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Marilee calmed herself with self-assurances that this could be managed not so very differently than she and Miss Caroline had planned. Though she and Miss Caroline had rehearsed the dramatic moment dozens of times in their minds, never had she imagined that it would require Mr. Crowley’s consumption of the purgative. Better that than the true poison, however, she thought. Marilee thanked her lucky stars that Doctor Harding had provided the bottle that would, by some strange fate, be the saving grace of his very own brother.
* * *
Marilee had hopedagainst all hope that she would be permitted to speak freely with Nikolas upon entering the drawing room so that she could give him some warning, but that was not to be. Mrs. Cavendish met her in the hall with the tea tray and a smug expression.
“Milady asked that I ensure that all goes to plan,” she said as she passed the tray into Marilee’s shaking hands. “Don’t fret girl, not everyone can complete such a task without their nerves taking hold at least the first time. It gets easier.” Marilee began to wonder how often an occurrence administering poison might have become in this household that both the lady and housekeeper were so immune to the thought. “That is why I shall be just outside the door to make sure that you don’t get any ideas about warning the man or failing to do your duty. And leave the door ajar. If you can’t manage the sleight of hand, then I have been instructed to send Benedict to pay Mr. Crowley a visit before the sunrise. He’s messy but efficient.”
“There won’t be a need,” Marilee cut in before the housekeeper could finish her thought. The last thing that Marilee wanted, was for the woman to have what she assumed, was an assassin in the wings.
“Good,” Mrs. Cavendish settled herself upon a bench in the hall with her ear turned to the door. “You shan’t regret it. Lady Lydia takes good care of her own, and what is this man to you, anyway? Nothing. We must always put ourselves first, Kate. That is the only way to progress.” She winked and closed her eyes, giving all the appearance of having fallen asleep.
CHAPTER18
Marilee did her best to enter the room without allowing her quivering limbs to overturn the tray or cause her feet to become caught up in her skirts. She had never in her life felt such trepidation. Not even on the night that the duke had been murdered and she and her lady kidnapped, because although it had all been horrifying, she had played no real part at the moment. She had only been swept along in its wake. Now she was not playing a bit part in this drama. Everything rested upon her actions.
Nikolas stood upon her entrance and greeted her with a beatific smile. Marilee forced herself to keep her features grim and not be drawn into his pleasant demeanor the way that had become her norm. Questions filled her, but with Mrs. Cavendish listening from the hall everything in her plan had to change. She could not warn Nikolas and then discuss a plan of action to fool the others as she had initially intended. She could not convince him to take the emetic under the guise of being poisoned. She could not ask him why he lied to her. She could not ask him about his wife…his dead wife. Who was she? Had he loved her? Had he killed her? Her mind would not still. How could she do this? She wanted to throw herself across the chaise and sob. She sucked in a breath and got a hold of herself.
“Would you care for some tea?” she asked as she gestured for him to take his place at her side. He joined her; his brow drawn together as he began to assess that something was different this evening in comparison to all the other times that they had spent in shared company.
She distracted herself with the pouring of the tea when, in silence, his hand settled upon her knee. He must have intended to get her attention, so that she might lift her focus and witness his questioning expression, but instead, Marilee jumped, her nerves so twisted and fraught, and she spilled the tea across the tray.
* * *
Nikolas murmuredan apology and began to dab at the splatter with a napkin. There could be no doubting now that she was on edge and that she could not, or would not, give him a verbal explanation. He had grown used to her launching herself into his arms and leaking all of the thoughts and concerns that had occupied her day in such a rush as he was often left laughing and begging her to slow down so that they might talk through all the information.
“Kate…” he whispered.
“Fine weather today, wouldn’t you say?” she replied in an over-loud tone that Mrs. Cavendish would be sure to hear. If the old crone suspected that they were whispering then she might suggest to her mistress that Marilee was not entirely faithful, and then the mysterious Benedict might be set to his task.
“I wouldn’t,” he replied. “There appears to be a storm on the horizon.”
How perceptive, Marilee thought, but rather than grin at his acumen she merely flicked her eyes in his direction before turning back to pour the tea once more and prattling on about some useless matter or other. She had yet to deduce how she would manage to get him to leave this place and never return. When the point had been heartbreak and distraction it had been imperative that he pretend to appear at the house begging for her attention so that Lady Lydia would be convinced that he was wholly focused on winning back the maid’s attention. With his life on the line, that would not do. He could not reappear, ever, and she could think of no way to drop the hint without Mrs. Cavendish picking up on the subterfuge. But… she could drop a note, she realized with a surge of pleasure.
She sprung to her feet, the action causing Nikolas to mirror her as he followed her about the room while she, as quietly as possible, dug about for anything to write with. The room was empty. Lady Lydia rarely entered the small parlor, her father never, and the drawers and tables were notably devoid of anything that could be put to use.
She bit her lip and pondered, while Nikolas drew up in front of her, his hands resting upon her elbows and turning her to face him.
At the point of contact, Marilee could not resist the urge to curl her fingers into his waistcoat. She remembered how he always carried a scrap of paper and pencil. She dug in his coat and came up with the item. In all these weeks he had been a source of strength and comfort. So much so that, now that he was to be removed from her life until such a time as Lady Lydia and her minions were no longer a threat, she could hardly bear the thought as she scribbled on the paper.She wants you dead.
* * *
He stared at her unblinking,and then leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “I know. We found something...” He did not know Marilee meant now. This very minute.
You must leave, she mouthed as she leaned back to look into his warm, brown eyes.
He shook his head. Either he could make no sense of the movements of her lips, or he was refusing to leave her.
She jerked her head toward the door.
“I’m afraid that I’ve grown tired of our dalliance,” she said aloud. She could hear Mrs. Cavendish moving about outside the door. They had been silent for too long and the woman was growing impatient. “I don’t wish to see you,EVERagain.” She hoped that her emphasis made her point clear, but by the way he gave her a knowing grin and tucked her ever-roguish curls behind her ear she suspected he was still well-entrenched in their initial plan.
She shook her head.
“I never want to see you again,” she said as she broke free from his grip with a jerk. Why would he, who was always so good at reading the situation, not see the severity of her words?
“What is this about?” he asked. It had been the line that they had agreed upon to allow her the chance to throw her accusation about Peggy at his person. But she did not. If she did not choose that reasoning then he must know that there had to be a deviation to the plan, she was sure of it.
“It’s about your wife!” she spat.
