Wright inclined his head and turned back inside.
Dominic reached out to ruffle Tristan’s hair as the boy beamed up at him. “Carry on, Lad.”
“Do you want to go riding later?” Tristan asked, his eyes full of hope.
Dominic pretended to consider his reply. “I believe that can be arranged.”
Tristan’s grin widened. “Do you think Lady Warwicke will come with us?”
“I’ll ask her,” Dominic said, returning his smile. “Just as soon as her guests have departed.”
He gave Tristan a final pat on the shoulder before striding into the house and down the corridor towards his study. When he entered, Constable Prentice was already waiting—a solid man with dark hair, a clean-shaven jaw, and a solemn look on his face.
“Constable,” Dominic greeted, “what brings you by today?”
Prentice straightened, folding his hands behind his back. “I came to inform you that Whitmore has been sentenced. He’s to be transported.”
“And Blackthorn?”
“He avoided being transported, but he’ll remain in Newgate for a long while,” Prentice replied. “Whitmore confessed to tampering with the damper and placing the burr, but he was firm in denying he had anything to do with poisoning Lady Warwicke.”
Dominic frowned. “He is clearly lying.”
“I thought so, too,” Prentice admitted, “but he seemed… sincere. And with sentencing already passed, he had no reasonto lie.” He tilted his head slightly. “Do you have any definitive proof your wife was poisoned?”
Dominic leaned against his desk, arms crossed. “I suspect he used a diluted form of Aqua Tofana. It mimics a cold at first, then progresses into influenza-like symptoms. My wife first became ill after taking tea with her sister-in-law. Then again after another visit.”
He stopped.
Tea.
Each time, Dorothea had tea with Arabella and Lady Sarah—and each time she’d fallen ill shortly after.
His chest tightened. “She’s with them now,” he breathed.
Without another word, he spun on his heel and sprinted from the study. He tore down the corridor, rounded the corner, and burst into the drawing room just as Dorothea was reaching for her teacup.
“Stop!” he shouted.
Dorothea’s hand froze midair. “What is it?” she asked, startled.
He crossed the room in three strides and crouched beside her. “Have you taken a sip yet?”
She shook her head. “No… I haven’t. Dominic, what’s going on?”
He looked at her, then turned his gaze towards Mrs. Haverleigh, who sat poised, seemingly unconcerned, with her hands neatly folded in her lap.
“I believe your sister-in-law has been poisoning you,” he said.
Gasps echoed across the room. Mrs. Haverleigh’s eyes widened in mock offense. “I beg your pardon?”
“It makes perfect sense,” Dominic said, rising to his full height. “You knew about the second will. You knew what Dorothea stood to gain and what you and your husband stood to lose.”
Mrs. Haverleigh scoffed. “I only learned about the second will this morning. Matthew told me himself. I had no knowledge of it before.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that?” Dominic asked.
“You are,” Mrs. Haverleigh snapped, rising to her feet. “Because it’s the truth. And I refuse to stand here and listen to these outrageous accusations.”
