the matter, dearest?”
Lady Clifford moved closer and took Cecilia’s hand, bringing her into the light. When she saw Cecilia’s face, her own face fell. “Oh, my dear girl.”
She said no more, just opened her arms.
Cecilia dove into them, the tears she’d been holding back since Gideon walked into the Dower house running down her cheeks, slowly at first, like a trickle of water from a cracked dam, then bursting forth with a fury as the dam gave way. Her chest heaved with sobs, because Gideon despised her now, and nothing would ever be right again.
Chapter Twenty-six
Haslemere House, Surrey
One week later
“How long do you intend to keep up this nonsense, Darlington?”
Gideon raised his head in surprise. He’d been staring into the fire, and he hadn’t noticed Haslemere enter the library. “I don’t know what you mean. What nonsense?”
Haslemere threw himself into the chair opposite Gideon’s with an irritable sigh. “This ridiculous pouting over Cecilia Gilchrist. For God’s sake, man. Saddle a horse, ride to London, and claim your lady.”
“She’s not my lady, and I never pout.” He brooded occasionally—he’d own to that. Even moped now and again, but pouting was just pathetic, especially over a woman. No matter how soft her skin might be, or how sweet her dark eyes, how intoxicating her kiss—
“Oh, no? You forget how well I know you, Darlington. Remember when you were nineteen, and fancied yourself in love with Caroline Ivy? There was a good deal of besotted mooning then, if I recall. Thankfully it was short-lived, but then you weren’t madly in love with her.”
Gideon let his tumbler drop onto the table beside him, then turned a glower on Haslemere. “Are you implying I’m madly in love with Cecilia, Haslemere?” Just because he couldn’t stop thinking of Cecilia, dreaming of her, that didn’t mean—
“Implying it?” Haslemere lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not implying a bloody thing. I’m declaring it to be so, and asking you what the devil you intend to do about it aside from languishing in my library, brooding like some romantic hero and abusing my crystal.”
Gideon set the tumbler upright again with a sigh. “Have I been as bad as all that?”
Haslemere had never been one to indulge a sulk, and he didn’t do so now. “No, you’ve been worse. We both know you’re not going to let her go, so why not get her now, and put us both out of our misery?”
“She lied to me, Haslemere.”
Haslemere rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes. She lied to you, entered your home under false pretenses, and pretended to be someone she wasn’t. What of it? I lied to you, too, and it hasn’t stopped you from drinking all my port.”
That caught Gideon’s attention. “You lied to me? When?”
Haslemere dropped his booted feet onto the leather ottoman in front of his chair. “I told you I didn’t know who Cecilia Gilchrist was, and I did. The moment I heard her name that first morning, I knew she was one of Lady Clifford’s girls.”
Gideon gave him an incredulous look. “You knew? Why the devil didn’t you tell me who she was, then?”
“Because I didn’t want you to send her away. Lady Clifford sent Cecilia to find out the truth about Cassandra’s death. I knew you didn’t murder your wife, so I decided to let Cecilia go about her business and prove you innocent.”
“You put a remarkable amount of faith in the Clifford School,” Gideon grumbled.
“I had a bit of a tangle with one of Lady Clifford’s girls myself—impertinent little chit named Georgiana Harley. Dreadful nuisance of a girl with a tongue that smarts like a whip, but not lacking in wit. She despises me,” Haslemere added, an oddly satisfied grin crossing his lips. “In any case, I was right about Cecilia. No one in Edenbridge is calling you the Murderous Marquess anymore, are they?”
It was true. The villagers who’d helped contain the fire had seen Leanora in her white gown and wig when her lifeless body was removed from the castle. The rumors of the notorious White Lady had come to an end after that, and with it the worst of the gossip about the Murderous Marquess.
There would always be people who believed he was guilty—nothing would change that—but there were more of them who believed him innocent now, and they were willing to shame those who continued to spread the rumors.
Cecilia had done that for him, had fought to prove his innocence. She’d kept prodding, kept digging until she got to the truth, so far buried