“The thought has crossed my mind.” He shoved the rest of his scone in his mouth and chewed noisily. “The editor of theLondon Evening Standardadmitted to offering a hefty sum to anyone who might provide proof of misdeeds on Lady Allen’s part.”
The conniving bastard. It was no wonder he was not interested in helping her. He had a larger payout in mind.
Thel made a subtle gesture. A few seconds later, a servant rushed into the room with another tray and placed it on the table.
“What does this witness claim happened?” Thel asked.
“I shouldn’t reveal details of the investigation,” Mr. Smith said. He reached for a small cake but hesitated before his fingers touched it.
Thel pushed the tray toward the other man. “Does the accused not have a right to know the charges leveled against her?”
Olivia looked from Thel to the constable and back several times. Thel’s tone was light, his posture relaxed, but a muscle in his jaw worked and his hand on the couch was clenched into a fist. When she finally realized what was happening, she wanted to smack herself. Thel was trying to gather information from the constable, and all she was doing was sitting on her rear.
She adopted her friendliest smile and leaned forward to best display her bosom. “I imagine they claimed I poisoned him?”
“That would be the sum of it,” Mr. Smith said between bites.
Thel tapped her foot with his, and she forced a laugh. “Terribly unoriginal, repeating what has already been posted in the newspaper. I apologize that you’ve wasted your valuable time on this.”
The constable brushed crumbs from his coat. “Can’t say it’s the first time. But original or not, I’m bound to investigate.”
“We would expect nothing less,” Thel said.
The constable devoured three more sweets before taking his leave.
Olivia remained in her spot as Thel guided the man to the door, her heart and thoughts racing. It was too convenient that there would be one man accusing her of murder in the newspaper, and another bringing evidence against her to the police. It had to be Mr. Dawson, attempting to separate her from her wealth. But why, and how was he associated with her late husband?
Thel returned and walked to her chair but did not touch her, to her relief. Her body felt as if it were full of buzzing insects, and it was only her tight grip on the arms of her chair that kept her from flitting around the room.
“What is it?” Thel asked.
“It’s Mr. Dawson,” she said. “It must be. He brought the constable here.”
“I’ll call him out,” Thel said. “We’ll settle this with a duel.”
A surprised laugh bubbled out of her throat. “No, absolutely not. What reason would you give? You are not myfather, brother, or husband. His attacks against my honor are not yours to defend.”
Putting aside the risk that Thel might be mortally wounded, she wanted Mr. Dawson to experience the same shame and fear she had felt. A quick death would not guarantee that. She wanted assurances he would never bother Constance, or any other young woman, ever again.
More than anything, she wanted to know what she had done to elicit his ire.
“I know what I have to do,” she said, the words popping out of her mouth before she realized she was speaking. She didn’t want to finish her thought because she knew where it led, but she had to know the truth, and there was only one way to get to the source of the information Mr. Dawson was using against her.
It was time to return to her marital home.
Chapter 16
ACCUSED MURDERESS UNDER INVESTIGATION. I am pleased to report that a constable was spotted outside Lord Lowell’s residence, where Lady Allen has recently taken up visiting. We must hope London’s finest have seen the error of their ways and Lady Allen will come to justice at last.
Olivia clenched her fingers on Thel’s arm as they strolled up the stone path to the house where she had once lived. A house which now belonged to her late husband’s cousin, the new Earl of Allen. She’d only met the man once, briefly, although he’d been kind enough to send a letter before he’d left to travel the Continent, informing her that she could visit the house whenever she wished.
She remembered dancing across the brown-and-white tiles in the entryway beneath the twinkling, silver chandelier, with the earl following behind. That innocent girl would never have expected she would become a prisoner in her own home, that she would spend countless evenings peering out her foggy, hexagonal bedroom windows, wishing she were anywhere else.
“It is only a house,” Thel said.
He was right, but that did little to ease the ache that had started in the back of her throat. It was as if all the screams she had swallowed throughout her marriage were clamoring to escape now that the earl was not present to take pleasure in her pain.
She lifted one trembling leg and then another until she was standing in front of the old, oak door with its rusty hinges and carving of a phoenix in flight. She had always hated that bird, with its crooked beak and sightless, black eyes.
