpsed here today, Miss Stanton. I suggest you do the same.”
Susan nodded eagerly. There was no way she wished for rumors of her and Mr. Bothwick to circulate. The last thing she wanted was to find herself with a marriage contract tying her to Bournemouth. Particularly afterthatheartwarming tale. When Susan eventually staged a compromise for marriage, she’d do so on her own terms. And those terms were: Titled. London. Gentleman. Not mad-as-hatter country commoners.
The witch was staring at the porcelain doll as if she had grown yarn hair and button eyes. “You were never going to mention it, Dinah. A compromise between those two would’ve forced him to the altar with the wrong woman.”
Miss Devonshire looked perfectly happy to rip off her own arm just to club Miss Grey with it. “We didn’t see precisely whom she was dallying with, did we?”
Susan started guiltily. “It wasn’t exactly dall—”
“What?” Miss Grey rounded on Miss Devonshire, ignoring Susan. “You haven’t let him out of your sight in four years. I was right next to you all afternoon, remember? You watched every single step from the tavern to the apothecary through the back window!”
Miss Devonshire’s bone-white hands curved into perfect fists at her sides. “Well, he’s not here to back that claim up, now, is he? In any case, I could easily say I caught Miss Stanton kissing some unknown gentleman. Anyone would take my word over hers. I’m the town angel, and she’s... Well.” Her little upturned nose gave a delicate sniff. “I can smelltavernon her from over here.”
Susan’s jaw dropped. Granted, during the few moments where she’d surely been possessed by the devil, she had in fact (eagerly) returned Mr. Bothwick’s kisses, but come now. This was too much.
“If you’re the town angel, I’m the Queen of England,” she said hotly.
Miss Grey snorted. “Then what were you doing kissing a libertine like Evan in the apothecary, Your Majesty?”
Susan smiled. “Better than lifting my skirts in a chicken shed, don’t you think?”
Miss Devonshire’s perfect mouth dropped open.
And in that moment, Susan knew the truce was over. Curse her tongue!
Miss Grey’s umbrella clattered to the floor as she turned to stare at her friend, whose already-white face had blanched to an unhealthy hue.
