The Anatomist's Wife (23 page)

“How far along are you?”

“A month, six weeks. Not long.” Greer sobbed, and Alana adjusted her position.

“Do you want me to take her?”

Alana shook her head, stubborn as always.

“How are you feeling?”

“How do you think?” she snapped. She took a deep breath and rested her head back against
the seat again. “Sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s all right,” I told her automatically. Then I broached a topic I knew she was
going to dislike even more. “You’re exhausted. Why don’t you leave the children with
me and lie down and take a nap.”

“I’m fine,” she replied woodenly.

“Alana.”

“I promise you I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

Her gaze met mine, and I could see the fear holding her in its grip. “I can’t leave
the children,” she replied, knowing what I was really hinting at. “I just can’t. Not
yet. Maybe when the man from Inverness arrives, but not yet.”

I ached for her. The knowledge of what had happened to Lady Godwin’s unborn child
clearly distressed my sister. Especially now knowing she carried another little one
inside her—one she probably had not wished for. Her instinctive reaction was to protect
her own babies, and the only way she could do that was by keeping them in her sight.

“Would you lie down on one of the children’s beds and take a nap if I took care of
the children?” I asked, sensing it would take physical force to pull my sister away
from the nursery. Neither Philip nor I wanted to go down that road.

“You have to finish your investigation,” she protested. “Besides, I need you to take
my place as hostess at dinner this evening.”

I balked. “Do they really need a hostess? I mean, surely they could get by without
one.”

“Kiera, please.”

“I should think Philip’s aunt, Lady Hollingsworth, would do a much better job.”

“Kiera,” she begged. “I need you to do this for me. I know it is a lot to ask of you,
but I need you to do it, nonetheless.”

I groaned, hating the way her tone made me feel guilty. This
wasn’t
a lot to ask of me. I was her sister and she had taken me in sixteen months ago without
a single hesitation. “Fine. But only if you do something for me in return.”

Alana’s gaze turned wary.

“I’m going to recall the nursery maid, and when she arrives, I want you to take a
nap—right over there on Philipa’s bed.” I pointed toward the pink-frilled bed in the
corner. “Will you do that?”

Sensing my determination to be just as stubborn as she could be, she nodded in defeat.
I hopped up to pull the tasseled cord that would ring for Molly before she could change
her mind. Planting my hands on my hips, I turned back to find my sister watching me
with a small smile playing across her lips.

“It’s not often, but once in a while you manage to do something conniving enough to
assure me you have our St. Mawr family blood flowing through your veins after all.”

I pursed my lips. “Yes, well as conniving as that was, I’m quite certain you got the
better end of the bargain.”

Her smile brightened, and I whirled around to leave the room.

“Enjoy your dinner, dear,” she called after me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

D
inner that evening went far better than I expected, though by no means did I actually
enjoy it. How could I when no one would stop talking about Lady Stratford’s detainment?
Many of the guests claimed they had suspected the countess all along, but, of course,
none of them found it necessary to apologize for condemning me instead. Only Lord
Westlock, who was positioned on my right, now that I sat in Alana’s place, had the
grace to appear uncomfortable and embarrassed in my presence. And well he should,
for I still sported a lump on the back of my head that was tender to the touch.

Gage was lauded and fussed over for uncovering the murderer, while I watched in frustration
as glass after glass of wine was lifted to toast his name. More than once, I was forced
to bite my tongue, lest I say something inappropriate or, worse, reveal my involvement
in the investigation. Perhaps I should merely have been content to have the attention
and suspicion removed from me, but I couldn’t help feeling dissatisfied and even a
little angry.

Philip caught my eye and smiled sympathetically as yet another round of wine was poured
for Gage. I nodded in acknowledgment and raised my glass along with everyone else,
choking down another sip of the burgundy while most of the others drained their goblets.

“It must be difficult sitting there holding your tongue,” Lord Marsdale leaned toward
me to drawl, irritating me with the reminder of his presence.

I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised that, as acting hostess, I would be stuck
sitting between Marsdale and Westlock, a marquess and baron, respectively. Lord Stratford
had declined to join us for dinner; otherwise, he would be seated in Westlock’s place.
I couldn’t say I would have liked that arrangement any better. At least Lord Westlock
was quiet. Though, Lord Marsdale more than made up for his silence.

“What?” I asked, having more and more difficulty hiding my annoyance with the man.

He ran his finger around the rim of his glass. “Well, after all, didn’t you have a
great deal to do with catching Lady Stratford?”

I looked him squarely in the eye for the first time that night. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about.”

He chuckled. “Come now, Lady Darby. There’s no need to lie to me. Mr. Gage is intelligent
and clever, but I’m quite convinced you had more to do with this than anyone is letting
on.”

I contemplated the surge of pride that welled up inside me and made me want to confirm
his statement, to announce to the entire table what I’d done. It seemed unfair that
Gage should receive all the credit. I had to remind myself that I hadn’t assisted
with the investigation for the accolades. I had done it to protect my sister, my nieces
and nephew, and to clear my own name. Admitting I had taken part in the autopsy and
uncovering the child’s grave would only cast more scandal on my name, and that of
the family I defended. The guests might be comfortable with Gage in the role of hero,
but my participation would only arouse more suspicion. It was better this way, no
matter what my pride thought.

“Poor man,” Lady Hollingsworth murmured into her empty wineglass from the seat next
to Marsdale, distracting me from his bold stare. “Lord Stratford must be beside himself.”
Her arm wobbled as she raised the glass overhead to signal to the footman passing
behind her. How much had Philip’s aunt had to drink?

“I would be
horrified
,” Lady Bethel bleated from across the table, pressing a hand to her rather substantial
bosom. “Why, if Bethel ever did such a thing, I . . . I . . . I don’t know
what
I would do.”

I hoped she would contact the authorities.

“He must have had some clue as to what kind of woman she was.” The marchioness sipped
from her refilled glass. “I mean,
I
could see it. Lady Stratford was always so cold. It’s no surprise her husband found
another woman to warm his bed.”

Lady Bethel tittered, and I blushed. Stuffy Lady Hollingsworth had definitely consumed
too much wine if she was willing to discuss such intimate matters at the dinner table.

She leaned forward as if to impart some juicy secret; however, her whisper emerged
loud enough for half the table to hear. “Or that she was crazy enough to kill his
mistress because of it.”

I frowned, not liking the woman’s suppositions. It was exactly the same kind of cruel
speculation that swirled around my reputation after I was dragged before the magistrate.
I set my fork aside with an audible clink, unable to palate another bite of the cook’s
delicious beef tenderloin. The ladies glanced at me distractedly but were too caught
up in their conversation to pay me much notice. I stared across the distance of the
table, trying to capture Philip’s attention. If his aunt was this sotted, I was certain
he would want to be warned about it.

“At least now the earl will be able to find a new bride,” Lady Hollingsworth declared,
her words beginning to slur. “This time, one who can give him an heir.” She nodded
rather conspicuously toward her daughter Caroline, who smiled at whatever the gentleman
next to her was saying, blissfully unaware of her mother’s plans. I inwardly cringed.
A match between Caroline and the earl would be a disaster—for Caroline. I could not
care less how Lord Stratford fared.

“Oh, yes,” Lady Bethel nearly cooed. “I hear he’s
desperate
for an heir. If he dies now, the title and entailed property goes to some distant
French
cousin.” She pronounced the man’s nationality as if it carried the plague.

“Oh, how horrid!” Lady Hollingsworth commiserated.

Lady Bethel nodded and then leaned forward over the table. I worried the contents
of her bodice would spill out over her plate. “But do you really think they’ll
hang
her? A
countess
?” Such a prospect seemed to appall the baroness more than anything else.

Her friend was not similarly afflicted. “But of course. As well they should. She killed
another gentlewoman. If Lord Stratford’s tart had been some demirep or a servant girl,
perhaps it would be a different matter. But one can’t simply go around killing gentlewomen,
even if you are one yourself.”

I opened my mouth to scold the women for their extreme insensitivity when I felt a
subtle pressure against my leg under the table. My gaze flicked to Marsdale, whom,
in the intensity of my anger, I had forgotten. He shook his head subtly, cautioning
me against speaking. Reluctantly, I swallowed the heated words, feeling them scald
the back of my throat like a drink of too-hot tea.

“I’m surprised you haven’t made any witty rejoinders,” I bit out through clenched
teeth, wondering at his uncharacteristic silence during the ladies’ ridiculous conversation.

He smiled sadly. “Some conversations do not deserve wit.” He glanced at the two women
still deep in conversation, and when he looked back at me, there was a twinkle in
his eyes. “Especially when they lack good taste.”

I couldn’t stop the small twitch of a smile from curling my lips at his implied insult
to the ladies, who were completely unaware that they had just been reproached, and
by one of society’s most notorious scoundrels, no less. Marsdale grinned over his
wineglass, clearly pleased to have amused me.

Feeling someone’s gaze upon me, I glanced up the table to find Gage watching us. Even
annoyed as I was by all the praise he was receiving, I couldn’t help but be struck
by his good looks—made all the more arresting by his black evening kit. I wanted to
blame it on my artist’s eye, but I knew I would only be lying to myself. Gage was
attractive to me as more than just a portrait subject.

Gage nodded, just a slight dip of his head so as not to draw the others’ attention.
I nodded back, wondering if the gesture was a dismissal. Now that the killer seemed
to be caught, did he no longer see a use for me? An ache began to form beneath my
breastbone.

“So that’s how it is.”

I turned distractedly to Marsdale, whose eyes shone with devilry. “That’s how what
is?”

His head tilted to the side, a sly smile playing over his mouth. “There’s no need
to play naive with me. All you had to tell me was that you preferred light . . .”
he nodded toward Gage “. . . to dark.”

A flush of heat raced up my neck and into my cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking
about. I don’t prefer anything.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t,” I insisted, reassuring myself that it was the truth. I truly didn’t care
what color a man’s hair was.

“Well, then,” he drawled, wagging his eyebrows and adopting his customary lazy grin.
I knew it was aimed to disarm me. “There’s still hope for me yet.”

I sighed and shook my head at the man, but he refused to be deterred, and I unexpectedly
welcomed his outrageous flirting and inappropriate commentary, grateful for the distraction
it provided from the rest of the table.

After dinner, I accompanied the ladies to the parlor for tea. I anticipated that I
would have to endure their gossip and small talk for at least a half an hour before
the gentlemen deigned to join us, so when they began to wander in no more than five
minutes later, I thought perhaps Philip had taken pity on me. However, it swiftly
became clear from the men’s excited talk that was not the case. Philip’s mare, Freya,
was foaling. It was very late in the season for such a thing, but I knew my brother-in-law
had been expecting the horse to give birth for days now. He and Mr. Abingdon had rushed
directly to the stables from the dinner table, and several of the other men were talking
of joining them. Not wishing to remain any longer than necessary, I decided my favor
to Alana had been fulfilled and slipped out of the room before anyone could detain
me.

The fire in my hearth snapped merrily, casting flickering shadows across the walls.
The firelight winked and flashed in the stained glass propped atop the mantel. When
I was a little girl, I had taken the two pieces from a broken window being replaced
in the village church near my father’s estate, loving the way the colors merged and
swirled, changing with the light. I brushed my fingers over the cool, smooth glass,
watching as the shadows cast by my fingers deepened the colors almost to flat black.
In stark comparison, the surface away from my fingers seemed to ripple in the firelight
like water, like a living thing.

I turned away, feeling oddly hollow inside. I stared at my bed, the fatigue from so
many sleepless nights pulling at my bones, but I knew my head would never rest. Not
with this pit growing in my stomach and the fear and doubt coalescing in my mind.
I knelt to light a pair of candles from the flames to brighten the room. Then I dragged
my tired feet across the carpet and slipped off my shoes to curl up in the window
seat. Hugging a pillow to my chest, I parted the curtains and peered out at the carriage
house below.

It sat, quiet and unobtrusive, next to the stables, which bustled with activity. Gentlemen
milled outside in the carriage yard with the coachmen and stable hands, all waiting
for the foal’s birth. Even the footman who stood guard at the door to the carriage
house was drawn to the excitement, though he was careful to maintain his post. I wondered
if Lady Stratford and Celeste could hear the men, and whether they worried they were
there for them instead of a horse.

There was a knock on my door, and thinking it was my maid, I called out. “Come in.”

“I thought you were locking your door,” a deep voice replied.

I looked up to find Gage lounging against the doorjamb, one hand cradling a bottle
of champagne, and the other a pair of glasses. My heart tripped in my chest.

“What are you doing here?” Hearing the breathless quality of my voice, I swallowed
and added, “I thought you would be joining the other men down in the stables.” I nodded
toward the window.

“I have seen enough foalings . . .” he closed the door with his foot “. . . to last
a lifetime. I have no need to see another.”

I had not pegged him for a man who cared much for horseflesh. “How many foalings have
you witnessed?”

“Two. One when I was an adolescent still trying to figure out a woman’s body, and
another years later, while I was deep in my cups. I did not enjoy either experience.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “You thought to learn about a woman’s body from a horse?”

He grinned wryly. “Silly, I know.”

“Do many boys do that?”

He shrugged. “I haven’t the foggiest.”

I tilted my head to the side. “Well, I suppose it’s a good thing young ladies are
not allowed to view such things, or else we might never let any of you gentlemen near
us.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Better the foaling than the conception.”

I threw the pillow at him and turned toward the window to hide my amusement, continuing
to watch him out of the corner of my eye.

He dodged and smiled devilishly. “You would have gone to your marriage bed expecting
Sir Anthony to bite you on the back of the neck to hold you down.”

“Stop!” I gasped, trying my best to stifle my laughter. I was quite sure he could
hear it in my voice anyway. “I don’t want to imagine that!”

He chuckled. “Well, we certainly don’t want that. I don’t believe my manly pride could
support your thinking of another man while I’m in the room.” He began to work the
cork out of the bottle. It emerged with a pop.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

He poured some of the bubbly liquid into a glass and handed it to me. “I thought we
should celebrate.” He smiled. “This has been an interesting four days. And they would
have been much less enjoyable without your assistance.” He poured his own glass and
joined me by the window seat. “Shall we make a toast?”

“Haven’t you tired of those yet this evening?” I teased.

He grimaced. “Yes. They were all acting a bit ridiculous, weren’t they?” When I didn’t
comment, he laughed. “I’ll take that as your agreement. All right, then.” He perched
on the padded ledge across from me. “This toast is for you, Lady Darby. For I certainly
wouldn’t have found the murderer without you.” Both of our cheeks flushed at the shared
realization that he would likely have accused me of the crime. He cleared his throat
and raised his glass. “To your future. May it be bright and beautiful.”