If the story did not involve such pain for Annie, it would have been a very romantic rescue.
“It will tell you how ill and abused she was that she obeyed me without the slightest argument.”
Beatrice wanted to comfort him, put her head on his shoulder, but could hear Mr. Garrett rustling his papers. She feared he would think it too intimate a gesture. Instead she whispered, “I am so sorry.”
He patted her hand in a fatherly way and she withdrew it from his. “Annie is the one who suffered the most. In every possible way.”
Beatrice nodded, but that did not mean his suffering was any less painful.
“When we arrived back at Pennford my brother was sickened by her story.”
He drew a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder toward where Mr. Garrett sat working. Whatever passed between them was communicated without words and Jess went on.
“But when my brother the duke confronted Crenshaw, the man insisted that Annie and I had contrived the alleged abuse to cover an affair.” He shook his head and actually smiled a little. “I love her, but like a sister, mind you, and my family knew it. More than once my father had hinted that we two should make a match, but neither of us wanted that.”
Beatrice wondered if he had ever “wanted” any woman enough to consider marriage. Or was the entire idea of being tied to one woman unappealing to him?
“In the end I told my brother that Crenshaw could apply to the House of Lords for a divorce on the grounds of infidelity and name me as the paramour, even though it was a lie.”
Too noble, Beatrice thought. Much too noble.
He looked at her for the first time since he’d started recounting the story, his face all too revealing, a mix of cynical, sober, and sad. “It was the one time in my life that my reputation for wildness was a help and not a hindrance. For Annie it meant the end of her life in society, as much by her own choice as the ton’s. She stayed at Pennford and never went to London or even Birmingham again. Among the ton, Crenshaw had all the sympathy any cuckolded husband without an heir could possibly want.”
He sighed as if exhausted with the telling. “When another scandal made the rounds in a few months I was forgiven, for the most part, and welcomed back into those corners of society that I enjoyed the most. I never was one for Almack’s. And so I expect that when you have your Season we will hardly move in the same circles, my dear Miss Brent.”
“It is a tale of heroic proportions, my lord. Your willingness to sacrifice all for the good of a friend. I commend you for it. But then, tell me, why would you still wager with the man?”
“Make no mistake, we avoid each other. I suspect if he had known I would be in attendance here he would have found a way to back out.”
There was a tap at the door and Jess went to answer it. Darwell came in and, with a curtsy to the two gentlemen, addressed her. “Miss Beatrice, you must come back to your room now. Your sister needs you.”
Beatrice stood and took Jess’s hand. “I will keep your words in complete confidence.”
Jess smiled. Truly. “Thank you. Leonie Darwell is among the few who know the truth. As does Lord Destry. Your sister must be your dearest confidante, so I will trust your judgment to impart as much of the story to her as you wish.”
“To ruin his reputation, if only with Cecilia, is no less than he deserves. Death would be too kind.” Beatrice regretted her words immediately. She walked over to Mr. Garrett. “I’m sorry, sir. That is unchristian of me, but anger rules at the moment.”
“I forgive you, and please believe that God understands anger better than we do. Crenshaw will have to explain his deeds when he is before God. Even I take great pleasure in thinking about that meeting.”
Beatrice nodded and left them with a gracious curtsy, following Darwell. As she and Darwell made their way down the passage, Beatrice told her, “Lord Jessup told me about Annie’s marriage to Lord Crenshaw, and the divorce.”
Darwell’s nod was her only comment but a moment later she could not seem to resist. “Lord Crenshaw does not know the meaning of truth. I think if he were to face death he could not