The Lady Confesses

chapter Eighteen

Elizabeth had absolutely no idea as to Nathaniel’s thoughts during these past few minutes of silence, but the look that glittered in the darkness of his eyes as he spotted the knife in Sir Rufus’s hand indicated that he was at least aware of the other man’s instability of temperament, as well as the precariousness of Elizabeth’s position as she stood beside him.

‘Rufus?’ she turned to prompt lightly.

He smiled down at her. ‘Of course Osbourne must stay to dinner, if that is what you wish, Harriet.’

Elizabeth swallowed down the nausea she felt each time this man called her by her mother’s name instead of her own. She couldn’t help shuddering inwardly when she contemplated what events could have led to his decline into madness.

Of course, it could simply be that Giles Tennant, having killed first Harriet and then himself, had initiated Sir Rufus’s mental decline, in that he had lost in one day both his younger brother and the woman he himself had so obviously loved. Yet Elizabeth was inclined to think there was more to it than that, especially as Mrs Wilson had revealed earlier today that Sir Rufus had not cared for his brother as much as people had believed that he did, and that he’d been jealous of him from the moment of his birth.

How deep would that jealousy have been towards his much more handsome brother for having captivated the woman that he himself loved? Enough, perhaps, for Sir Rufus to have wished to destroy them both?

Elizabeth felt another cold shiver of apprehension down the length of her spine even as she suggested, ‘Then shall we all go into the house?’

‘An excellent idea.’ Nathaniel stepped forwards to offer Elizabeth his arm, his gaze compelling on the paleness of her face until she had come to his side. He was instantly able to feel the trembling of her hand she placed it on his sleeve. ‘Perhaps you should return that knife to the hothouse first, Tennant?’ Nathaniel prompted.

‘What? Oh.’ Sir Rufus looked down at the knife in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. ‘Of course,’ he said and turned back into the hothouse.


It was exactly the opening that Nathaniel needed and he wasted no time in placing Elizabeth firmly to one side before stepping forwards to pull the door tightly closed behind Rufus Tennant and holding it there. ‘Go, Elizabeth,’ he instructed fiercely. ‘Go now!’ He wanted her in a place of safety before he opened the door and dealt with Tennant.

‘But—’

‘I am unsure how long I will be able to contain him!’ Even now the older man had realised Nathaniel’s intent and was trying to force the door open from the inside and the nine-glass windows that made up the top of the door would not withstand the force of a fist should Sir Rufus decide to use that method of escape.

‘I will get help—’

‘I do not care what you do—as long as you leave here immediately!’ Even now Tennant had increased his efforts to free himself, tugging on the door with all the strength of his derangement, the knife still in his hand.

Tears flooded those beautiful blue eyes as Elizabeth seemed unable to move. ‘Oh Nathaniel, he—he—’

‘I know.’ He winced as he imagined her terror during these past few minutes of being completely alone with a madman. And the danger was not yet over. ‘We can talk of this later!’ he said as the window beside the door handle was smashed outwards, quickly followed by Tennant’s hand reaching through the jagged remains of glass to grasp Nathaniel’s arm in a clawlike grip. ‘Go, Elizabeth!’ Nathaniel grated as he managed to keep the door closed.

Elizabeth had no intention of leaving Nathaniel to deal with this situation alone, instead looking frantically about her for something to help him in his efforts to contain the other man. She finally spotted some small decorative rocks in the garden bed a few feet away, dashing over to wrench one of them from the soil before running back and bringing it down painfully on Sir Rufus’s clutching hand.

‘Harriet!’ Sir Rufus looked at her soulfully through the glass-topped door, but made no effort to release his hold on Nathaniel’s arm.

‘Elizabeth,’ she breathed raggedly, wincing as she brought the rock down on that grasping hand a second time. ‘My name is Elizabeth, not Harriet!’

‘That is a lie!’ Sir Rufus’s expression darkened furiously. ‘A nasty vicious lie! Did Osbourne put you up to this?’

Elizabeth blinked. ‘Nathaniel is but an innocent bystander—’

‘Not so innocent!’ Sir Rufus turned his vicious blue gaze on the younger man. ‘Was the death of your horse not enough of a warning to keep your filthy hands and thoughts off Harriet? Do you wish me to teach you another lesson in manners—?’

‘You killed Midnight?’ Elizabeth gasped in shock as she stumbled back a step.

Sir Rufus looked pleased with himself. ‘A little poison from one of the compounds I use for growing my roses mixed into his water bucket soon took care of him, yes.’

Not soon at all—Midnight’s death had been slow and agonising. And this man—this monster, was responsible for that death and Nathaniel’s pain.

‘And Hector?’ Elizabeth glared at him. ‘Did you have something to do with his disappearance?’ Remembering Hector’s recent growls every time this man came anywhere near him, and the unexplained abrasion on the dog’s front paw, Elizabeth was sure that he had.

Sir Rufus smiled. ‘He is such a trusting little animal that it was an easy thing to tie him up for an hour or so before then returning him to his grateful mistress.’

Elizabeth saw red at the pain and suffering this man had deliberately inflicted on innocent animals. ‘You—truly—are—a—monster!’ With each word Elizabeth brought her rock down on the back of the man’s hand, who refused to release his grip despite the skin now being broken and blood running freely. Elizabeth felt sick at the sight of all that blood. But she felt sicker still at the thought of Sir Rufus escaping the hothouse!

‘Harriet—’

‘I am not Harriet!’ Her voice rose angrily. ‘Do you understand?’ Her eyes flashed through the window at him. ‘You have mistaken me for someone else. Do you hear me? I am not Harriet!’

Nathaniel instantly felt concerned at the look of utter fury that possessed the other man’s face. ‘Elizabeth, do not incite him—’

‘He is mad, Nathaniel!’ Elizabeth cut angrily through his reasoning tone. ‘Completely and utterly mad. Worse than his treatment of Midnight and Hector, I believe he might actually be a—a murderer!’ she choked emotionally, the tears starting to fall hotly down her cheeks.

‘Harriet—’

‘Harriet is dead!’ Elizabeth turned fiercely on Sir Rufus. ‘Dead, do you hear? She has been dead these nine years or more!’

‘No!’ A look of horror washed over his face and Nathaniel felt the grip on his arm fall away as the other man staggered backwards, his face deathly pale, his gaze unfocused.

‘Did you kill her?’ Elizabeth stepped forwards to press against the broken hothouse window. ‘Did you kill both my mother and your brother?’ she demanded angrily.

If Nathaniel had needed any further confirmation as to Elizabeth’s real identity, then he now had it. For his callous treatment of Midnight and Hector alone, this man deserved to be horsewhipped, but if Sir Rufus had actually killed Harriet Copeland and Giles Tennant all those years ago, as Elizabeth suspected, then he must be captured and presented to the law to be dealt with accordingly.

‘Answer me!’ she demanded coldly as Tennant continued to stare at her blankly. ‘Did you kill my mother and your brother?’

Tennant blinked, a faint glimmer of awareness returning to those pale blue eyes. ‘I loved her. And she loved me. We had to be together. But Giles stood in the way. So I killed him. But then Harriet became hysterical, accusing me of terrible things, and so I—I had no choice but to kill her too. Do you not see—?’

‘I see perfectly,’ Elizabeth said flatly, backing away, the bloodstained rock falling from her hand as she allowed the full horror of the past to wash over her.

Her mother had been wrong to leave her family ten years ago for the arms and love of a younger man, but Harriet would still have hoped one day to be able to resume some sort of relationship with her three daughters, if she had not fallen victim to Sir Rufus Tennant’s warped and twisted sort of love. If he had not ended Harriet’s and Giles’s lives so prematurely.

‘You really are a monster,’ Elizabeth repeated dully. ‘A cruel and heartless monster.’ She turned away, only to find herself facing a shocked Mrs Wilson, as well as several gentlemen wearing livery that Elizabeth did not recognise. She could tell from the paleness of their faces that they had obviously witnessed part of Sir Rufus’s conversation at least.

Waves of darkness began to wash over her and she swayed weakly.

‘Nathaniel!’ Mrs Wilson had time to warn sharply as he moved forwards just in time to catch her up in his arms as she fainted.



‘It is incredible! Unbelievable!’ Nathaniel’s aunt gave a horrified shudder as she later sat in her parlour at Hepworth Manor. ‘That Sir Rufus should have allowed us all to believe for so many years that Giles was responsible for killing Harriet Copeland, and then himself.’ She shook her head vehemently. ‘I am sure I shall never recover from the shock of it!’

Nathaniel was just as convinced that, once the immediacy of the scandal had passed, his aunt would recover well enough to discuss the story of Sir Rufus’s guilt with her cronies once she returned to London. Nathaniel was less convinced that Elizabeth would make such a full recovery.

It had been fortunate that his aunt had come to Gifford House in her carriage in her own search for Elizabeth. She had remained in a faint in Mrs Wilson’s carriage for the time it had taken to bring Viscount Rutledge, as local magistrate, to Gifford House to take charge of the captured Sir Rufus, that elderly gentleman sternly assuring them that the insane man would be dealt with as the full measure of the law allowed in such cases.

Elizabeth had only returned to consciousness as Mrs Wilson’s carriage came to a halt in the grounds of Hepworth Manor, her face still deathly pale. She had entered the house and informed them distantly that she wished to be alone in her bedchamber. A wish Mrs Wilson had instantly protested, but which Nathaniel knew she very much needed if she were to be allowed to regain some of her usual composure; he could not begin to imagine how she must feel after learning that her mother had not been killed by her young lover at all, but by a man whose jealousy of his younger brother had in the end driven him completely mad.

For there could be no further doubt that Elizabeth was indeed one of the daughters of the late Countess of Westbourne.

It placed Nathaniel in something of a dilemma as to how he should proceed, or if it was possible for him to proceed at all…

He had played fast and loose with Elizabeth Thompson these past few days, both physically and emotionally, stealing kisses and making love to her. Except she was not Elizabeth Thompson, humble lady’s companion, but Lady Elizabeth Copeland, daughter of an earl, and ward of the present Earl of Westbourne, Nathaniel’s own good friend; Gabe would be honour bound to demand marriage or call Nathaniel out if he were to ever learn of his reprehensible behaviour towards one of his wards. Just as Nathaniel was surely now honour bound to reveal his behaviour to Gabriel…


Which was no way for any two people to begin a marriage, especially when Nathaniel knew Elizabeth would never believe now that he had any true or enduring feelings for her.



‘I apologise for having deceived you, Mrs Wilson.’ Elizabeth came to stand awkwardly in that lady’s parlour where Mrs Wilson and Letitia now sat together following a dinner from which Elizabeth had excused herself; she could not even bear the thought of food after the shocking events of earlier today.

Any more than she could have sat down at the dinner table and suffered Nathaniel’s coldly accusing gaze…

Midnight would never have died if it had not been for Sir Rufus’s obsession with Elizabeth’s resemblance to her mother and his desire to hurt any other man who came near her. Hector would not have suffered as he had, either.

Nor could Nathaniel, or indeed anyone else in the area, be unaware of her real identity, just as they must all be wondering about the reason for her duplicity.

She had not seen Nathaniel since going to her bedchamber earlier, so she wasn’t certain about his feelings, but it was not too difficult to guess at his disgust. Not only had his horse died unnecessarily, but she was a liar and an imposter; she could only imagine how he must now despise her.

‘Not at all, my dear. I am sure that you had your reasons.’ Mrs Wilson smiled as she patted the cushion on the sofa beside her encouragingly.

Oh, yes, Elizabeth had had her reasons. To escape the offer of marriage from Lord Faulkner and at the same time seek adventure in London. Both of which now seemed rather ridiculous in light of recent events, although without her presence here at Hepworth Manor none of them would ever have discovered the truth concerning the tragic deaths so many years ago…

Elizabeth still trembled to think of what had happened earlier. Her fear when she realised Sir Rufus was not in his right mind. Her terror when she puzzled as to how she was to escape his clutches. Her shock when he revealed he had poisoned Midnight and held Hector captive. Her fury once he had confirmed killing her mother.

She sat down beside Mrs Wilson, her hands trembling as she clasped them tightly together. ‘I behaved both foolishly and na?vely,’ she said dully. ‘And in doing so I have lied to you and—and to your family.’ Elizabeth could not even bring herself to say Nathaniel’s name, so deep was her distress at knowing how he must now hold her in contempt and distrust.

‘I should have guessed who you were, of course.’ Mrs Wilson tutted to herself. ‘Now that I know of the connection I can clearly see that you have a definite look of your mother,’ she added gently as Elizabeth looked up questioningly. ‘Oh, yes, I knew your mother. Quite well, as it happens. She was the most beautiful of women, both inside as well as out.’

‘Then I cannot resemble her in the slightest!’ Elizabeth protested.

‘But of course you can,’ Mrs Wilson said reprovingly. ‘I knew from the very first, when you succeeded in rescuing that scamp Hector from the wheels of a passing carriage, that you possessed a good and kind heart.’

Elizabeth smiled wanly as she shook her head. ‘I believe you are the one who is now being kind.’

Mrs Wilson placed her hand reassuringly on Elizabeth’s. ‘Not at all, my dear,’ she said briskly. ‘And perhaps you should not think too badly of your mother…’

Elizabeth had never really known what to think of her mother’s behaviour. To leave one’s husband and children was shocking indeed. And yet… There had always been an element of doubt—of hope—in Elizabeth’s thoughts concerning her mother’s abandonment of her family.

She blinked back the tears. ‘Did she ever love any of us, do you suppose?’

‘I am sure that she loved her daughters very much.’ Mrs Wilson looked most concerned. ‘I cannot speak from experience, you understand, having spent almost twenty wonderful years married to the man that I loved, but Harriet’s marriage was an arrangement between her parents and your father. He was much older than her, you realise, already over forty to Harriet’s eighteen years when they were married. Totally besotted with her, too, of course.’ Mrs Wilson smiled ruefully. ‘And I am certain that Harriet respected and liked Marcus Copeland.’

‘Except respect and liking are not always enough to sustain a marriage, are they?’ Elizabeth now knew that only too well herself. In fact, she very much doubted, in light of her feelings for Nathaniel, that she would ever marry at all; it would be unfair to any man to always be comparing him to Nathaniel. And finding him wanting.

‘No, they are not.’ Mrs Wilson sighed sadly. ‘I am sure, if your mother had been allowed the time in which to do so, that she would have tried to broker some sort of arrangement with your father so that she might see her daughters again, at least.’

It was what Elizabeth had always wanted to believe. What she had to believe now that she knew it was Rufus Tennant who had ended Harriet’s life rather than the young man her mother had fallen in love with.

‘And now I believe it is time we saw to returning you to your sisters,’ Mrs Wilson prompted gently.

‘Yes,’ Elizabeth confirmed huskily, knowing she wished for nothing more than to be encircled within Diana’s and Caroline’s arms as she sobbed the truth of the past to them.

Except, perhaps, to be held in Nathaniel’s arms…which would not happen. Not now. Not ever.

Elizabeth stood up. ‘I believe, with your permission, that I will return to my bedchamber and try to rest until we leave for London in the morning.’

The older woman chuckled softly. ‘I do not believe that Lady Elizabeth Copeland requires the permission of one such as I to do exactly as she pleases.’

Perhaps not, but at this moment she did not feel very much like Lady Elizabeth Copeland. What she truly felt was battered and bruised, inside as well as out. She—

‘Ah, here you are, Nathaniel.’ Mrs Wilson turned to greet her nephew warmly as he came through to the parlour after having enjoyed his brandy and cigar alone in the dining room. ‘Lady Elizabeth and I were just discussing leaving here tomorrow for London, and then returning her to her family in Hampshire soon after.’

Hooded lids hid the expression in his eyes as he looked across at Elizabeth. He noted the drawn pallor of her cheeks. The bruised darkness beneath her eyes. The slight trembling of her body as she stood up. He also recognised that rather than look at him, she preferred instead to stare down at her daintily slippered feet.

His mouth tightened as he recognised the distance that now yawned between them. ‘The latter will not be necessary, Aunt.’ He stepped further into the room to stand in front of the fireplace. ‘I happen to know that both of Lady Elizabeth’s sisters are at this moment in residence at Westbourne House in town.’

Elizabeth looked up at him sharply. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I finally received a correspondence from Gabriel Faulkner earlier today. In it he related to me that our friend Lord Dominic Vaughn, the Earl of Blackstone, is to marry Lady Caroline, and that he is to marry Lady Diana—’

‘No!’ Elizabeth gasped, her cheeks taking on a grey tinge. ‘I know absolutely nothing of Caroline’s involvement with the Earl of Blackstone—how could I?’ Indeed, Elizabeth had never even met the gentleman. ‘But I cannot allow Diana to sacrifice herself in marriage to Lord Faulkner! She—’

‘Not even if it is a love match?’ Nathaniel asked gently.

‘But it is not!’ She gave a pained groan. ‘Diana is to marry Malcolm Castle. She does not even know Lord Faulkner; she can only have agreed to marry him now because of his threat to cast us all out of our home unless one of us agreed to marry him!’

‘Does that sound like the sort of thing Westbourne would do, Nathaniel?’ Mrs Wilson frowned.

‘No, it does not,’ he confirmed. ‘I assure you that you are mistaken in the matter, Elizabeth,’ he said definitely as he turned to her. ‘Westbourne may have started out feeling obligated to marry one of his wards, but I assure you he is now completely smitten with Diana. And she is equally smitten with him.’

‘No—’

‘Yes,’ Nathaniel insisted firmly. ‘They all await your return before both marriages will take place.’

It made no sense to Elizabeth. Not Caroline’s involvement with the unknown Earl of Blackstone, and certainly not Diana’s agreement to marry the Earl of Westbourne.

There had been an understanding for years between Diana and Malcolm Castle, the only son of the local squire; indeed, it was the existence of that understanding which had allowed Caroline and Elizabeth to run away from Hampshire in the first place, safe in the knowledge that Lord Faulkner would not be able to force Diana into marriage with him.

What pressure could he possibly have brought to bear on Diana for her to have abandoned Malcolm in favour of marrying the earl, after all?



‘I do not understand…’ Elizabeth allowed the letter Nathaniel had received from Lord Faulkner to flutter down onto the desktop in the library where he had brought her a few minutes ago so that she might read it for herself.


Nathaniel leant back against his desk, arms folded across his chest. ‘It seems perfectly clear to me, Elizabeth, that Diana’s previous understanding has come to an end and that she and Gabriel have now fallen in love.’

‘But—’ she gave a dazed shake of her head ‘—Diana has intended marrying Malcolm since childhood.’

He looked rueful. ‘I believe you saw Gabe when he visited me at my aunt’s house a week or so ago?’

Elizabeth blinked up at him. ‘Yes.’

‘Handsome, is he not?’

Delicate colour warmed her cheeks. ‘Very.’

Nathaniel’s smile faded. ‘And how would this Malcolm’s looks measure against such handsomeness?’

Her eyes widened indignantly. ‘You make my sister sound the most fickle sort of woman—’

‘Merely a discerning one,’ he corrected harshly.

‘But—but what of Lord Faulkner’s past scandal?’

His mouth tightened. ‘As to that, I can only assume that Gabe has told your sister the truth of it and that she has, quite rightly so, believed him.’

‘The truth of it…?’

‘It is not my secret to share, Elizabeth,’ he said. ‘I have only allowed you to read Gabriel’s letter at all so that you might stop these feelings of guilt concerning his marriage to your sister—’

‘But of course I feel guilty!’ Elizabeth’s cheeks were flushed with temper. ‘Thank goodness the marriage has not already taken place. I must return to London immediately.’

He frowned. ‘You will return to town in the morning with my aunt and me as arranged—’

Her eyes flashed. ‘You are no longer in a position to tell me what I can or cannot do, Nathaniel!’

He eyed her wryly. ‘Was I ever?’

Elizabeth frowned. So much had happened today, so many awful things, that hearing Diana was betrothed to their guardian was just too much for her to take in. Admittedly she and Caroline had never seen Diana’s attraction to the slightly shallow and pompous Malcolm Castle, but they had accepted it. To now learn that her always calm, no-nonsense sister was to marry a man of Lord Gabriel Faulkner’s dangerous good looks and reputation seemed incredible to her.

‘No, you weren’t,’ she declared. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I really should go upstairs and finish my packing.’

‘By all means,’ Nathaniel drawled drily. ‘But if I know anything of Gabriel—and I do—your objections to the marriage will count for nought.’

Her eyes sparkled a deep and angry blue. ‘And if I know anything of Diana—and I do,’ she added derisively, ‘then Caroline and I will have no trouble whatsoever in persuading her to rethink her decision to marry Lord Faulkner!’ She whirled on one heel and swept from the room, her chin held defiantly high.

Nathaniel’s humour faded as soon as Elizabeth had gone. She had looked every inch the daughter of an earl just now. A young and singularly beautiful lady of quality now placed far beyond his reach by his own actions.