Page 43 of A Duchess of Mystery (The Mismatched Lovers #3)

R ichard followed the party escorting Isabella back up the steps, across the terrace, and through the house, Atkins in his wake.

All the while his mind was churning with the revelation of Isabella’s whispered confession, her entreaty to him to take care of Dora, and the certain knowledge that even had she done what she’d just admitted, he didn’t want to lose her.

The conviction had also seized him that the confession wasn’t what she’d been going to tell him just before they were interrupted.

Outside the front door stood a carriage bearing the coat of arms of Lady Dangerfield’s absent husband.

It was into this that the two men hustled Isabella, as though she was a common criminal, and there seemed to be nothing he could do to prevent it.

He could hardly overrule a justice of the peace, even though the fellow’s colleague had come to a different conclusion about Marcus’s death.

Now it was in the hands of the law, a proper process would have to be undertaken to free Isabella and absolve her of guilt.

He ground his teeth in impotent frustration.

What was it she’d been about to say to him before they were interrupted?

After her arrest her demeanor had changed completely.

There’d been such an air of resignation about her, as though she were giving up, unable to fight against the odds any longer.

As though she were resigned to her fate.

Hooper climbed up to ride beside the driver, which would give more room inside. Presumably, they were taking Barker inside the coach in case Isabella gave in to the murderous tendencies of which they’d accused her.

Lady Dangerfield turned to face him as she was about to mount the step into the carriage, her face ugly with satisfaction and smugness.

“You must think yourself lucky you have been saved from a similar fate to your predecessor,” she said with the air of someone convinced that whatever she was doing must be right.

“I can only say that it is with great relief that the man I hired to investigate His Grace’s ruthless murder has succeeded in finding the necessary evidence to convict her.

You may rest in peace in your bed tonight, Your Grace. ”

Richard glared at her. “I think you will find, my lady, that you have made a grave error here.”

Her eyes widened. Did she imagine he approved of this?

She must have been blind to his earlier reaction.

Either that or she was stupid. Possibly both.

She recovered herself quickly enough, though.

“I think not. A witness has come forward who is prepared to swear that they saw her carry out the murder.”

She couldn’t resist playing what she saw as her trump card.

However, as Richard was now certain she was the woman he’d overheard in the garden last night, he was also doubtful as to the veracity of this “witness.” Money had probably changed hands, as she’d implied it could.

Everything in him fought against believing Isabella’s confession.

Everything. She simply wasn’t a murderess.

Maybe he was a fool for thinking this, but he did.

From inside the carriage came a grunt of annoyance. Perhaps Barker disapproved of her ladyship disclosing her hand so early in the proceedings.

Lady Dangerfield gave him a smile that would have looked well on the face of a shark, Richard having once seen one of them close up, with all their ferocious teeth. He was quite surprised to note that hers were not sharp and pointy. “She will find it impossible to wriggle her way out of this.”

Unable and unwilling to answer that, Richard stared into the carriage, his eyes meeting Isabella’s.

She looked away with calm deliberation, as though she couldn’t meet his eyes, her face paper pale.

Her lower lip wobbled for a moment, before she had it back under control.

Richard’s heart, already seriously involved, broke for her.

The desperate longing to be able to snatch her out of that carriage and into his arms nearly overwhelmed him.

Lady Dangerfield, unaware of his reaction, climbed in behind Isabella and Lady Brocklebank and, having closed the door, pulled down the blind aggressively.

Her driver cracked his whip, and the horses moved off.

Richard was left standing alone on the gravel forecourt, his heart, most uncharacteristically, in shattered pieces.

He stared at the retreating carriage, while the whirl that was his mind gradually began to settle into some sort of shape. It was only after a full minute had passed that he became aware of Atkins standing beside him. A discreet cough alerted him.

Richard turned to the butler. “Where will they take her?”

Atkins, his face as pale as Isabella’s had been, gave a shake of his head.

“I don’t know, Your Grace.” The old man’s voice shook.

“There is a jail in the middle of town, in the marketplace, I gather, beside the courthouse. And of course there’s the Bridewell, but that is beside the workhouse and reserved for the indigent poor.

They wouldn’t take her there, would they?

Surely they wouldn’t, Your Grace? She is a duchess. Our duchess.”

Richard’s turn to shake his head as despair welled.

“I don’t know.” He glanced back towards the house, but it afforded him no answers.

Its blank windows stared back at him in stony silence.

If only the walls could talk and could tell him the truth of what had happened on that fateful night.

If he knew that, he would be in a far better place from which to defend Isabella and secure her rapid release.

“You heard what they said, Atkins. They have a witness ready to swear he saw the murder. Do you think that’s even possible? ”

Atkins shook his head with positivity, as though glad to be able to answer a question. “No. They couldn’t have one. Whoever it is, they are lying.”

Exasperation swept over Richard. The biggest problem here was that everyone was lying, even if it was with the best of intentions.

No one wanted to tell him the truth. And now look what had happened, all because everyone was being so secretive.

He banged one fist into the other palm. “It must be one of the servants. It has to be. Who else is there they could have bribed to say this?”

Atkins nodded. He seemed to have shrunk in on himself more than ever, his clothes hanging off him, making him resemble some withered old scarecrow and not a duke’s butler.

“None of the servants would betray the duchess, I’m sure.

We’ve all seen what she’s had to put up with.

We all love her.” It seemed this had untethered the old man’s tongue at last.

Richard squinted up at the topmost windows, to the attics, where most of the servants had their rooms. “Money is a great invitation to imagination.”

Atkins shook his head. “None of the servants could have seen anything, Your Grace, and would not have pretended they did. I’m certain of it.

Only myself, Mrs. Barnes, and Amos were present that night.

The others remained asleep in bed. It’s not me, and I can vouch for Mrs. Barnes and Amos.

They’ve worked here most of their lives and owe this family so much.

We all hold Her Grace in the highest esteem.

Neither I nor they would have been tempted by a fat purse. Rest assured.”

A chill breeze blew across the gravel forecourt. “I know you wouldn’t have, old friend. You have no need to tell me that. I believe you. So, only you three were there at first, with Isabella and Lady Dora?”

Atkins nodded. “That is correct. No other person was involved.”

“So their witness has to be a liar. There’s no fear anyone could have seen anything.”

“No, Your Grace. No one saw anything. I am quite certain.”

From the kennels at the back of the house came the sound of dogs having a group howl.

Perhaps they knew their mistress was gone, or it was just time to be fed.

Richard glanced back at the house. Best to continue this conversation out here, where no one could overhear it.

Especially if there was a spy lurking somewhere in the household.

“Then you’d better come clean and tell me exactly what happened.

I think I deserve the truth. Hold nothing back, this time, or I’ll be able to do nothing to help Her Grace.

This truly is a matter of life and death, my old friend. ”

Dora, who had retired back to bed once Isabella had left her, was awoken by the sound of wheels crunching on gravel.

She yawned and stretched, for a moment far away in her dreams still.

Then the import of the sound sank in. She sat up on the bed and listened.

A vehicle, by the sound of it a sizeable one, was driving away from the house.

Drawing her peignoir more tightly about her body, she slipped off the bed and approached the window.

Sure enough, a carriage was just breasting the rise heading north towards the Winchester Road.

Impossible to recognize at this distance, but clearly the vehicle of someone of importance.

Who could have been calling on them this afternoon, so soon after the ball?

All their friends had been present last night, so no one had any reason to visit today.