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“So he was,” Adeline murmured.
“It wasn’t an easy life for him, most certainly,” Marcella said.
She didn’t add anything else; Marcella didn’t know how much even Reginald’s beloved aunt knew about what he’d really done all those years in Southwark.
“It has been most unfair,” Blaire agreed. “Even when he returned, he faced difficulties. Why, the estate wouldn’t have survived if he hadn’t married you.”
Marcella blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”
Blaire gasped. She put a hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened. Her reaction seemed like it was too much, like a performance even, which worried Marcella all the more. What had distressed the lady so?
“I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry. It just slipped out!”
“What did?” Marcella asked.
Adeline leaned forward and placed a hand on Marcella’s shoulder, whether as a reminder to show restraint or as a small offer of comfort wasn’t clear.
Blaire placed her cup and saucer on the table. She looked askance and gave Marcella a faltering, uncomfortable smile. “It doesn’t matter now, but I—I know why he married you.”
“To honor his promise,” Marcella said, feeling faint. “To please his father and bring our families together.”
“Oh, my poor Marcella. I love my nephew, but his motivations weren’t nearly so noble. He married you because the Marquisate was nearly bankrupt. Reginald was desperate for money, and you had quite an impressive inheritance.”
Marcella stood slowly. She distantly noticed that the teacup slipped from her hand and onto the floor. The parlor maid hurried to clean the spill, as tea spread across the carpet.
Marcella felt as if the world had stopped, her mind making connections faster than she could even put words to them. Hadn’t she wondered why Reginald wanted to marry her so quickly? It made sense now. He’d needed her money. Reginald had been desperate to pay his debts.
“I was just…it was just about the money,” Marcella whispered.
Ithurt. She’d never felt any pain quite like this. Marcella had always thought that her father’s rejection and her stepmother’s unwillingness to love her had hurt more than anything else possibly could.
“I’m sure that isn’t all it is,” Blaire added quickly.
Her words felt so hollow.
“Marcella?” Adeline asked gently.
“I—I just need to be alone for a moment,” Marcella replied. “Please, excuse me. I’ll be back soon.”
She hurried from the room and pressed herself against the wall outside. It couldn’t all be true, could it? Surely not.
But why would Reginald’s aunt say something so awful if it was not true?
Marcella felt dread curl and twist in her stomach. As much as she wanted to believe that Blaire’s words were just malicious gossip, she couldn’t quite bring herself to distrust them. Instead, Marcella rolled her shoulders back and tipped her chin up. There was only one person who could explain what she’d heard, and he was just upstairs.
She bolted up the stairs, taking them so quickly that she nearly tripped on the hem of her fine gown. Heat rose to her face, and tears of sorrow and rage pricked at her eyes. This couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t.
Marcella passed Simon, hurrying down the stairs. “My Lady?”
She ignored him and swept into Reginald’s study, letting the door slam against the wall. Reginald stood at the corner of the desk, and his eyes blazed at the sight of her.
“Is it true?” Marcella asked.
Reginald crossed his arms. “Is what true?”
“Did you marry me for my money?”
Even before he spoke, Marcella caught the flicker of guilt that crossed his face. She drew in a sharp gasp. Her chest ached, and she put a hand over her heart, as if that might somehow lessen the shock, the embarrassment, and the utter, all-encompassing dismay she felt.
