A Stroke of Malice (Lady Darby Mystery #8) - Anna Lee Huber Page 0,93

any alleged confessions.” She shook her head, her voice turning bitter. “There is nothing to be feared from such accusations except embarrassment. And believe me, we have all endured more than enough. What’s one more?”

I felt a pulse of empathy for the duchess, for the disillusionment of her marriage. I found I couldn’t fault her for trying to find happiness elsewhere once she realized the duke’s true nature, but that had been her choice. As had the fact that her children had five different fathers. I was not going to pity her the results of her dancing from one lover to another.

“Did Helmswick know who your daughter’s father was when he married her?”

“Of course. She didn’t keep the matter secret from him. Not once their relationship became serious.” She frowned. “I sometimes wonder if that might have been part of her appeal.”

She couldn’t mean her daughter’s unorthodox conception, so it must have been the identity of Lady Eleanor’s father. A royal, she had said.

“I understand that Lord Marsdale is quite close to your children.” I eyed the duchess, curious how she would respond. “That at one time there was even some expectation that he and your daughter might wed.”

She sank deeper into the rounded corner of the sofa, her shoulders almost slumping. “Ah, yes. That was my and his mother’s hope.” Her lips curled at the corners. “She was one of my dearest friends. There was a time when we were nigh inseparable.” Her voice trailed away, along with her thoughts. Until a grim cast suddenly tightened her features. “But Norwich never approved of me. And when Lavinia fell ill, bedridden at his moldy pile of stones, he barred me from her presence.” She sighed, the anger that had tinged her voice draining from her. “But that was a long time ago. I hear Norwich isn’t expected to outlive the New Year. And I find I don’t have the will to hold any further grievances on the matter. What’s done is done.”

Which was all well and good, except that wasn’t the information I sought. “Why didn’t Marsdale and Lady Eleanor wed?” I pressed.

She held up a hand forestalling me. “I’m not going to air their past differences. If you wish to know the truth about that, you’ll have to ask them. Just as I’m not going to speculate on their current relationship. Once again, you’ll have to discuss that with them.”

I supposed I couldn’t fault her for not wanting to discuss it. Whatever she did or didn’t know, she had been placed in an unenviable position. But the facts of the matter were that her son-in-law was most likely dead—killed here, at the castle, where her daughter was now carrying on an affair with possibly her first love. I could not overlook those things. Not when the death was so violent, and the concealment of the body indicated it was murder. If I did so now, for her, then what did that say about me? What did that say about all of our past investigations? Did I truly care for truth and justice, or only when it suited me?

“Why did you rush to your daughter’s aid here at Sunlaws?” She opened her mouth to speak, but this time it was my turn to forestall her. “And before you tell me it was because of the cholera, you should know that the dowager duchess told me to tell you that, if you won’t tell me the truth, she will.”

If I’d thought I’d seen the Duchess of Bowmont at her angriest earlier, I was sadly mistaken. Such fury blazed in her coffee brown eyes that I had to fight the urge to shrink away from her.

“Does she, now? Such honor, such integrity,” she sneered. “For all but her daughter-in-law and grandchildren when they ask for her assistance and discretion.” She turned her head aside with a sound of disgust.

Given the fact she’d essentially admitted she hadn’t been entirely honest with me despite promising me she would, I felt little sympathy. Her outrage at her mother-in-law was a bit like the pot calling the kettle black. But I bit my tongue, deciding I would get the truth from her faster if I remained silent.

Her long, elegant fingers drummed the upholstery for several seconds before she begrudgingly began to speak. “Eleanor was . . . unhappy in her marriage. Very unhappy. I’ll spare you the details, but she and Helmswick did not suit. At all.” She exhaled, shaking her head. “I worried about just