Later that evening, as the sun slipped toward the purple hills of Wales, Sebastian climbed the lane to the churchyard. He stood beside Emma Chandler’s graveside for a long time, while the rooks flew in to roost in the nearby yew, fluttering and cawing as they settled in for the night.
He felt an intense, painful bond with this woman he had come to know only after her death. They had both come to Ayleswick-on-Teme in the hopes of discovering the identity of the man who had sired them. Both had failed. But only Emma had lost her life in the quest.
So adrift was he in his own thoughts that it was a moment before Sebastian heard a woman’s faint footfalls and the swish of fine cloth, and realized he was no longer alone.
“Am I interrupting you?” asked Lady Seaton, walking up to him. She wore a simple muslin dress with a light blue spencer and a wide-brimmed straw hat that framed her golden curls in a way that made her look deceptively young and vulnerable.
“No, not at all,” he said.
She tipped back her head to look up at him, the warm evening breeze fluttering the blue satin ribbon of her hat across her cheek. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“I believe I told you I once met Lady Emily.”
“Yes.”
She drew a deep breath and nodded, as if confirming the truth of her earlier statement or perhaps simply encouraging herself to go on. “What I didn’t tell you was that we met on the last night of the Irvings’ house party. They held a grand ball—a masquerade—and although I wasn’t well, Seaton insisted I attend. He felt the need to trot out his wife on occasion, you see, to reassure the local gentry that despite the irregular nature of his activities he still retained my love and devotion.”
Sebastian said nothing, and after a moment, she went on. “Leopold was an extraordinarily attractive man with a most deceptively charming manner. He had a way of paying attention to a woman, of smiling at her, that could make her feel the most beautiful, most fascinating and desirable woman in the world.”
“And he turned his charms on Lady Emily?”
“He did, yes. I watched them. You might think it was because I was jealous, but it wasn’t. Not by then. I knew what he was like, and I worried about her.”
Sebastian remembered the words the sixteen-year-old girl had written to her governess. He is so handsome that my head would surely be turned were it not for Liv’s warnings. . . .
“I could tell she was flattered—how could she help but be? She was so young and innocent. But she was wise enough not to forget that he was a married man. And while she seemed happy enough to have the opportunity to practice the arts of flirtation with a master, I could see that she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the tenor of his attentions. In the end, she excused herself and went outside for some air. She was trying to get away from him, of course. But I’m afraid he took it the wrong way.”
“He followed her?”
She nodded. “I should have gone after them immediately. Instead, I waited, hoping she’d come back. And then Lady Irving buttonholed me as I was headed toward the terrace. She was so persistent, I’d only just managed to extricate myself when I saw Leopold slipping back in through the glass doors. He was vaguely disheveled, and when Lady Emily didn’t come back at all, I went looking for her, fearing the worst.”
“And you were right.”
“Yes. I found her in the shrubbery, hysterical. I knew he’d forced himself on some of the village girls, but . . . I never imagined he’d so forget himself as to do the same to a young gentlewoman. I helped her to her room; made her promise to let me come to her aid in the event she should find herself in trouble as a result of that night’s work.” Lady Seaton’s gaze dropped to the grave beside them. “Obviously, it was a promise she didn’t keep. But, my God, how I wish she had. You can have no notion of my joy the day his lordship’s lifeless body was carried home.” She looked up at him. “But you knew that, didn’t you? Did you imagine I’d killed him?”
“Yes.”
A strange smile played about her lips. “I used to lie awake at night and entertain myself concocting various ways in which I might murder him and get away with it. But I never would have found the courage to do it. Fortunately, someone else did it for me.”
“Did you know, even then?”
“That someone had killed him? Oh, yes. But I didn’t know who.” She drew a deep, shaky breath. “I haven’t told Crispin the truth—that Emma Chandler was his half sister, I mean.”
“Will you?”