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"She's pregnant," Aidan added.
Marissa shot them both a scornful glare as she rose to her feet. "And what has that to do with anything?"
Edward looked dumbfounded. "She's .so nice."
"And," Jude added, "apparently jealous?"
Tess nodded. "Yes. She hates Miss York." The look she gave Marissa past her lashes was weighted. The maid was well aware that Charles and Marissa had been in love years before. Marissa had spoken of it, and the betrayal of that trust felt like a weight pressing on her chest.
"I don't understand. Surely he didn't say anything to his wife?" Marissa breathed.
"She told me nothing about it. Only that she wanted to know as much of you as I'd tell. I didn't say much, but she asked if you had any birthmarks, any features worth noting. I did not truly understand... and then, I only had to retrieve a
bag tonight, and she said she'd reward me with a hundred pounds. I didn't mean anything by it, miss."
Whether she had or not, the damage was done. But at least they knew who was threatening them. "If she hates me so much, what is the chance that she will leave this be?"
She addressed the room at large, but no one answered. Edward glanced toward the clock. "I'd say this is best left till morning. It's nearly midnight already, and the LeMont estate is nearly three hours away. We'll leave at first light."
"And the girl?" Jude asked.
They all stared at Tess as she began to weep again.
Edward finally sighed. "I suppose we shall lock her in a room tonight and send her on to Hull in the morning. You're going home, Tess, so I hope that twenty pounds will count you settled for a time."
"Of course," she whispered.
Aidan wrapped a hand around her arm and lifted her up. "Third floor, I assume?"
Tess gave Marissa one last pitiful look before being led away. Marissa felt a twinge of pity for the girl who'd been her maid for four years, but Tess had known full well that she was being asked to do something wrong. No one paid a hundred pounds for charitable works.
"Why don't you try to get some sleep, Marissa?" Edward said. "We'll see what can be done tomorrow. If Mrs. LeMont is reasonable ..."
Marissa didn't know the woman well enough to guess. She'd met her a dozen times over, but even before the marriage to Charles, there'd been nothing like friendship between them. She'd been a serious young woman who'd always seemed more comfortable with the married ladies. Marissa had run with the younger girls. And the gentlemen, of course. She couldn't fathom how Charles's wife had come to hate her.
She looked up from her thoughts to see that Jude had resumed his place at the window, and the rigid posture of his back screamed of a desire for solitude. Despite that, she considered going to him, to ask if they might speak in private. But what could she say? I'm sorry I thought you ugly. I'm sorry I liked you and wanted you and still thought there couldn't he more between us.
What if that only hurt him more?
Better to wait until tomorrow, when this drama was resolved. Better to know where they stood before she decided if she should take a step toward him or simply let him walk away.
So she left Jude staring out at the lonely night and went to find her own loneliness in her chambers. She only wished she knew if Jude was thinking of her as he stared out at the dark, or if he was praying for the chance to leave this mad place and never return.
Jude's muscles felt like tightening rope beneath his skin as he stared out at the black night. What had Marissa meant by that small touch? What had it meant when she'd clung so tightly to him?
Nothing, he told his injured heart. Nothing more than any other touch had meant. And there was so much more to worry over, but Jude couldn't seem to turn his mind to the problem at hand.
Edward sighed loudly, prompting Jude to face the room again. The man sat slumped at his desk, head in hands, the very picture of a troubled gentle man. When he raised his head, his weary gaze completed the portrait. "I'd best go check with Aidan," he grumbled. "Our servants' quarters are hardly equipped to hold prisoners."
He stood and set his shoulders deliberately back, as if to resettle the weight upon them. "I'll see you in the morning."
Jude raised a hand. "Good night."
He was turning back toward the window when Edward's voice drifted in from the corridor. "Harry," he said, "I'll be back in a few minutes to fill you in."
"But..." Harry wandered into the room, his face tight with confusion. "What in the world has happened? Did the girl confess?"
"She did." Jude poured Harry a drink and approached him with a carefully neutral expression. "The girl was Marissa's lady's maid, hired away by Mrs. Charles Lemont."
