Page 3 of The Etiquette of Love (The Academy of Love #7)

F reddie stared down at the open ledger that held her monthly household accounts. How in the world would she get by until next year without the small amount that her roommate and dear friend, Lorelei Fontenot, had contributed?

Oh, Lori had not said she was moving away forever when she’d gone to visit her family, but Freddie had a premonition that the younger woman would not be coming back to live with her again, even if she did return to London.

The house Freddie rented was large—five bedchambers along with the carriage house—and she should have sought out more roommates ages ago, after Honoria Keyes and Serena Lombard both left to marry, one after another. But the thought of having strangers in her home had been repugnant, so she had avoided it. But now, that was something she would have to—

“My lady? Lady Sedgewick?”

Freddie jolted and looked up to find her housekeeper hovering on the threshold. “I am sorry, Mrs. Brinkley.” She gestured to the ledger. “I was deep in my figures. Did you need something?”

“There is a—a person here to see you.” With a pinched look of disapproval, the older woman approached and held out a card.

P. A. Gregg

A voice came back to Freddie. I will call on you… soon. When I do, we can enjoy a long, private discussion. The words had hung in her mind, but as the days and then weeks had passed with no visit from him, she had started to believe his threat an empty one.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell her servant to send him away—why should she admit the man to her house?—but then she recalled Plimpton’s interference that night and bridled at the memory. When she opened her mouth, what came out was, “Please show him in, Mrs. Brinkley.”

The older woman frowned but nodded and shut the door.

Freddie closed the ledger and set aside her paperwork before standing and checking her appearance in the large mirror over the fireplace. The woman who looked back at her was as neat as wax and just about as exciting. Freddie knew she was considered attractive, but she found her pale face, ash blonde hair, and gray eyes profoundly uninteresting. If she could look like anyone, it would be her friend Lori, whose brilliant green eyes, raven hair, and voluptuous body were a stunning combination.

Unfortunately, she was stuck with colorless and boring.

She heard a step in the corridor and turned from the glass as the door opened.

“Mr. Gregg, my lady,” Mrs. Brinkley announced, disapproval radiating from her very pores.

“Thank you, Mrs. Brinkley. That will be all,” Freddie added when the other woman appeared predisposed to linger.

The man who had earned Mrs. Brinkley’s censure sauntered into the room—and saunter was certainly the right word. He moved with unhurried, lazy grace but his sharp dark brown eyes took in every detail of her cozy little sitting room.

Freddie gestured to a chair that was as far as possible from the settee. “Please, have a—” she broke off, stammering, when Gregg kept walking, not stopping until he was mere inches from her.

Freddie refused to step back in her own parlor, so she held her ground, which meant she was forced to crane her neck to meet his gaze.

His almost black eyes were unusual with such light blond hair, which was the sunny gold of ripe wheat. His face was thin—gaunt, almost—and composed of sharp angles. The lines bracketing his mouth and nose and those radiating out from his eyes were the sort that came from spending years beneath a blazing sun. The word weatherbeaten came to mind.

Suddenly, he smiled. No, it was a grin, crooked and roguish and charming.

And…familiar.

A strange sensation—as if she were up high in the sky looking down on herself—caused Freddie to feel nauseated. Her view flickered and then changed to something else entirely, until she was looking at another place. Another time .

Another person—one who had died a long, long time ago.

“I—I—you need to state your business and then go, ” she said shrilly, clutching at the back of the nearby chair.

Rather than look offended, his smile broadened. “My business? Why, you are my business, Little Bird.”

Freddie gasped and heard a distinct crack , like the shattering of glass, and then everything went dark.

***

“Wake up, Little Bird,” an urgent male voice whispered while a large hand frantically patted her cheek. “Please—wake up.” The hand patted harder.

Freddie forced her eyes open and grabbed the arm connected to the annoying hand. “Stop that.”

The patting stopped and a voice muttered, “Thank God.”

Freddie saw that she was reclining on the rose brocade settee. Kneeling beside her was Mr. Gregg, his tanned face now pale with concern.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“What?”

“Your name—do you know it?”

“Of course, I know my name,” she snapped, and then winced and felt her head.

“I just wanted to make sure you didn’t damage your head,” he explained. “You cracked it hard when you fell. It is not bleeding, but there will be a lump.” He held out a glass. “Here, drink some water.”

Freddie ignored the glass, her head now pounding as well as spinning. “You said L-Little Bird. How do you know that name?”

“How do you think?” Mr. Gregg grinned again. The source of all the unease—the wordless confusion—she had felt the few times that she had been in proximity with this man suddenly became clear. “It’s me, Piers. I did not mean to startle you, but I could not think of how else to tell you.”

“ Piers ?” she gasped.

Her beloved older brother, whom she’d believed dead, chuckled and said, “It took you long enough to recognize me, Little Bird.”

“But—but they told me you died. Wareham told me.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry about that, Little Bird. I had to put an end to anyone searching for me.”

“Wait—you mean you made up that story?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Freddie felt a sharp pang of guilt at Piers’s admission because she had immediately assumed that it had been Wareham who had come up with the rumor.

But then she remembered it had been Wareham who had sent Piers away in the first place. “You left because he told you to, didn’t you?” she asked, not needing to explain who he was.

“Don’t be angry with Wareham, Winny; he did what he could to help me. He was the one who gave me the money I needed to get away.”

“But he made you go instead of helping you,” she insisted.

“No, he helped me by making me go.”

Freddie scoffed. “He could have used his money and influence to clear your name, Piers. He could have—”

“He could not have done that.”

“What do you mean? Of course he could have. If an earl had championed your innocence and—”

“He could not help me if I was not innocent, Little Bird.”

Freddie’s jaw dropped. “Are you saying you killed that man?”

Piers shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Good Lord, Piers! How can you not know such a thing?”

His jaw knotted with frustration. “Because I simply cannot remember. I’d had a great deal to drink that night. So much that I have no memory of what happened after a certain point. I recall leaving the Fox and Hounds—the inn where I encountered Wareham and the others, who’d gone there to watch a mill.” His dark eyes—the only feature on his face that even remotely reminded Freddie of the fresh-faced boy in her memory—slid to hers and his lips flexed into a self-mocking smile. “Wareham and I got into an argument about the bloody chess pieces again. I insisted on going to Meecham’s house even though Wareham strenuously tried to dissuade me and—”

“Wait, Piers. Who is this Meecham and what chess pieces are you talking about?”

Piers’s eyes widened. “You haven’t heard about the chess set from Stroma?”

Freddie shook her head.

“You don’t know who Meecham was?”

“No.”

Piers gave a bitter bark of laughter. “Good God. What have you been told about me, Little Bird?”

“Wareham said you’d killed a man in an argument and then fled. And then, several years later, he said you died.” She didn’t tell Piers that for years Freddie had not believed Wareham. Part of her had always wondered if it was something Sophia had convinced him to say. She felt ashamed now that she had believed Wareham capable of such cruelty.

Piers sighed. “You should know what happened, Winny.”

“I should have known a long time ago. Tell me what happened, Piers. All of it. And start at the beginning.”

“David Meecham is the man I am accused of murdering. He was the youngest son of Viscount Meecham, but he had been disowned years before I met him and was something of a…well, let’s just say he wasn’t good ton . That summer David became my traveling companion after Wareham banished me from Torrance Park and—”

“Banished? But why?”

“Because I deserved it. Really, Little Bird,” he said at her disbelieving look. “I had been playing deeply and got myself in trouble. Wareham had already bailed me out of debt more than a few times.” He grimaced and then added, “He had also paid the fathers of two girls I, er…Well, I am sure you know what I mean.”

“Oh, Piers.”

“I’m sorry, Little Bird. You shouldn’t have to hear such things, but the truth is that I was reckless and selfish, and Wareham was hard put to keep me out of gaol even before Meecham was murdered.”

“I cannot believe that I have never heard any of this.”

“I am sorry, Little Bird. Have I fallen from my pedestal?”

Freddie felt slightly ill. Not so much because she was angry at Piers—although it certainly shocked her to hear her beloved brother had been a rake–but because of the accusations she had flung at Wareham so long ago. Angry words blaming him for driving Piers away from England, accusing Wareham of being glad that Piers had gone.

“Poor Little Bird,’ he murmured. His lips pulled into the sardonic smile that she associated with Mr. Gregg—a cynical sneer she had never seen on young Piers’s face. The expression was perhaps more of a disguise than his light hair, darkly tanned skin, and lean features had been.

“Before you go on, I need to know about those girls you mentioned. You have two children, Piers?”

“Yes. I sought out both women since my return. Wareham had given the girls enough money that they were able to marry well.” He pulled a face. “I am already a grandfather. I earned a great deal of money while I was away, so I’ve made sure none of them will ever want for material comforts. It does not excuse what I did, but it is all I can do now.”

Freddie nodded. “Tell me the rest of your story—what were the chess pieces you mentioned?”

“Meecham and I wandered about the north of Scotland for months. The cold, inhospitable land was an appropriate place for banishment and fit my mood perfectly. Meecham stayed with me not out of friendship, but because he, too, was evading the bitter fruits of bad behavior. In any event, we’d been staying in a village whose name I don’t recall when we heard of a shipwreck off the island of Stroma. Many people on the mainland said the islanders on Stroma were wreckers—you have heard of them?”

“People who cause ships to founder and then ransack them.”

Piers nodded. “There are even stories that they kill, rather than rescue, any survivors who make it to shore. Whether the islanders were guilty or not, the tide carried a goodly amount of wreckage to the mainland and out of their clutches. Meecham and I were combing the shoreline when we found something.” Piers’s gaze turned distant. “It was a small chest, and it was obviously very old. It had been badly battered by its rough journey, but fortunately the contents were well-protected from jostling and the elements. It held a chess set of a design that I had never seen.” He wore an expression of wonder when he turned to her. “The set was not complete—it was missing five pieces—but we knew that what remained must still be of value. The pieces were mesmerizing, Winifred, they had so much… personality , for lack of a better word. Meecham suggested we take them to an acquaintance of his in Edinburgh, a man who belonged to the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland.”

Piers stared into the past. “The man was stunned. He immediately said that even incomplete, the set was beyond price. He estimated they originated in the twelfth century and were probably from somewhere in Scandinavia. He offered us money for them—an outrageous sum that Meecham wanted to accept—but I told him we should not be hasty; that we should look for additional verification from some other source. The British Museum, perhaps, or men who were known to collect such things. Meecham took some convincing before he agreed. Together we swore his friend to silence. He agreed only on the condition that when we were ready to sell, he would have first right of refusal. We were badly skint and needed money to travel and so we sold one piece to Meecham’s friend. The sale yielded enough money to make us feel as rich as kings, which is exactly how we proceeded to behave.” He gave a derisive snort. “We were young fools, Little Bird. By the time we reached Torrance Park we had run through a good deal of our newly acquired wealth. I convinced Meecham that my brother would help us find a buyer for the rest of the pieces. I argued that Wareham would have the sorts of connections in London that neither of us could boast. Meecham knew I was right, and so he agreed to talk to Wareham. But the one thing he remained steadfast about was refusing to allow Wareham to keep the pieces in his vault at Torrance Park. If he had, then none of the rest of what happened would have occurred.”

“What happened?”

“To make an already long story a bit shorter, Wareham confided the details of my, er, acquisition, in his closest friend.”

“Plimpton?”

“Who else?” Piers asked bitterly. “Plimpton was a close associate of the Duke of Devonshire, who is a renowned collector of such things. Naturally, Plimpton asked Devonshire about the pieces to see what he knew. That was when he discovered the set had been stolen from Devonshire years before.”

Freddie winced. “Oh, no.”

Piers nodded grimly. “Oh, yes. Wareham, not surprisingly, insisted the pieces needed to be returned—including the one we had sold. He wrote to the man who’d purchased it, explaining it had been stolen, and he paid to recover the piece.” Piers’s mouth flexed into a scowl. “When I told Meecham, he raged that the set belonged to us by virtue of some arcane finder’s law. He said we should sell it immediately before anyone could stop us. I pointed out we could do no such thing even if I had wanted to. Not only did Wareham and Plimpton know the pieces were in our possession, but at least half-a-dozen of their friends who were at that blasted house party had actually seen the set. Its existence could not stay a secret long. And there would be hell to pay if Devonshire learned of it from some other source. We had to give it back. Finally, Meecham agreed. Or so I believed,” he added darkly. “I’d told him I would arrange with Wareham to use his carriage to take us to Devonshire’s estate in the country. It was inconvenient that Wareham was hosting a gathering at the time—one of his bachelor orgies as we used to call them—” he broke off and met Freddie’s startled gaze. “Oh, I beg your pardon. Er, they were just parties—nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I see.”

Piers chuckled. “Look at you—a very disapproving Little Bird, indeed.”

Freddie smiled reluctantly, unable to resist his teasing. Some things, it appeared, never changed.

“I gather those parties stopped after Wareham married?”

Freddie nodded.

“I understand from the bits of gossip I’ve managed to collect that Wareham married a woman who was a bit of a gorgon,” Piers said. “How did you get on with her?”

“I do not care to speak ill of the dead.”

Piers frowned. “Was she unkind to you, Little Bird?”

“She was not an easy woman to live with.”

“Was she the reason you fell out with Wareham?”

“That is not a subject I want to discuss,” she said, calmly but firmly.

Piers hesitated, but then nodded. “Very well.”

“Tell me the rest of what happened.”

“There isn’t much more. I went to talk to Meecham and tell him we were leaving. Somewhere between Torrance Park and the house where Meecham was staying I simply lost track of myself. I’d had several drinks while I waited to speak to Wareham—I remember that much—but that is the last thing. I found out afterward that Meecham’s house had been ransacked and the chess set was nowhere to be found.”

“Did it ever turn up?”

“I wondered about that for years—decades—and the first thing I did when I returned to England last year was—”

“You were here last year ?”

He gave Freddie a wary, guilty look. “I was.”

She was astounded by the pain that stabbed her at his words.

He leaned forward and took her hand, squeezing it lightly when Freddy merely let it sit limply in his grasp. “I am wanted for murder, Little Bird, and I cannot even say the accusation isn’t the truth. I spent my time here last year looking into my past with as much delicacy as I could, hoping to find out what might have really happened. I spoke to Wareham and he and I decided—”

“Wareham knows that you are alive?”

He grimaced. “Yes.”

“You told him , but not me?”

“I’m sorry, Little Bird.”

Freddie’s eyes narrowed. “What a fool I am. It was Wareham who told you not to tell me last year, wasn’t it?”

Piers opened his mouth, but then shut it without speaking.

So, there was her answer. “What did he say to you? Just tell me, Piers,” she demanded when he hesitated.

Piers heaved a put-upon sigh. “He said the chess set was never found. He said that after I left England, he went to Devonshire himself and told him the truth. The duke was kind enough not to bay for my blood. Whether he actually believed that I did not have set, or he simply kept mum out of respect for Wareham—or Plimpton, rather—I do not know. Not that telling the story would have done anything for him at that point. I was long gone, Meecham was dead, and the set had disappeared. Wareham told me last year that the local constabulary had officially closed the murder case when they learned of my death. He said my reappearance would lead to the reopening of the whole mess and there would be nothing he could do to help me.” He chuckled. “You are scowling at that, Little Bird. But don’t be angry at Wareham.”

She ignored his teasing and said, “I know he helped you leave England, but did he ever do anything to find out what really happened, Piers?”

“I believe he tried his best. There just wasn’t a great deal to go on, love. Servants heard me arguing with Meecham and the next thing anyone knew, I was found covered in blood in a ditch clutching the murder weapon, the chess set was gone, and Meecham’s body—with multiple stab wounds—was discovered in the study where we’d last been seen together.” He shrugged. “It is entirely possible I fought him in a drunken rage and killed him. In fact, that is probable. What else could have happened?”

“The chess set is gone , Piers. That should tell you that somebody else took it.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps Meecham sold it, fearing we would be forced to return it.”

“When had you last seen the set?”

Piers chewed his lip. After a moment, he said, “Two—maybe three-days before the murder. We trusted each other no further than we had to. We both agreed to look at the pieces every few days just to keep that trust strong. Maybe I discovered that night that he’d sold it. That would be enough to kill him.”

Freddie ignored that last part. “Do you often lose your memory from drink?”

“No. That was the only time. Once was enough,” he added grimly.

“You say other people saw the set?”

Piers nodded. “Meecham and I brought it out one night, so most of Wareham’s guests would have seen it.”

“What if one of them stole the pieces and set you up to be the suspect?”

He frowned. “One of them killed Meecham?”

“Why not?”

“Those men were all peers, Little Bird. Every single one of them belonged to the same clubs as men like Wareham, Plimpton, and Devonshire. They were not the sort to steal from each other.”

“And you are?”

He blinked at that.

“It seems to me you have accepted your guilt with very little proof, Piers.”

“I was covered in his blood and a bloody knife was found beside me.”

“Did you recognize the knife?”

“No, but—”

“Are you sure it was his blood?”

“But…how?”

“Perhaps one of them drugged you—that would explain you having no memory of it.”

He gave a startled laugh. “Do you really believe somebody hatched a plot to make me look like a murderer?”

“I believe that theory more than I believe you bludgeoned a man to death. Do you really think you are capable of such a thing?”

He slumped back in his chair, looking dazed. “I have believed it for more than half my life.”

Freddie could see that he was looking at the event from a different angle for perhaps the first time. How had he allowed himself to believe in his guilt when he had no recollection of it? Was it really so easy for him to believe he was a murderer because of an accident of birth? Because he lacked the same pedigree—or at least the legitimacy—of those other men who had been there. Piers was—or at least he had been back then—a selfish, irresponsible, reckless youth. But a murderer?

Freddie refused to believe it.

“Bloody hell. You really think I might be innocent?”

“In my heart, I know you are,” Freddie said without hesitation. “But I know my faith in you is not evidence. It will not be enough to spare you from the noose. We need evidence, although what we can find so long after the fact I cannot imagine. We will have to look at the men who were there when this happened. I suppose maybe one of the servants might have done it, but I truly believe we can rule them out. It has to be one of the other guests who—”

“ Who is this we, Little Bird?”

“You do not honestly believe that you can poke around in these people’s lives without drawing attention, do you?”

“And you do?” He barked a laugh. “If what you believe is correct, there is a killer still at large.” He shook his head. “No. I forbid you to get involved.”

“You forbid me?”

“Do not get your hackles up, Winifred. This is my problem to solve,” he said sternly. “If I want help; I am a grown man and can ask for it.”

She flinched at his cool tone.

“Don’t give me that look,” he said.

“What look?”

“The one that says I am being cruel and unreasonable by refusing to allow you to risk your neck. Give me your word you will not poke around in this.”

“I will give you my word to do nothing…yet.”

“ Yet ? What do you mean?”

“I mean I will not do anything until you have time to think the matter over and see the sense in what I have offered.”

He looked to be grinding his teeth. “That is not good enough. I want you to promise me you will not do anything without telling me first.”

Freddie stood, fetched her appointment book off her desk, and flipped to a blank page. “I promise I will not do anything dangerous. But I can help you draw up a list of who was there. And I can tell you—”

He gave a dismissive wave. “I already have a list.”

“But are you sure it is comprehensive?”

He hesitated.

Freddie seized on that. “I can find out—”

“I said no, Little Bird.” At her hurt look, he sighed. “I promise that you and I will sit down together—soon—and discuss the matter ad nauseam . But not today.”

“Why not today?”

“Because I have a few questions for you . Why did you marry Sedgewick?”

Freddie reluctantly closed her appointment book. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t try that trick on me.”

“What trick?”

“Looking all wide-eyed and confused like a—like a harmless kitten.”

She could not help smiling. “A kitten? I do not believe I have been called that before.”

“Yes, you have; you just don’t recall it. Wareham and I used to tease you about those huge eyes of yours in that little face. But do not change the bloody subject.”

“ Tsk, tsk. Language, Piers.”

He merely stared.

“What makes you think I did not marry Sedgewick simply because I wanted to. He was a very handsome man, after all.”

“Damnit! Don’t toy with me, Little Bird. Why did you marry him? And why did Wareham allow it? As for Sedgewick’s looks, I am well aware he’d been a handsome devil back when I ran with him—”

“You and Sedgewick were friends?”

“I did not say we were friends —I didn’t care for the scoundrel above half—I said I ran with him. He was a rake and hell on women, and yet he always had more chasing him than you could shake a stick at. But he was twenty years your senior! And given the sort of life he lived I doubt he was much to look at by the time you married him.” He swept her person with an assessing gaze. “You are a damned beautiful woman, Little Bird. You can’t tell me that you didn’t have scads of men after you. So, why him? Why Sedgewick? Just tell me the truth, dammit!”

“Why are you so upset about this, Piers? It was a long time ag—

“Was it because of money?”

Thinking about her awful marriage always left Freddie dispirited and this time was no exception. “I will answer your question if you give me your word this will be the last time we talk about it.” A glance into his almost deranged eyes made her add, “And I also want your word you will not confront Wareham about it.”

Knots ran up and down his jaw as he glared.

“Promise me, or we are finished with this discussion right now.”

He uttered an extremely vulgar word and said, “Fine. I promise.”

“You were right when you said Sedgewick drew women in droves. But you were wrong to think he lost his looks.” She snorted softly. “If there was any justice in the world he would have looked like a gargoyle, as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside. But I have learned there is no justice. He was twenty-four years my senior, but he was still an extremely attractive man.” Freddie chewed her lower lip, not wanting to share this next part, but Piers had just bared a great many ugly parts of his past, hadn’t he?

“I wanted to marry him because I was attracted to him. Very much so.” At least during their courtship and for the first few months of her marriage.

Piers looked discomfited by her confession. “Oh,” was all he could muster.

Attracted was too weak a word; what she had felt for Sedgewick had bordered on fascination. Now that Freddie was older and more experienced, she knew that what had both drawn and repelled her had been Sedgewick’s sexuality, which she had sensed even though he had kept a tight leash on that part of himself during their courtship. He had let a little slip once they had been married, not ripping off his handsome mask and exposing her to the full extent of his depravity until she defied him.

After that, Sedgewick had never bothered with his mask again. At least not for Freddie.

As much as she still hated and loathed her dead husband, she had blossomed those first few weeks of marriage, when he had been a generous and attentive lover. She had adored the way Sedgewick had made her feel in the bedchamber. And she had reveled in the naughty pleasures he had shown her.

Later on, when things were at their worst, she had castigated herself for being led by her base desires. For a time, she had hated herself worse than Sedgewick.

But that was ancient history now; it had been years since she had despised the sensual streak in her own nature, no matter that it had led her into a truly miserable marriage.

While she did not hate that part of herself any longer, neither did she encourage it.

At least not until Plimpton .

“Winifred?”

Freddie wrenched her mind away from the too-attractive duke. “Oh, where was I? Yes, my marriage. I was flattered by his attention. Even so, I did not want to marry before tasting the delights of a Season. But Sedgewick did not want to wait six months, and so I decided that accepting him was better than losing him.”

“You were seventeen! What could you possibly know about anything? Why didn’t Wareham tell him to go to the devil?” Piers demanded. “He never should have considered that snake’s suit. It was that goddamned wife of his who put the idea into his head, wasn’t it?”

There was no point in lying. The woman was dead and so was Freddie’s hatred. “Sophia came to me after I had told Wareham I wanted to wait. She told me how Wareham was deeply in debt to Sedgewick—that the expense of a Season would just be more of a financial burden. She said Sedgewick would forgive Wareham’s debt if I agreed to marry him, but that—”

Piers shot to his feet. “That lying cunt !”

Freddie gasped. “ Piers!”

He stared down at her with an almost crazed look. “Have you ever known Wareham to gamble for more than chicken stakes?”

“No,” she admitted. “But I assumed that he had learned his lesson after—”

“He had no lesson to learn, Winifred. Those bloody debts were mine ! And Wareham—goddamn his rigid honor—took them onto his own shoulders and you are the one who ended up paying for them.”

“I—I don’t understand. How could they be yours? You had been gone for years by then.”

But Piers had stopped listening. He grabbed a handful of his thick blond hair and groaned. “I cannot believe this,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. He paced the room like a caged animal.

“Piers, please—I beg of you. Sit down and calm yourself,” she said, when his agitation showed signs of becoming worse.

He spun on his heel. “ I am the reason you married that monster. And do not try and tell me that he was not a monster! When I heard who you had married, I could not believe Wareham had allowed it. I wondered if perhaps Sedgewick had done the impossible and reformed himself. So, I went to that little village that was scarcely a mile from Sedgewick Hall and bought a few rounds at the local taproom. More than one servant was willing to talk about their dead master and his poor, innocent bride.”

Freddie was horrified by what he must have heard. More than that, she was furious at him for doing such a thing. “How dare you pry into my past, Piers?”

“Tell me it isn’t true—tell me the man wasn’t a beast to you?” His hands flexed at his sides.

“That part of my life is dead and buried. I will not exhume it for you, or anyone else.” Freddie stood. “If you are going to indulge in an orgy of guilt about your part in it all—if you had any part at all—then you can do so elsewhere.”

For a moment, he goggled. And then, to her astonishment, he laughed. “Good God but you have grown into a magnificent woman, Little Bird. Just like I always knew you would. You are absolutely correct. I have no right to barge into your life and enact dramas in your parlor.” He held out his hand. “Do you forgive me?”

Freddie set her hand in his. “Of course, you are forgiven, Piers. Now, why don’t you sit down, and I will ring for some tea.” She smiled. “If you won’t talk to me about that long ago weekend and allow me to help prove your innocence, then at least you can tell me what you have been doing with yourself these past three-and-twenty years.”