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“My lord?”
Miss Treadgold was staring at his bloody fingers. He clasped his hands behind his back. “Miss Treadgold?”
“I like dead things.”
“Matilda! Hush!”
“Lady Frederica likes to ride astride and I like dead things. There, I said it. Now you know.”
Guy blinked at her. “Yes. Now I know. Ah… Thank you for telling me?”
With an exchange of grins, the two young ladies dashed away.
“I think I caught a few too many blows to the head,” Guy muttered, as he headed for the stairs.
Lady Belinda sidestepped to block his way.
“Excuse me, my lady,” he said shortly. “I wish to speak with my betrothed.”
“Arabella has retired to her private chamber. Please join me in my sitting room, my lord.”
“I need to see Arabella.”
Lady Belinda did not move an inch. “You will not see my daughter in this agitated state and with another man’s blood on your hands.”
“To be fair, some of this blood might be mine.”
“Why do I not find myself comforted?”
With a swish of her skirts, she walked away, leaving Guy little choice but to follow.
Lady Belinda’s sitting room was a cozy, elegant parlor, decorated in cream and lavender, with a neatly organized workbasket and an array of books.
As he shut the door behind them, she said, “Let me wash your hands,” and set about pouring water into a basin.
“I appreciate your care, my lady, but I really need to speak to Arabella.”
“You really need to calm down.”
She gestured at the basin. Guy gave up and obeyed. The water stung his torn skin, but her hands were cool and efficient, keeping him prisoner under the guise of washing his hands.
“I always liked you as a boy,” she said, her eyes on her task. “I paid attention, obviously, as my husband and your father had decided the two of you would marry. I approved of your essential character: You were fair, good humored, and a natural leader. Your behavior worsened in your youth, but I have noted that a young adult who displayed a good character as a child will likely return to that good character upon maturity. It seems that you have made good decisions and become a man I admire.”
“I confess I have made some poor decisions as well, where Arabella is concerned.”
“Did you know what Lord Sculthorpe did to her?”
“No. But I knew there was something and I saw—”
He stopped short.
I saw her naked, I saw that bruise, and she lied and said it was a horse, and you are her mother and I cannot tell you any of that.
“You saw?” Lady Belinda prompted.
“I saw…the error of my ways.” He remembered that night, when she had loitered outside his room, right after Sculthorpe had left. The bruises must have been new and tender then, her mistreatment still fresh in her mind. She had slipped her arms around him. She had been seeking comfort and he—
“Why won’t she talk to me?” he asked. “I saw her the night after it happened. I asked if she needed help and she…”
