AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You know it’s because of the family, though,” the cook said, shaking her head. “I talk to the kitchen staff at the Sedgwick house when we’re in town on market days. The viscount’s coffers have nearly run dry, so they say. They’ve had to let go more than one staff member, and now it’s just a few of them working there.”
“So, she forsook her best friend for the sake of marrying rich?” the maid scoffed. “I have no respect for a woman who does such a thing.”
“The servants at Sedgwick Manor believe Lord Bragg has manipulated Bridget this whole time,” the cook said, defending Bridget. “And Mary… well, you know that Jane has hardly spoken since her death. I think something happened between her and the lord.”
“I’m sure he loved Mary,” the maid said, “and he’s handsome, isn’t he?”
“I don’t know about all that,” the cook said. “You should stay well away from that man. I don’t know what he’s done, but it can’t be anything good. What I don’t understand is why he was here talking with His Grace.”
“Perhaps he was just trying to get to know a family friend, to express his condolences for Lady Mary’s death,” the maid said. “He must be heartbroken.”
“I doubt it,” the cook said. “Warren said it didn’t seem cordial.”
“In that case, he was probably apologizing for his future wife’s horrible manners,” the maid said. “Really, she’s not good enough for him. If I had half a mind, I’d propose thatshewas the one who spooked Mary’s horse.”
Graham’s lungs emptied out at those words, the rest of their conversation fading into the background as his heart began to pound and his ears started to ring.
Oliver was meant to have been married to his sister?
Mary had always been an unruly girl. At thirteen, she had threatened to run away with a stable hand, and Graham had forbidden her from seeing him again and had fired the boy from Foxglove Hall on the spot. Ever since, she had dreamed of traveling.
Graham felt like a fool for not seeing it before.Of course!Bragg and Mary would have become acquainted, and of course she would have fallen for him. Bragg had seemed too familiar with the layout of Foxglove Hall on his visit, and it occurred to Graham only now that it was because he had been there before.
Mary had wanted adventure. Oliver Bragg offered that, and more.
And Graham had never even known she was being seriously courted, let alone engaged.
Then, what was this about Bridget? His mother had mentioned the Sedgwick’s financial troubles, but he did not know it was so dire that she needed a husband to save her family. And to be engaged to Oliver so soon after her best friend’s death?
It was horrible. Outrageous.
Malevolent.
The pieces began to fall into place, Graham clutching at his chest as if he might claw his heart out and stop its aching. He had not sensed any evil in her, but this was too obvious. The sketches, her family’s finances, her swift engagement, and now their hasty marriage.
Was it all to cover up the fact that Bridget had made Mary fall?
From the moment Graham had heard of his sister’s death, he had not believed an accident possible. So there was every chance that Bridget could have done something to spook the horse, that it had not been a fall at all.
His mind flashed to her sketch: a monstrous hand holding a rock, ready to strike a woman in the head.
Only someone truly villainous could have drawn such a thing, could they not?
At the same time, he suddenly felt a sense of horror at how he had treated Oliver Bragg. Perhaps he had been too quick to judge him, letting jealousy cloud his mind. Bragg may have been coarse not because he was rude but because he was in mourning for a woman he loved.
Graham steeled himself and rounded the corner, his fists clenched at his sides. The maid and the cook stopped their conversation right away, staring at him with wide eyes before the maid caught herself and curtsied.
“Your Grace,” she murmured, her voice an anxious squeak. “What can I help you with?”
“I overheard your conversation,” he said, his chin lifted. “Explain.”
The maid and the cook exchanged a glance. “What part, Your Grace?”
Graham’s nails bit into his palm, aggravating the wound in his hand from the previous night. At this rate, he would bleed through his bandages. “Lord Bragg’s engagement to Lady Mary,” he said. “I want you to tell me everything. And about Lady Bridget as well.”
The maid’s face flushed with anger at Bridget’s name, and Graham glared at her. Even though he was starting to think Bridget was up to no good, the maid had no right to speak of a lady that way, nor so salaciously of his late sister.
“Well, I-I don’t really think it’s my place,” the maid said.
