Page 34 of The Duke of Cups (The Highwaymen #3)

IT WAS TWO days after that before Dunrose finally woke up.

Because of course he woke up.

Well, no, she hadn’t been sure of it, no matter what the valet had said, not truly.

She had spent that first night after Champeraigne’s demise sitting up next to Dunrose, holding one of his hands, inspecting his fingertips, sure that they, in fact, did look blueish.

She had dozed in and out of slumber, and Dunrose had never so much as made a noise or moved.

He’d lain there, on his side, motionless, like a dead man, and she had felt a well of dark despair open up inside her.

What did I think, that they’d let me into this family if I dispatched Champeraigne for them? she thought. How foolish am I?

The next day, Seraphine sought her out.

Hyacinth came down to find Seraphine and Arthford engaged in discussion about her.

“You will give her to me,” said Seraphine.

“As if she isn’t some spy planted here to throw us all off your scent,” Arthford said. “I don’t believe he is dead. I think she’s lying.”

“Oh, he’s dead all right, Simon,” said Seraphine. “Quite dead. She engineered it somehow, and I wish to know what it is she did, and so go and bring her to me, now.”

Which was when Hyacinth entered through the doorway of the sitting room where the other two were speaking.

“There,” said Seraphine, coming across the room. She snatched at the sleeve of Hyacinth’s dress and pulled her towards the door. “We are going together now, to talk.”

Arthford stepped into their path. “Wait a moment. He’s really dead?”

Seraphine turned on him, her expression pale and pained.

Arthford yanked Hyacinth out of Seraphine’s grasp and tucked her behind his body. “All right, then, she’s under our protection. It’s only, I’m confused. She said your husband did it. She said he was drunk and jealous, and everyone knows he’s never been jealous of you.”

“Apparently, mon chaton knows how to bring that out of a man,” growled Seraphine. “She breathed poison in his ear.”

Hyacinth stepped out from behind Arthford. “He loved you more than you thought, Seraphine, that’s all. I could see it.”

“Oh, you think to say you did me a favor?” Seraphine shook her head at her. “After everything? After all I have done for you? How could you?” Her eyes were shining.

“You wanted him to care,” said Hyacinth. “Admit it. You only ever took up with Champeraigne to hurt him.”

“At first! But the comte and I were soul mates. My husband… you don’t know what my husband even is .”

“What is he?” said Hyacinth.

Seraphine shook her head. “You think that it will end now? My husband is the one who has held the comte’s reins, do you understand? You think the man who controlled you is dead, but you don’t understand that my husband was controlling him .”

“What do you mean?” said Arthford, looking confused.

“You’ll see,” said Seraphine. “You shall see, Simon. You and Daniel Roberts and the rest of you, you manipulated mon chaton , you twisted her and took her from me, but you shall regret it all.” A sob wrenched its way from her throat.

She turned to Hyacinth. “And even through all of it, somehow I forgive you. Somehow, I still love you. That is what makes it the worst feeling of all.” On that note, she swept out of the room.

Arthford watched her go. “I’ve never seen her like that in my life.”

“Me either,” whispered Hyacinth.

But then, Dunrose woke up.

He was confused at first. He didn’t recognize anyone, seemingly stuck in some terrible dream. He addressed his mother and his father. He talked about strange shadowy creatures pursuing him up and down the streets of London.

He was not well.

There was worry that he might not regain his senses at all, but within several days, he was correctly identifying people when they came into his room, and by the end of the week, he was asking for laudanum, which no one was interested in giving him.

She was staying there, in the townhouse, and the dukes had questioned her about what she’d done, and they knew she had manipulated Fateux into killing Champeraigne, something they thought was a sure stroke of genius. They all expressed their admiration and gratitude.

Arthford was the only wary one—though he did not suspect her anymore of working against them, thankfully. He was wary of what Seraphine had said, that Fateux would simply step in and continue to blackmail them.

The other dukes agreed that they’d worried this might be a problem, actually, that they had not been certain that eliminating Champeraigne would actually mean that they were free.

But by the time that Dunrose was up and about and moving, they had heard nothing.

Two weeks after that, Dunrose was deemed strong enough to be moved, and so he was sent to Bluebelle Grange with Arthford and Marjorie. Hyacinth was a sort of afterthought, not invited along, and too timid to ask to be brought.

She ended up asking the Duke of Rutchester if she could stay with him, since he had once said he’d do anything she needed. He acquiesced at once, though he said he wondered why Dunrose hadn’t asked for her to come along.

She wondered too.

She hadn’t had much time alone with Dunrose, she had to admit. He didn’t seem to wish to be alone with her, always asking someone else to stay whenever she tried to get a private audience with him. Then he spoke to that other person and never let her get much out.

One night, she’d tried to enter his room in the middle of the night, and he’d told her he didn’t like her seeing him like this, that he was awful when he was trying to get off the laudanum.

Life at Rutchester’s townhouse was mostly uneventful, except when Rutchester got angry, which happened every four or five days, and typically involved Rutchester throwing things, breaking furniture, and screaming profanities.

She learned to stay hidden when that happened, scurrying away at the first sign of Rutchester’s temper.

For his part, he’d always seek her out afterwards to make sure she was all right and to apologize.

It was from Rutchester, then, that she learned that it wasn’t true what Seraphine had said, and that Fateux had no interest in continuing to blackmail the dukes.

In fact, Fateux was currently trying to dismantle all of the fake investments that Champeraigne had set up.

He was giving money back to people, not wanting to be involved in anything like that.

“I’m going to be helping him,” said Rutchester. “He’s been kind to me, and he appreciates my skills.”

“Your skills?” she said.

“He says I shall be an enforcer of sorts,” said Rutchester with a shrug.

This gave Hyacinth pause, because if Fateux was getting out of the entanglements of fake investments and schemes and trickery, what did he need an enforcer for? But she didn’t think that it was wise to say things that would anger Rutchester. She kept this thought to herself.

As Champeraigne’s widow, she attended a reading of his will some time later. Rutchester was there, as was Fateux and Seraphine, and she was happy of Rutchester’s presence, for it seemed neither Fateux or Seraphine were especially pleased to see her.

Champeraigne owned little, and he had very little to leave behind.

She inherited a pittance of money, when all was said and done, and she was still saddled with his name. So much for her thought she’d have enough to get a house for herself or servants. He’d had more debts than Hyacinth had known.

She lingered, after it was over, because she would be riding back in Rutchester’s carriage with him and Rutchester was talking to Fateux.

In the carriage, Rutchester said, “You’re becoming a bit of an issue for me.

Fateux doesn’t like you. Called you some sort of enchantress or witch or something, said you forced him to kill his very closest friend and lost him his wife, who no longer speaks to him.

He says that I can’t be housing you and working for him at the same time. ”

“Right, of course,” said Hyacinth, sighing, looking out the window of the carriage at the houses going by. “I don’t even know why I did it.”

“Well, both Nothshire and Arthford are grateful for what you did,” said Rutchester. “You can go to either of them, and they will shelter you for the time being. I assume you’d rather be with Dunrose at Bluebelle Grange.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, if he doesn’t wish to be near me, then I don’t wish to be near him.”

“Nothshire, then?” said Rutchester.

“Are you sure they won’t mind me being there?” She twisted her hands together.

“Oh, quite,” said Rutchester, waving this away.