Once Upon a Scandal (31 page)

She swallowed, willing herself to stay calm. “Would you like to tell me?”

“The speed of the arrangement didn’t bother me. She was so pretty. Such an innocent and far above me in every way. I leapt at the chance. And when she conceived so quickly, I could not have been more proud. Violet was born too early, of course, but how blessed we were. There were no complications.”

“She is a beautiful child.” All this time, he’d believed the girl was his own.

“So imagine my dismay when your father paid me a visit. He’d learned something of interest. Something I’d not want to be made known.”

“Blackmail,” she whispered, as the last of her illusions were shattered, broken into thousands of splinters. Had it been caused by a disease, the corrosion of Father’s soul? She struggled for breath, because her lungs had been clamped in a vise.

“You always were clever, Jane. In exchange for my money, he’d not tell the world. And in exchange for dear Uncle Aldus’s money, he’d not tell me. Aldus didn’t know it was already too late. That his fate had been sealed. Just like your father’s.”

She gripped the arm of her chair, worried her nails would stab through her gloves and into the wood. “I’ve heard enough,
monsieur
.” How laughable, that she still held on to her disguise. But she didn’t want to be Jane Fitzsimmons anymore. Not after this.

“Oh no, my dear. You cannot judge without all of the facts.” He offered a swig from the bottle, which she denied, shaking her head violently. “You’re quite sure? It helps numb things. No? Very well.

“In disreputable establishments, the sort your father frequented near the end, people up to any task can always be found. I don’t have all the details, of course, but I paid to make sure it was done quickly.”

How could she sit there while the man calmly discussed her father’s murder?

“And I am sorry for it. But you do see, don’t you, that he had to pay for his sin? He let me believe things I should never have believed.” His voice cracked at that, a hint the telling of this was not so easy.

“But dear, avuncular Aldus. For him, I cannot be sorry. Nor could it be done quickly. He needed to suffer for his transgressions. To lose his position and be utterly humiliated before he paid his price. So I took documents I knew would be missed,” he said with a contorted smile. “He’d left them out one night instead of locking them away for safekeeping. So secure he was in his position. So careless.”

“Documents of a sensitive nature?” She could not help the question. “Were they related to the war?”

He cocked his head. “So that’s what you are about! The tempting French widow, meant to draw out secrets. It’s quite clever, but at a terrible cost, don’t you think?”

She said nothing.

“I also took the letter from your hotel room. It’s not what I’d gone looking for, of course, but I recognized his handwriting, remembered the scandal, and realized Aldus had been at this before.”

With that, his odd smile faded.

“I knew just how I would do it. He was quite predictable in his schedule, after all. I would slip into his study from the patio, hide behind a curtain. Wait until he was seated at his desk. Pull the trigger myself, just for the pleasure of it. He didn’t even know I was there.”

Despite the grim satisfaction in his voice, he was obviously shaken. “Perhaps it would have been better if I’d seen the fear in his face. The surprise. Instead, there was only a gunshot and a terrible thud as he fell to the floor. So much blood and muck. I propped a chair against the hallway door to keep the butler from coming through, laid out the letters, and slipped back outside. Just in time to help discover that Rempley had taken his own life, a coward to the end.”

Vengeance indeed. And she was shocked. Horrified. She’d never particularly liked Gerard, but to imagine him capable of this? If the crime was terrible enough, could any punishment be justified?

“No matter what becomes of me, I will always see him lying there,” he said, his voice low. “And I’ll remember how many years Charlotte and I have wanted a sibling for Violet. To no avail, when that bastard seemed able to procreate at will.”

He turned then, curling into his chair and in upon himself, the room silent until his shoulders started shaking with sobs, and the bottle slipped from his hand, its remaining gin soaking into the carpet.

• • •

Benjamin was tearing through the streets of London at a breakneck pace. He’d gone first to Sophia’s house, praying Jane was safely there, but she’d left more than an hour before, her destination a mystery. If not for Dobbins, still keeping watch, he’d not have known which way she’d gone. But Dobbins had also offered alarming news. Both yesterday and today, a man fitting Montford’s description had been spotted outside Lady Marchmain’s house. The same man Dobbins had seen at Sharpe’s several weeks ago, hinting that a man needed to be punished, the promise of cash to anyone who could ensure it.

Benjamin had never felt this kind of fear, not knowing what Montford might do to Jane, only that he’d likely killed two people and would hardly balk at a third if it kept his crimes hidden.

How methodically he’d gone about his revenge, the sign of a truly disturbed mind. Fitzsimmons murdered in a setting that would discourage investigation. Their fruitless search of Jane’s house, while Montford had the documents all along, stolen to humiliate Charlotte’s former guardian. And then Rempley’s satisfying disgrace, his death reportedly an accident, though a shameful suicide was already assumed.

Montford had managed to protect his wife throughout, the pregnant albeit blameless girl he’d married. But those sharing blame had been ruthlessly dealt with.

Benjamin’s horse was frothing when they reached Fitzsimmons House. Jumping from the saddle, he sped up the stairs, his fists slamming on the front door for an eternity before it was opened.

“Lord Marworth … ” Thompson’s voice rang out as he raced past, throwing open each door in the hall, his search frantic. Not in the drawing room, the dining room, nor the study. The family parlor lay just ahead on the left. He nearly slid past it, grabbing hold of the knob, hitting his body against the door, forcing it open.

His breath was coming in pants, sweat stinging his eyes as he took in the scene.

Montford sobbing in a chair, Jane’s arm patting his shoulder in an effort to soothe him.

“Get away! You don’t know what he’s done.” He flung himself at Montford, grabbing him by the lapels, throwing him against the nearest wall.

The man didn’t even put up a fight. He merely slumped to the floor, his expression dazed. Inebriated, the evil sot.

“Benjamin,
ma chère
. You are overwrought.”

God, she was magnificent. To remember her role at a time like this, when all he could think of was bleeding the life out of Montford’s body. She’d laid her soft hand on the man’s shoulders when he deserved no pity.

“This will come as a terrible shock,” he said. There was no way to soften the blow. “Montford is responsible for the deaths of both Reginald Fitzsimmons and Aldus Rempley.”

How stiffly she was standing, as if the slightest movement would set her off balance. Fists clenching her gown, her face was tortured. “Yes, I know.”

Could she be in shock? Had she even heard him? She was pale as a piece of milk glass. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

She nodded, eyes filling with tears. “He told me the whole of it. I’m to act as his judge and jury.”

“He needs to be thrown into a goal, or transported in the hulks, or hung from a tree.”

She shook her head, grief widening the space between them. “He needs to go away with his wife and his daughter.”

How could she say that? “Surely, you don’t forgive him?”

The first of her tears had slipped down her cheeks, silver trails in the candlelight. “I don’t think I can. But so many sins are born of passion, don’t you think?”

“You don’t want this known? Montford punished?”

“It would harm the two people who are most helpless in this. And I can’t destroy their lives for a chance at revenge.” Montford groaned from his heap. “No doubt God will call him to task for his sins. I think he already suffers for them. But living the lie that I do, I’m in no position to pass judgment.”

He wanted to argue with her. They lived in a society where the guilty paid a price for their crimes. But he suddenly found he had nothing he could say.

Most of our pleasures are prized in proportion to the difficulty in which they are attained.—
Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women

Sophia’s carriage had waited for Jane all this time, so he followed behind on horseback, the evening late now, his mind in turmoil. He couldn’t understand why she’d walked away from Montford.

Charlotte, hearing the commotion, had come down the stairs in a frilly nightdress, her face creased with concern, her mouth a round circle of surprise. In some ways, she was childlike, and maybe that was a blessing, given what she’d suffered. Jane, as Lillianne, had made all of the appropriate remarks, blaming the pressures of the day, the recent shock they’d suffered. Gerard would be much improved after a strong coffee and a night’s rest in the arms of the woman he loved.

Would that he might be so lucky. If this evening had convinced him of anything, it had been the need for complete honesty. She’d all but forgiven her cousin, impossible though it might seem. Perhaps her heart could forgive him, too?

They arrived at Lady Marchmain’s, and he asked for a moment alone. Every movement bore the weight of her decision as she agreed, looking as delicate as spun sugar. He should wait but found he couldn’t. It felt as if the rest of his life depended on her answer. So, once tucked into a small room off the parlor for privacy, he told her his role in all of it.

And waited, counting out each heartbeat.

• • •

“My father was a suspect in the theft of the dossiers? In fact, the likely culprit?” Jane’s mind struggled to comprehend it.

He stared at the wall behind her, though he’d taken an audible breath. “Yes.”

“And you’ve known this from the very beginning?” It couldn’t be true.

He cleared his throat before his reply. “Yes.”

“You came to my father’s funeral, not out of sympathy, but to ingratiate yourself.” Her mind was racing. “To charm me into telling you what I knew.”

She sensed the tension in him, the stiff resolve. “Yes.”

Dear God, the horrible implications of that single word. “My elaborate death and rebirth ... It was all to further your plan. You didn’t actually believe I might prove useful. That I might lure the real villain out into the open.”

“No, Jane, that’s not true,” he said, reaching a hand towards her. She recoiled from it, just as she would from anything poisonous. “I thought there was a chance,” he said, as his arm fell back to his side. “And it was a way to keep you safe from Rempley. It offered a fresh start.”

Her body trembled as she shook her head. “That’s what you told yourself, to ease your conscience.”

Several moments ticked by on the mantle clock, sounding like an anvil in the silence of the room. “Perhaps,” he admitted at last.

She grabbed hold of a nearby chair to steady herself. “Tell me, do you make a habit of upending people’s lives on a whim?” Her breath rasped in and out. “Was it easier to justify because I all but leapt at the opportunity? I hadn’t realized it was a false one, you see. Father always did say I was too naïve.”

“I am sorrier than I can say. You must believe it. I will do everything I can to atone.”

“You’ve already done enough,” she said, dropping her head into her hands, hating this small show of weakness. She straightened almost immediately. The weight of his deception had shattered her, but she would not weep. He did not deserve the satisfaction.

That long-ago day, she’d watched the undertaker take the bodies of her mother and brother away, his carriage and cart leaving tracks in the snow. She’d stayed outside in the bitter cold, chilled all the way through, until the wind swept the tracks clean. Odd, to remember it now, to relive the numbness that had invaded first her fingers and toes, then her limbs, and then her heart.

Benjamin had used her. Every promise a lie. Each look and touch and kiss the meanest sort of coercion. She’d blindly believed him. Desperate and pathetic, she’d been caught up in his illusion, for he was nothing more than that. A pretender. A fraud. Hiding behind a tragic history and sad excuses.

How readily he’d admitted his sins, as if he’d expected their revelation to merit her forgiveness. Not unreasonable, perhaps, since not an hour ago, she’d given it to Gerard, who’d killed two men, including her father. Benjamin’s actions paled by comparison.

But she’d never been so hurt, nor had her trust been so abused. And suddenly, with bittersweet satisfaction, she knew how to strike back. Because she’d forgiven enough sins for one day.

“So you did this and justified it with the belief your brother, Aiden, would have done the same? Well and whole, he’d have found out the truth, by any means necessary?”

He was looking down now, studying his hands. “No.”

“But you solved the crime in the end. Only a few bloodied bodies and perhaps my heart along the way. Aiden would’ve been immeasurably proud of what you’ve done.”

“No,” he said, stiffening. “He’d be shocked by my justifications.”

“I find it a bit sad, in truth,” she said, hesitating over the words, because one should never be eager to inflict pain. “You’ve tried so hard to live the life he lost, to be the man he might have been. And yet, everything you’ve told me indicates he’d have been more honorable. More noble. Your version is a cheap imitation.”

The tight clench of his jaw told her the words had stung. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“Then when will you start living your own life? When will you hold yourself accountable for your own actions, instead of hiding behind your father’s?”

She’d gone too far. His gaze had turned glacial. “My father did a terrible thing.”

“Yes, I know, and all this time, you’ve blamed him for saving your life instead of your brother’s. You’ve concocted a childish revenge that harms no one besides yourself.”