Greydon frowned. “I doubt it,” he said. “May I ask where this is coming from?”
“I just feel that maybe, just maybe, Lady Eugenie didn’t murder your brother,” Lady Enid said in a hesitant voice.
“Based upon what?” Greydon asked in a voice that was much harsher than he intended.
“I do not believe Lady Eugenie is capable of such a thing,” Lady Enid replied. “She is too kindhearted.”
Greydon waved his hand in front of him. “Well, by all means, I will inform the coroner of this new information and I have no doubt that they will release her at once,” he mocked. “Had we known Lady Eugenie was so kindhearted then she would have never been arrested.”
Lady Enid tilted her chin. “I know I must sound ridiculous to you right now, but Lady Eugenie is my friend.”
“Anyone is capable of murder, given the right circumstances,” Greydon said. “Even you proved that with your late husband.”
Lord Brentwood cleared his throat. “You are out of line,” he warned in a firm voice.
“No, he is right,” Lady Enid said, rushing to his defense. “I did shoot John but only because he intended to kill me, and I do not regret my choice.”
“But you wanted to kill him before he even reached for a pistol,” Greydon urged. “That is why you brought a pistol with you.”
Lady Enid nodded. “It is true. I knew that John would never leave me alone as long as he was alive. I needed to protect my daughter.”
“There is a fine line between murder and protecting oneself,” Greydon said. “But that is not what we have here. Lady Eugenie stabbed my brother.”
“I just feel—”
Greydon cut her off. “No, you don’t have the right to feel anything. Lady Eugenie may be a kindhearted person, a saint, even, but in that moment, she was nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer.”
Lady Enid held his gaze, and he could see the questions in her eyes. He had never spoken so harshly to her before, but he was angry. How dare she try to say that Lady Eugenie was innocent based upon her social interactions with her? Besides, it didn’t matter what Lady Enid thought. This case was based on facts, not feelings.
It was a long moment before Lady Enid spoke and she seemed overwhelmed by emotion. “My apologies, my lord. I didn’t mean to upset you.” The sincerity in her voice was his undoing and he was beginning to wonder if he should also apologize for his stern words.
But why should he? He’d done nothing wrong. Lady Enid was trying to defend the person that murdered his brother. She was out of line, not him. So why did he feel so guilty?
While he wrestled with his thoughts, Lady Enid urged her horse forward and headed down the path.
Lord Brentwood eyed him disapprovingly. “That was in bad form, Rushcliffe.”
Greydon glanced at Lady Enid’s retreating figure before asking, “You don’t honestly believe that Lady Enid has a valid point?”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe; it matters whatshebelieves,” Lord Brentwood replied.
“What she believes is wrong,” Greydon muttered.
“Then prove it to her, but don’t dismiss her out of hand,” Lord Brentwood counseled. “That isn’t fair to you, or her.”
Greydon hated to admit that Lord Brentwood wasn’t entirely wrong, and that irked him greatly. He was a man that dealt in facts, and he would prove to Lady Enid- through facts- that Lady Eugenie had murdered his brother.
With her back up against the wall, Enid sat on the ground in the nursery as Marigold busily went about the room. She was pleased that her daughter had not only embraced her new life but was thriving. It warmed her heart to see how happy Marigold was.
Her mother had taken it upon herself to stock the nursery with toys and Marigold did not lack for anything, including love. Her mother was constantly visiting the nursery, doting on Marigold, and she was grateful for that. Children could never have too many people in their lives that loved and encouraged them.
Marigold was babbling as she sat down next to her with a doll in her hand. Enid leaned her head against the wall as she smiled. How she adored her daughter. If it hadn’t been for her, she would never have found the strength to leave her husband. She refused to stand by and let John abuse Marigold. Her daughter was her everything.
Enid’s eyes roamed over the nursery, and she felt a little nostalgic. She had spent so much time in this room as a child that she had memorized everything. The ivory-papered walls that were lined with small flowers, the thick, faded carpet, and a window where birds would often perch themselves on the sill. If she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the sound of her laughter as her nursemaid played with her.
The door opened and her mother let out an exasperated sigh. “I should have known this is where you were,” she said. “We have guests.”
“No,youhave guests,” Enid corrected. “No one wishes to see me.”
