Wicked Again (The Wickeds #7) - Kathleen Ayers Page 0,85
for what they’ve done. I won’t be happy until I see Pendleton so tainted by poverty, he will never be thought a brilliant star of Parliament. I want Lydia on the street, begging for money to buy her precious brandy.” Marissa took a deep gulp of air ignoring the squeeze of pain. “It is my duty to Reggie.”
Trent, how could you?
Arabella nodded slowly and stood. “And what, Aunt Maisy, is your duty to Haddon?”
Marissa turned away, not willing to meet Arabella’s eyes.
“You love him. Any fool can see it.”
She didn’t bother to deny it. Never had she imagined this would be the way her affair with Haddon would end. And it would, because surely after Miss Higgins was ruined with Haddon not far behind, he wouldn’t even be able to look at Marissa again.
He told me he loved me.
Perhaps he did. Or maybe those beautiful words were only an attempt to get her to stop the destruction of all things Pendleton. Guilt her into ceasing the revenge she was inflicting. Could he possibly be in league with Lydia?
Another dull, painful ache went through her. The very idea sickened her.
“I’ll take my leave as I sense you need to be alone for a time.” Arabella paused before the door. “How ironic, Aunt Maisy, that you now find yourself in the same situation both Nick and I have faced. Revenge or the desire of your heart.” She said nothing for a moment though Marissa sensed her hovering in the doorway.
“I don’t envy you, Aunt. It is a difficult choice.”
26
Marissa pulled her cloak tighter as the carriage rolled up the drive to deposit her at Lady Ralston’s doorstep. It was a crisp, cool night. There were even stars twinkling in the darkness if she peered out the windows of her sleek carriage.
“They will never profit from Reggie’s death again. Even with the dowry Miss Higgins brings, the family will remain impoverished.”
At least Lydia wouldn’t benefit any longer. Marissa had received the news last night from Tomkin that Lady Pendleton, after drinking a substantial amount of brandy, had tripped in her son’s drawing room while sitting in her chair before the fire. Lydia hadn’t fallen into the roaring flames on the hearth, which would have been a fitting end. Witches are often burned to death.
Instead, she’d hit her head on a portion of the mantel which, ironically, was made of Blue John.
Marissa breathed on the glass of the window, seeing it fog immediately from the cold outside.
According to Tomkin’s report, the physician summoned had declared Lady Pendleton had likely suffered a fit of some sort before hitting her head. Lydia couldn’t speak. Or walk. She would be bedridden for the remainder of her life. Simon was, even now, making plans to have her removed to Brushbriar where Catherine could care for her.
Marissa felt a rush of pity for Simon’s beautiful, wanton sister. Catherine would now be trapped playing nursemaid to the incapacitated Lydia in the hollowed-out husk of Brushbriar.
“You’ve won, Aunt.”
Marissa should be gloating over Lydia’s unfortunate but timely accident; instead, it was the loss of Haddon which was foremost in her thoughts. Nearly a fortnight had gone by since she’d seen him. Not since the evening before Arabella had visited with her unwelcome news.
He’d been telling me goodbye.
There was no question any longer that Haddon knew of Marissa’s revenge against Pendleton. Shortly after her niece’s disturbing visit, Marissa had fortified herself with another glass of whisky. There had to be a logical reason why Haddon would beggar himself for Pendleton, Marissa just didn’t know what it was. Unable to wait a moment longer to confront her lover, she’d dashed off a note to Haddon, requesting he call upon her directly to discuss something of import.
There was no immediate reply. In fact, Marissa didn’t receive a response until well after tea. Business, Haddon had written, would keep him from calling on her. He expressed his deepest apologies for the inconvenience but gave no indication of when he would call. Or if he meant to.
More unsettling, Jordana declined to visit Marissa for tea the following day, claiming she was feeling ill.
Marissa pressed her fingers into her stomach as Lady Ralston’s mansion came into view. The sickening dread, the same darkness she’d felt since Haddon had left her after promising he never would, filled the carriage, threatening to strangle her.
Two more days had gone by with no word from Haddon, so Marissa had tried again, this time asking him to join her for dinner.