A Masquerade in the Moonlight - By Kasey Michaels Page 0,148

him hanging there did to her mama. It’s when she’s done grieving that I’m worried about, sir.”

“Yes, so am I,” Thomas admitted, remembering Marguerite’s wild tears after reading Harewood’s mercifully abridged confession, her refusals to be held or comforted, her gradual descent into stony silence as they rode toward Chertsey.

“I know that girl, and she’s not going to settle for any of the king’s justice, no matter how you told her you wanted to send that there letter to His Royal Highness. No, not my baby. She burnt the thing, you know, late last night after you’d raced us all back here to Chertsey. I couldn’t stop her. And there’ll be no holding her at all once she makes up her mind to go after the earl. She’s already thinking on it, I can tell you that, too. You sure, sir, he ain’t come home to Laleham Hall?”

“Quite sure. Marco and Giorgio are watching for him, but he’s nowhere to be found. Not in London, and not here.”

Maisie lifted a corner of her large white apron to her eyes, sniffling. “I told her it was wrong, from the beginning it was wrong. Headstrong, that’s what she is. Always was. Never could tell her nothing. ‘No one will know it’s me, Maisie.’ That’s what she told me. ‘I just want them to suffer a little, the way I’ve suffered since Papa died.’ That’s what she said. She promised! Well, Mr. Donovan, look who’s suffering now. My baby’s the one, that’s who!”

Thomas put his arm around the maid’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. “It’s going to be all right, Maisie. I hated letting her see Harewood’s confession, but she had to know her father didn’t kill himself. I think, in a way, she’s always blamed herself that he died, believing she’d failed him in some way, that he wouldn’t have committed suicide if she hadn’t placed him on such a high pedestal—that he would have been allowed to fail and still be first in her eyes.”

Maisie nodded, taking a deep breath as if to help compose herself. “Could be. Never saw a love like that, sir. Never. Even shut Miss Victoria out some, the way those two fair doted on each other. Did Sir Gilbert tell you the rest, sir? Did he tell you how we all lied to Miss Marguerite, telling her how her papa died in his sleep? Do you know how my baby found out about Master Geoffrey? How her mother slipped and told her the truth, that day at Laleham Hall just a year or so ago—the day some one of those five men tried to kiss Miss Victoria or something, and the poor lady fell to the ground, screaming? Died a couple of days later, she did, her broken heart just giving out. And m’baby turned hard. All the sunshine left her, and she kept going to those Gypsies, and plotting, and—oh, sir, excuse me for running on like this, but you’ve got to do something!”

Thomas stopped at the head of the stairs. “I will, Maisie. It will all be over soon—and then we’ll watch the sunlight come back.”

“Oh, sir!” the maid exclaimed, then lifted her apron to her face and turned away.

Thomas descended the stairs and entered the drawing room, to see Sir Gilbert sitting there, a blunderbuss by his side, and Finch, similarly armed, standing behind him.

“That murdering bastard will be in for a mighty greeting if he dares to show his face here like you seem to think he might. Though I have to confess, I still don’t quite see why you’re believing he will,” Sir Gilbert declared gruffly. “Here now, lad, stop that frowning. She’ll be all right. She’s had a shock. We all have, come to think of it. More than one, with having to hear how that little girl was running rigs in London without me so much as guessing what she was up to! Margy’s diamonds hanging around the neck of some Gypsy boy? Why, the cheek of it! Ah, but that’s my Marguerite. Just like my dearest Margy. Pluck to the backbone, and up to any rig. I know, because I raised her up to be that way. Strong. Independent!” His lined faced crumpled and he sniffled. “Ain’t that right, Finch? Pluck to the backbone!”

“Right you are Sir Gilbert,” Finch answered heartily, while shaking his head dolefully at Thomas.

Thomas rubbed at the back of his neck. He was so tired, for he hadn’t slept in nearly two days except