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“It certainly does. Now, though, I would still like an explanation of this mystery before we engage in that discussion,” Donella replied.
“It’s rather complicated,” Samantha said, hedging. “And I’m not sure Braden . . . Dr. Kendrick would appreciate me telling you.”
“I strongly suspect he’s already told my husband,” Donella dryly noted. “Logan has been spending quite a bit of time on your foundation’s books. Whenever I ask him why, he tries to put me off or distract me, which isquiteannoying.”
Bathsheba flashed a sly smile. “I suppose it depends on the distraction.”
“Oh, he’s triedthat, believe me,” Donella said. “And don’t think I won’t be having a little chat with himandBraden when I get home.”
Samantha grimaced. “Splendid. Now I’ve gotten them both in trouble.”
Donella put down her glass and took Samantha’s hand. “No one’s in trouble, my dear girl. I simply wish to know how we can help you.”
“It’s rather a long, complicated story.”
“There’s no rush,” Bathsheba said. “Anything you wish to tell us will be fine.”
Samantha sighed. It was pointless to pretend any longer that she and Braden weren’t doing exactly what they were doing.
Haltingly, she began to tell the story. Except for a few questions, the two women listened with quiet sympathy.
When she finally came to the end of the sad and sordid tale, Samantha felt lighter, as if she’d given up part of her burden. She also realized that in the confines of this cozy dressing room, in the company of the generous women who’d become her friends, she felt safe. She’d only felt that way a few other times in these last, lonely years.
Mostly when she was with Braden.
Donella took her hands and squeezed them. “Oh, Samantha, I am so sorry for all that you’ve endured. What a terrible cross to bear.”
“It’s simply wretched,” said Bathsheba in an outraged tone. “I knew it was bad, but all this? I would love nothing better than to murder that disgusting Lord Beath. What a monster.”
“He’s certainly not my favorite,” Samantha admitted. “But he didn’t kill Roger, and he’s not responsible for the disappearances at the orphanage.”
“Are you sure about that?” Bathsheba asked. “He’d love to bring down the foundation.”
Samantha blinked, surprised by the question. “That never occurred to me, but . . .” Then she shook her head. “Beath would never soil his family name by associating with the criminal classes. He’ll just try to get all his friends to pull their support, because that would effectively shut us down.”
Donella held her glass out to Bathsheba for a refill. “I believe my nerves stand in need of bracing, especially after hearing how those awful men accosted you and Braden, Samantha.”
“You must think me demented to engage in such a quest.” Samantha rubbed her brow. “Sometimes I wonder if Lord Beath isn’t right, after all. Perhaps my illness did make me unstable or . . .”
She couldn’t bear to finish the thought.
Bathsheba scoffed. “Nonsense. Anyone who says otherwise needs a kick to his tallywags, not to mention his diddler.”
When Donella choked on her sherry, Bathsheba thumped her on the back. “Sorry, old girl. Still, you really should be used to that sort of language, living with Kendricks.”
“It’s just that I’ve not heard those particular expressions before,” Donella hoarsely replied.
“You can share them with Angus.” Bathsheba then pointed a finger at Samantha. “But the sentiment is correct. You may be reckless, but you are not dicked in the nob.”
Samantha tried to make a joke of it. “You have to say that because you’re my friend.”
In truth, though, she was beginning to worry that she had become obsessed with Roger’s death to the point where she was putting others in danger.
As Donella studied her, Samantha twined her fingers together, feeling a bit nervous under the young woman’s calm scrutiny.
“What?” she finally blurted out.
“I’m very familiar with mental afflictions,” Donella said, “and how they affect one’s behavior. You strike me as an eminently sane person.”
