certain. “You must be patient, but I know how hard that is.”
Baines came into the nursery, surprising Thomas. And filling him with a sense of dread.
“What brings you all the way up here?” Thomas set Regan down.
“You’ve a caller. Mr. Dearborn, I’m afraid. And he is not alone.”
Bloody hell. What could that mean? Dearborn and another constable had returned yesterday and searched the entire house. Thomas didn’t think they’d found anything—at least they hadn’t said they had. “Is Sheffield with him? Broad-shouldered fellow with dark red hair.”
Baines shook his head. “That does not match the description of either of the gentlemen who accompanied him.”
“There are two?” Bloody, bloody hell. “Will you fetch the nurse?”
Baines quickly departed.
Squatting down, Thomas crooked his finger at Regan. “I must go downstairs and meet with someone. I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Thank you for the puppets, Papa.” She threw her hands around his neck and kissed his cheek.
Thomas held her close for a moment. He inhaled the soft, sweet scent of little girl—his little girl—and felt a hitch in his chest. He kissed her temple before letting her go.
Miss Addy came into the nursery and immediately took over. Reluctantly, Thomas left.
As he descended, his feet felt heavier and heavier. He realized he wasn’t certain where the constables were waiting. After peering into the drawing room and finding it empty, he decided they must be in the front sitting room.
Taking a deep breath, he went down the final staircase and ran into Baines. “The sitting room?” Thomas asked.
“Yes, my lord. Do you require anything?”
“Strength? Patience?” Thomas summoned a placid smile. “Everything will be fine, Baines.”
Thomas went into the sitting room. The three visitors, and Thomas assumed they were all constables, were spread about the room. One was near the door, another in front of the windows, and Dearborn stood in front of the wall where the portrait of Thomas and Thea used to hang.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” Dearborn said. He inclined his head toward the wall. “What happened to the portrait of you and your wife?”
Whether it was due to irritation or a simple need to just be honest, Thomas said, “I tore it apart and burned it.”
Dearborn’s eyes widened, and the man near the door coughed.
“I see,” Dearborn said. “Well, I suppose that answers our question about your penchant for violence.”
“You came to question me about that?” Thomas asked irritably.
“Actually, no. As you know, we searched your house yesterday. We were still looking for that penknife.”
“And you didn’t find it.”
“No. We did, however, find a substance in a container in your upstairs sitting room. It was in the cabinet where you keep the liquor. That’s why we came back yesterday to search the entire house.”
Thomas tried to think of what the man could be describing, but had absolutely no idea. He rarely opened that cabinet. There was always a bottle and glasses on the top—and that was all he needed to pour a drink. “What substance?”
“We weren’t certain what it was, but we’ve since determined it to be hemlock.”
Why was there poison in his bloody liquor cabinet? Oh no… Thomas felt as though the air around him had thinned. He could see precisely where this was going. “You think this is evidence,” he said softly.
“It’s poison.”
“Lady Rockbourne wasn’t poisoned. She fell.”
“Hemlock can cause paralysis. Perhaps she was poisoned and that contributed to her falling.”
“That’s a great deal of supposition. In fact, that’s all you have. She fucking fell. After she came after me with a knife, intent on stabbing me. She hated me, was a horrible wife and mother, and I’m relieved she’s gone. If that makes me guilty of murder…” He clenched his fists. “No, it doesn’t make me guilty of murder. It simply makes me guilty of despising her in return and lacking in regret at her passing.” He was perhaps not as horrible as her, but he wasn’t blameless. Neither was he trying to pretend he was.
“There is evidence,” the constable near the door said. He was older than Dearborn, probably around forty, with gray-and-black hair and a slender frame. “The letter from Lady Rockbourne, testimony from your household as to your temperament that isn’t, shall we say, completely favorable, and the hemlock. You also lied to Dearborn at the onset of the investigation. We will disinter Lady Rockbourne’s body and test her for hemlock.”
“You can’t do that,” Thomas said through his gritted teeth.
“Her mother has already requested that we do. It will be done.”
What did it matter? They wouldn’t find anything. Unless