Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

CHAPTER 21

James’s country estate was even more splendid than his town house had been. Nestled in a quiet valley in Oxfordshire, the manor was surrounded by trees, ponds, and miles and miles of fertile ground. It was an enormous home on hundreds of acres, encompassing beautiful gardens, trees, a lake, and a park. And the entire thing was every bit as orderly and perfect as the town house had been. More so, if that were possible.

The interior of the house was absolutely grand, resplendent with priceless antiques, fine fabrics, thick new carpets, and brass finishings. The grand hall displayed an impressive array of portraits of the Medford ancestors. The library contained an enormous assortment of leather-bound tomes all well ordered inside gleaming mahogany shelves. The salons were outfitted in lovely matched wallpapers, luxurious curtains, and the finest furniture. The corridors were all spotless marble, and the foyer itself took Kate’s breath away with its wide, sweeping staircase and dazzling chandelier.

Upon Kate’s arrival, a nice maid ushered her into a suite of rooms that was no exception to the finery. Her bedchamber was absolutely spectacular, decorated in violet with soft curtains and a comfortable bedspread embroidered with tiny flowers. She soon learned that every morning, a small vase of the little flowers appeared on her bedside table.

It didn’t take her long to find her favorite room in the house, the music room, where she discovered, to her delight, a grand pianoforte. And with a house as big as this one, she could play as much as she liked in the middle of the night, and she doubted anyone would hear her.

She took her meals in her bedchamber at first. She knew she was being a terrible coward, hiding from James, but he couldn’t want to see her and be reminded of what she’d done to his life. She didn’t encounter James until they’d been there two days. He came around a corner just as she was about to enter the library. She nearly knocked into him.

“Pardon me,” she said in a rushed tone, her cheeks heating as soon as she’d realized exactly whom she’d nearly toppled over.

“No, it was my fault,” James replied. He bowed to her.

Kate wrung her hands and watched him. Why was it so awkward between them now?

James cleared his throat. “I trust you’ve been … well. Is your foot healing?”

She nodded quickly. “Perfectly. Thank you. How have you been?” Ugh. An asinine question. She pinched the inside of her arm for asking it.

“Busy,” he replied noncommittally.

“Doing what?” She was obviously committed to the asinine today.

His stance relaxed a bit. “Making the arrangements for the town house to be rebuilt, for one thing.”

She wanted to sink through the floor. Of course that’s what he’d been doing. “Did you hear anything? About the damage, I mean?” She twisted her hands together nervously.

“Yes. I received a letter … from Locke. Apparently the mob dispersed soon after we left. The night watchmen called out the guard to help them control the crowd and the fire was put out as quickly as possible.”

“I see.” She nodded. “I suppose that’s … good.” Good. What a horribly inadequate word.

His voice grew sober. “Kate. I don’t want you to worry. I’ve been writing letters to my friends in Parliament and elsewhere.”

She swallowed. There could only be one reason for him to write such letters. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been holding my breath,” she admitted. “I’ve been so afraid the lord chancellor will insist I return to the Tower.”

“I’ve been granted permission to allow you to stay in the country … with me. In fact, I was coming to look for you just now, to tell you as much.”

Kate expelled her breath in a rush. She couldn’t help it. She closed her eyes briefly too. “I’m so relieved.”

He gave her an encouraging smile. He turned to leave and Kate’s hand shot out of its own accord and grabbed at his sleeve, stopping him.

He faced her again, his look inquiring. “Yes?”

She snatched her hand away. “It’s just that … James … I…” She glanced down at her slippers, unable to push the words past the lump in her throat.

“What is it, Kate?”

“Do you want me to go … back to the Tower, I mean?” She had no idea how she’d managed the nerve to ask that question but she had to.

James smiled at her. “You’ve still got a pamphlet to write, do you not?”

She nodded jerkily and he continued down the hall.

Kate leaned one hand against the wall after he’d gone. That wasn’t exactly the answer she’d been expecting … or hoping for. True, she’d been worried that the lord chancellor would demand she return to the Tower, but she’d been equally worried that James would want to rid himself of her. The money from the pamphlet couldn’t possibly make up for the destruction of his home. Yes, he’d told her that had been his choice, but she couldn’t help feeling guilty about it.

If he did want to send her back to the Tower, he hadn’t said so. But he was too much of a gentleman to say it. “You’ve still got a pamphlet to finish,” he’d said. Oh God. She did. No doubt he wanted nothing more than for her to finish writing as quickly as possible and leave.

Kate let her hand drop from the wall and squared her shoulders. She would do that for him. Finish her work. She might have placed him in danger and destroyed his home, but she would not linger and cause more trouble. No, she would complete the pamphlet as quickly as possible and extricate herself from James’s life. She owed him that much. She didn’t want to think about how sad she would be, returning to the Tower, alone, unhappy. But she was already taking advantage of James’s kindness, and she refused to do so any longer. She just needed to finish her pamphlet and do her story justice.

On her fourth day in the country, Kate stopped outside the door to James’s study, her palms sweaty, her stomach in knots. The country butler had just informed her of Mr. Abernathy’s arrival. Apparently, he and Lord Medford requested her presence in the study. She’d raised her hand to knock but clenched her fist and let it drop to her side again. Fear gripped her. There was no telling what Abernathy would say. By now, perhaps he was convinced that she had murdered George. Perhaps he would even tell James that. Perhaps they were calling her in to accuse her. James would tell her he was sending her back to the Tower posthaste. Living in constant fear had become normal for her. But now, each day brought its own new set of worries. She’d dreamed the last two nights about fire and mobs, being burned at the stake. She’d woken in a sweat, heart pounding, James’s name on her lips. James would save her. Wouldn’t he? He had the last time.

She closed her eyes briefly and squared her shoulders. She must face whatever the barrister said with courage. Courage. Courage. Courage. She’d repeated the words to herself so many times over the last few weeks they had begun to lose all meaning. She swallowed the lump in her throat and rapped her knuckles against the door.

“Come in,” James called.

She pushed open the door and walked inside, shutting the heavy oak portal behind her. A quick scan of both men’s faces told her little. Their countenances were blank. They rose to greet her, however, and Abernathy held out the chair next to his in front of James’s desk.

“Your grace,” he said, bowing.

She nodded. “Mr. Abernathy.” She tried to get the words “Good to see you” past her dry lips but they wouldn’t move.

She dropped into her seat, scanning James’s face. Handsome as usual, but without a hint of what they were to discuss.

“Very well, Abernathy,” James began in a businesslike voice. “Now that Kate is here, tell us how the investigation is going.”

Abernathy cleared his throat and shifted in his chair. “The case is progressing, my lord.”

Progressing? That was vague. Kate concentrated on breathing regularly.

James leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “What exactly have you learned?”

Abernathy pulled something from his coat pocket. “The runner is investigating everyone, including Lady Bettina and his grace’s valet. Here is his card.” He tossed a small piece of paper on the desktop.

Kate sat up straight, her gaze shooting to James’s. “Runner?”

Abernathy nodded. “Yes, Mr. Horton, the Bow Street runner Lord Medford has hired to investigate your case.”

Kate braced her hand on the arm of her chair. The room felt as if it were twirling. “You hired a runner?”

James nodded once and returned his stern gaze to Abernathy.

Abernathy spoke in a measured tone. “Mr. Horton has spoken to the servants multiple times and gone to Lady Bettina’s town house twice. He’s indicated he has some interesting news to share when next we meet. I have an appointment scheduled with him in London on Friday.”

Kate’s breathing was coming in fast pants now. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest. Interesting news? What did that mean? Friday was far too long to wait.

“Has there been any information about the grand jury?” she managed to choke out, twisting her skirts in her hands.

Abernathy regarded her down his long nose over the rims of his ever-present spectacles. “It’s to be convened after the holidays, your grace. Right after the new year, after Twelfth Night.”

James nodded. “So we have only until then to gather the rest of the evidence and complete the investigation?”

“Yes, my lord, but Mr. Horton has agreed to work day and night, even over Christmastide if he must. With the amount of money you’ve given him, he—”

James cleared his throat and gave Mr. Abernathy another stern glare. Abernathy snapped his mouth shut and cleared his throat too. “Yes, well, quite right, all of that is neither here nor there.”

Kate glanced back and forth suspiciously between the two men. James was spending a fortune on her defense? Oh God. The thought made her elated and completely anxious at the same time. She’d had no idea he’d hired a Bow Street runner to investigate. And apparently he hadn’t wanted her to know. He hadn’t mentioned it to her. Perhaps he did believe in her after all. She bit her lip. But what if Mr. Horton didn’t find anything? Or what if after his investigation was complete, he came to the conclusion that she was guilty? She shook her head. “I don’t understand. What exactly does Mr. Horton hope to discover?”

Mr. Abernathy turned to face her. “Why, the identity of your husband’s murderer, of course.”