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“Lord Lancaster. He’s not the boy he once was.”
“Clearly. He’s a London gentleman now. I’d say he needs a bit of shaking up.”
Stripped of her corset, Cynthia shrugged off her chemise and rushed to the tub. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had a proper bath?” She slipped one foot into the water and groaned. “Sweet mercy.”
The water rose up in heavenly inches as she lowered her body. The heat seemed to soak right through her skin and deep into her bones, releasing so much of the anxiety she’d carried for weeks and months. But when she looked up to Mrs. Pell, her smile froze in place.
She leaned forward so fast that a little wave sloshed over the end of the tub. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
Cyn shook her head. “Don’t tell me nothing. You look as if you may cry.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What is wrong?”
The housekeeper dipped a cloth into the water and worked the ball of soap into it. “London must have been hard on him. That’s all.”
“What in God’s name are you talking about?”
“The viscount. London isn’t a place for a man like him.”
“Apparently it is just the place. He went happily enough.”
She began to wash Cyn’s back with too much force.
Cynthia frowned. “He was hardly homesick. He never once even scrawled a note to me.”
“It wasn’t what you thought.” The quiet words swelled with such warning that Cynthia put her hands on the edge of the tub to brace herself. The scrubbing stopped. A pitcher appeared in front of her as Mrs. Pell scooped up water. She had only a moment to catch her breath before heat cascaded over her hair. But it was still in its braid.
“Oh, mercy me,” Mrs. Pell sighed. “I didn’t even take down your hair.” She reached for the braid, but Cyn stopped her hand.
“Mrs. Pell.” She wrapped her fingers around the woman’s small wrist. “You’re not saying something. What is it?” The only answer she got was a shake of Mrs. Pell’s head. “Please tell me.”
A great sigh shuddered through her as her blue eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t think it was true.”
“What?”
After a quick glance at the closed door, she looked at the floor. “What they said about Master Nicholas.”
The water had only held her tension as a passing courtesy, it seemed. All the anxiety was leaching back into her flesh now. “What did they say, Mrs. Pell?”
“After he left here…” She looked into Cynthia’s eyes. “Something happened. Some scandal. I don’t know what. And Nicholas meant to kill himself.”
The words evoked no response from her gut, they were so ridiculous. “That’s absurd.”
Mrs. Pell nodded, but not in agreement. “They said he hung himself. And the rope…” Her right hand touched her neck, and Cynthia suddenly understood.
A burn, he’d said. A burn that had scarred his whole neck.
“That’s absurd,” she repeated, because it must be.
“I thought so too.” The tears finally spilled over her eyes and Mrs. Pell brushed a wrist across her cheek. “The old coachman…he told me that a family friend found Master Nicholas hanging and cut him down. They thought he was dead already.”
“No.”
“His parents took him to London to recover where no one knew him. That’s why he left. But I didn’t believe it. I told that coachman if I ever heard him repeat those lies again, I’d have him turned out.” Mrs. Pell finally collapsed into a chair and let the tears flow. “I didn’t believe it.”
