A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,83

of something. “There was one instance I remember quite clearly. It occurred perhaps a year before his father died. The late Lady Helmswick had a habit of defending her son’s actions, at least to others, but in this case, she didn’t even try to. I gathered that whatever he’d done was so shocking, she could hardly grapple with it.”

Now this was interesting. I set my empty teacup and saucer down on the bed a short distance from me. “And what did his father do?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think he knew. At least, his wife seemed determined he not know.”

I sank back in my pillows, curious what the young Helmswick could have done that had so upset his compliant, indulgent mother that she had resolved to keep it from his father. Had she been able to keep the secret? And if not, what had the elder Helmswick’s reaction been? And did any of this have anything to do with what had happened to Helmswick here in the crypt?

I couldn’t see how, but I tucked it away in my memory to consider later.

“What of the rest of Helmswick’s life? The rest of his family? Was Lady Eleanor his first wife?” I’d not forgotten the strange statement he’d made to Charlotte about her making him a much more suitable bride.

“Let’s see. Helmswick has no brothers or sisters. They all died in childhood, as they so often do.” She said this without any real inflection, unconscious of the pulse of fear those words sent through me. “His father’s brother was stationed somewhere in India. Quite the nabob, as I understand it. I believe he’s still there. And his mother was an only child. So I’m afraid there’s not much family to speak of. And no previous wives.”

Then why had he said that to Charlotte? The fingers of my left hand tapped the coverlet beneath me in agitation as I puzzled this. Perhaps there had been an earlier attachment, a previous indiscretion. Someone he had been pressured to wed either because of some sort of thoughtless act or a familial understanding. Someone he had decided he would not wed because his consequence was too great. It might explain the incident that had so shocked his mother. If he had gotten, say, the vicar’s daughter with child and then refused to marry her. That would cause quite the stir.

Unless the issue of suitability itself pertained to Lady Eleanor.

“How much of a stickler to propriety is the younger Helmswick? At least, when it comes to his wife,” I clarified, for we all knew the rampant hypocrisy that most gentlemen—most men in general—held when it applied to their own behavior versus that of what they expected from their wives, sisters, and daughters.

“Oh, he undoubtedly expects the strictest of decorum from his wife. Recall, he believes the example set by his mother and father to be the ideal.”

“Except Lady Eleanor is no shrinking violet.”

“No, she is not.”

The look we shared was significant, both of us wondering how Lord Helmswick had handled this discovery. Had he tried to cow her? Had he resorted to violence? Or were vicious words and threats more his style? My fingers curled into fists at the remembrance of all I’d endured at Sir Anthony’s hands, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of empathy for the duchess’s daughter.

“What of the rumors about her parentage? Would Helmswick have had any qualms about that?”

Her brow furrowed. “Possibly. He certainly wouldn’t feel any such qualms about holding it against her.”

I nodded. Undoubtedly, it was a familiar fault he hurled at her, as if the circumstances of her conception meant whatever charge he’d raised against her was to be expected.

I laid my head back against the pillows to gaze up at the bed curtains, feeling the effects of the laudanum taking hold. This dose must have been slightly larger than the last. There was a fuzziness at the edge of my thoughts and my eyes felt sticky. I had to concentrate doubly hard to pay attention.

“Are the rumors true then? About the younger four?” Lady Eleanor and Lord John had admitted to it, but I was curious what Lady Bearsden knew, both as an inveterate gossip and the dowager duchess’s friend.

“Despite the duke’s acknowledging them as his, I don’t believe there’s truly any doubt.”

“And the fathers? Do you know who they are?” I narrowed my eyes, wondering whether blackmail of some kind could play into all this. Whether the real fathers might wish to remain unknown.