A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,69

to court me when I made my coming out. But then Lord Stratford swooped in and took an interest in me, and, well, my father and I only had eyes for him.” Her face twisted in bitter regret.

Being a diamond of the first water, and the most vied for debutante the year she made her come out, it was no surprise she had been courted by so many highly ranked men.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m not certain Lord Helmswick would have been much of a catch either.” Though one could hope he would not have attempted to rid himself of her once he realized she could not give him a son and heir, like Stratford had. “From everything I’ve learned thus far, he was not the kindest or most considerate of men. I do not think his marriage to Lady Eleanor has been happy.”

Her brow furrowed, and I thought she was contemplating what her life would have been like had she encouraged Helmswick rather than Stratford. A useless exercise, in my opinion, for Stratford had been determined to have her, and had she wed Helmswick instead, she might still be trapped in a loveless marriage with a selfish, unpleasant husband. But when she spoke, I realized I was wrong.

“Do you know if Lady Eleanor is his first wife?”

I opened my mouth to reply, and then paused to ponder. Had Lord Helmswick had another wife? I didn’t think I’d ever heard one mentioned, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. After all, he was nearly a decade older than I was.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Why? Did he mention her to you?”

“Well, no. Not in so many words. But he said something odd to me once. Frankly, it unnerved me because he seemed so angry when he said it. I think that’s why I still remember after all this time.”

“What did he say?”

“Something to the effect of, ‘Now, you will make a suitable bride for a man such as me. Yes, a much better countess.’ Is that not odd?”

It was, and I told her so, but it didn’t mean he was speaking of a late wife. “Could his family have been pressuring him to wed someone he deemed unsuitable?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. But his father was already dead.” She glanced to the side, biting the corner of her lip. “And his mother, as well, I believe.”

But there could have been other family members badgering him—an aunt or uncle wanting him to wed his cousin or some such thing. I would have to look into his family tree.

Of course, the unsuitable bride could also have been Lady Eleanor, though I struggled to imagine what would make the earl reckon a duke’s acknowledged daughter as being unworthy of him. Unless he was so punctilious about bloodlines that the rumors of her parentage were too unsavory for him. But then why had he wed her anyway?

I pushed the puzzling problem aside for the moment to focus on Charlotte. “Do you feel better now?” It was a somewhat redundant question, for she was visibly calmer and had set her sodden handkerchief aside at some point in the middle of our conversation.

“Yes, thank you.” She smiled gratefully. “I shall think about what you said.”

“Good,” I declared, rising to my feet, and she with me. I was reaching out to offer her a tentative hug when a movement near the door drew my attention. It was naught but the flutter of a shadow in the corner of my eye, and I dismissed it from my thoughts as Charlotte pulled me in tighter. It had probably been Rye looking in on us, or someone else searching for a moment of solitude and retreating when they’d discovered the solar was already in use.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” she whispered, and I knew she was speaking about Rye.

“Then think about what it is you need, what it is you want, and then be honest with him. Whatever it is.” I pulled back to look at her. “He wants you to be happy. And if you can’t be with him, then he deserves to know it. And he deserves to know why, even though it may hurt him.”

She nodded, tears glistening on her lashes again.

“Just . . . don’t let fear control you. If you do that, then even though he’s dead, you let Stratford win.”

A spark of anger glinted in her eyes, and I knew, perhaps before she did, what she would choose. For she would