“That be why I came. She be my friend. Merrylad too. Can I see Merrylad?”
“Yes, if you wish.”
When they reached the house, he helped her inside then returned to the gig and headed back for Monbury Manor. More questions needed answers.
Many more.
Felton burst through the study door and slammed to a halt.
Three heads swiveled his way, two surprised, one glowering. From behind his desk, the viscount stood, knuckles coming down on the stacks of paper. “Am I to understand there is an emergency,Mr.Northwood?”
Felton stiffened against themister—and the tone. “No.” He backed out the door. “Forgive the intrusion. I shall wait.”
Less than five minutes later, the door opened again and two brown-coated men filled the hall, both as haggard and dirty looking as the hats they returned to their heads. Monbury tenants? Or killers? They each slanted a look at Felton, then hung their heads and disappeared.
Felton returned to the study and closed the door behind him. “My lord.”
“You are not welcome here.”
“I have come for the letter.”
“If you are already convinced of my guilt, the letter will persuade you of little.”
“It persuaded Minney.”
“Yes.” A humorless smile turned up the viscount’s cheek. “It convinced Minney.” He stood behind the desk, unlocked a drawer, and pulled out a faded stack of letters. “Letitia wrote to me often when I was away—and I was away too often.”
“I remember.”
“Trips to London, to Bath, to Brighton. There were many nights a woman might have suffered loneliness. Might have longed for companionship with someone closer than an oft-faraway husband.” He lifted the first letter. “But not my Letitia. There was nothing between her and Mr. Bradshaw. Minney was a fool to imagine such a thing.”
Unless the viscount was a fool for denying it.
“Shortly before another trip, Mr. Bradshaw had been acting strangely. He made mistakes. He seemed ill almost and was found sleeping one morning under the table in the dining room—with an empty bottle of laudanum.”
Laudanum.The word processed.Opium.
“My wife and I consulted about the matter, and though we hated to release a man who had been our steward for so many years, we had no choice. Mr. Bradshaw left the premises with his daughter the same day I departed for my trip.”
“And the letter from Lady Gillingham?”
“I never received it. Not until I was home, however, and she was already dead. It was lying on her writing desk, ready to be posted the next day, no doubt.” He handed it over.
Felton unfolded it and read:
My dear Phillip,
As always, I am empty without your presence. You have been gone only two days, yet the distance between us seems so great. I speak not only of miles. Perhaps I have only myself to blame, and if I have pulled away from you these last months, you must forgive me. I wish we could speak of it. How much easier to pen such a thing than to say it to your face, for it brings me as much sorrow as it does you. I wish this pain wasnot upon us. I pray, someday, I may see the happy light enter your eyes again and we might laugh as we used to you—you, I, and our dear Eliza.
On another matter, there is much I must relate to you upon your return. Mr. Bradshaw, who situated himself in an inn in town, sent a most alarming letter my way. I felt it my duty to attend to his plea, as the letter explained some sort of danger his daughter would be in if I did not. We talked only a few short moments, but Mr. Bradshaw told me many things I have not the liberty to expound upon in a letter. A decision must be made. As always, I will defer to your judgment, and you may handle it all as you see best. In any event, I have taken little Minney back home with me until your return.
Do hurry back, my dear Phillip. Eliza sends her love.
Yours Eternally,
Letitia
Felton sucked in air. “Why did you never show this to anyone?”
