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“I beg your pardon?” That could not be possible! The duke would never do such a thing. What reason could there be?
“The duke confessed to the murders before he killed himself last evening,” Downing injected.
“Oh my,” Tessa whispered. She turned to Langport. “I am so sorry, my lord. What happened?”
Langport rose and looked at the judge. “Do you need anything further of me?”
“No, you have supplied the confession and confirmed the handwriting was your father’s so I have everything I need.”
“I shall take my leave now.” He left without a glance toward her, as if the mere sight of Tessa revolted him. She couldn’t image what the poor man must be going through right now. First his wife’s murder and then his father’s suicide.
“Please stay in town until we have everything confirmed by the coroner,” the judge added.
Langport stopped at the door. “For how long? I should like to leave this blasted town.”
Because of her, Tessa thought. He blamed her for the duke’s death. She pressed a hand to her stomach to stop the roiling but it didn’t help. One more death on her conscience.
“No more than a fortnight. As soon as we have all papers signed and approved, I shall send you a note.”
“Very well.”
“Thank you for your assistance in this matter,” the magistrate said before quietly adding, “Your Grace.”
Langport left without another word, leaving Tessa feeling dreadful and not knowing what she could do to help. She pressed her lips tightly together to keep the tears from falling. Every man in her life had disappointed her. Her father by stealing funds from the bank on her behalf, Jack by pretending she meant something to him when all he wanted was to solve his investigation, and the duke. Never again would she let a man get close to her.
“Lady Stanhope, you are released. I believe Mr. Downing said he would see you home,” the magistrate commented as he stared down at the papers on hi
s desk.
“Thank you, sir.”
He waved a hand at her. “Go along, now.”
Mr. Downing opened the door for her. “Please just call for a hackney for me. I have no desire to put you out.” She brushed past him into the corridor. Tessa stopped dead as she noticed Jack standing against the wall. She didn’t want to notice that he looked as if he hasn’t slept in days. Nor did she want to feel any sort of pity for him.
“Tessa, please let me explain,” he pleaded.
Tessa strode down the corridor, ignoring the man who only days ago had meant more to her than any other. Once settled into the carriage, she realized just how badly her life had fallen apart in only a fortnight. Like Langport, she needed to get out of town and away from everyone, but she had nowhere to go. Perhaps she should take a trip to the continent. Venice should be nice for a month before the heat of summer settled in. Louisa would surely love to leave the Season behind and accompany her.
As she arrived home, she pushed away her heartache and blocked the pain. She hated feeling so piteous for herself. She’d survived the deaths of three husbands, surely she could get through the deception of two men. Not that she had loved her husbands.
Tessa walked up the steps to her home as Roberts opened the door with a smile.
“Welcome home, my lady.”
“Thank you, Roberts. Is Anne here?” she asked, as she removed her bonnet and pelisse.
“No, ma’am. I thought it best if we looked for a new lady’s maid for you. She was given a good reference.”
“Very well,” she said, annoyed that yet another man had decided something for her. “I need a bath and I want all this clothing burned. God knows what might have been in that prison cell.”
“Of course, ma’am. I shall send the footmen up with the tub and water as quickly as we can and a maid to assist you.” Roberts strode down the hall, barking commands as he walked.
“Also, I am not home to anyone,” Tessa ordered as she clutched the railing. “No one. Not even family.”
“Yes, my lady,” Roberts called from the back corridor.
Tessa walked up the stairs as exhaustion settled into her bones. Once in her room, she stripped off every stitch of clothing and pulled a wrap around her. She was less afraid of what she might have picked up in that cell than what the sight of that gown might do to her if she saw it again. It was far better to have no reminders of Newgate.
