The Seduction of Lady X (30 page)

“Lady Carey!”

She hurried to the door and yanked it open. Brock’s face was ashen. “Brock! What is it? What is wrong?” She had never seen him like this; the poor man could scarcely speak. She put her hand on his arm. “Brock! Brock, it’s all right. Tell me what has happened.”

He swallowed and put a hand to his neckcloth. “You must come, madam. There has been a horrible accident.”

Harrison.
Edward had killed him! Her knees began to weaken, and her stomach dipped. She grabbed the door frame to keep herself from collapsing. “Edward—”

Brock nodded, and her heart constricted painfully. “His lordship was thrown from his horse,” he said, his voice cracking. “The horse slipped in the mud and they both went down.”

Not Harrison.
Her head spinning, Olivia released the breath she was holding. “Dear God, Brock, is he badly hurt?”

Brock shuddered. “Madam, he is . . .
dead
.”

Olivia stared at the butler. It wasn’t possible. Someone else had been killed—not Edward. When Brock didn’t speak, she blurted, “My husband is dead?” unable to even grasp those words.

“Lady Carey.”

Harrison!
He was suddenly there, her haven, very much alive, his expression grim. His cloak was wet and the hem muddied. His wet, dark hair was mussed. Olivia wanted to fling herself into the safety of his arms.

“It’s true?” she asked, her voice scarcely a whisper.

He nodded.

“Where?” she said, her voice breaking. “Where is he?”

“He has been taken to the morning room,” Brock said hoarsely.

“I must see him.”

“I would not recommend it,” Harrison said, his voice steady and strong. “His neck was broken in his fall.”

Olivia looked directly into Harrison’s eyes. “I
must
see him,” she insisted. She had to see with her own eyes that he was really dead.

Harrison exchanged a look with Brock, then held out his arm. “I will take you.”

There were men in the foyer, all speaking in low tones. They stopped talking when Olivia and Harrison began their descent down the stairs, looking up at her with expressions that seemed almost suspicious. Only one of them spoke as she moved through. “My sympathies, madam,” he said.

Harrison swept her past them, down the long hallway to the morning room.

Two men were inside and she could see Edward’s boots sticking out from the end of the table where they had laid him. His boots were still wet. He hadn’t been dead long enough for his boots to have dried.

Olivia let go of Harrison’s arm and walked forward, her eyes fixed on those boots until she reached his side. His clothing was thoroughly soaked; his dark golden hair was stuck to his forehead. Blood trickled from a gash across his cheek and the mud had made his neckcloth brown. His waistcoat was torn, and Olivia irrationally wondered why.

She made herself look at his face. His skin was gray, his lips blue, and his head lolled to one side at a peculiar angle. He was dead, truly dead.

Edward was dead
.

Olivia covered her mouth with her hand and stared in horror at his corpse. The gentlemen around her shifted and avoided looking at her.

He was gone. He could not hurt her again. Yet Olivia would never have wished death on Edward. He was young; he’d had his entire life ahead of him. Still, she felt such an overwhelming rush of relief that she sank down on her knees beside him. In death, he looked so relaxed. There was no frown between his eyes, no gripped fist. He looked like the young man she’d met seven years ago. He looked like the man she’d believed she could make happy.

She stepped back, away from his body, and somehow managed to turn around.

Harrison stood a few feet away, his hands clasped tightly at his back, his gaze fixed on her. “We must send for the family,” she said softly. “And the vicar.”

“Of course.”

“And the undertaker.”

“You mustn’t worry, madam. I shall mind all that needs to be done.”

“Thank you.” Olivia made herself look at Edward once more.
Dead
. Thank you for bringing him home,” she said. “If you will excuse me . . .” She suddenly needed to be alone. She put her head down and walked out of the room, away from her dead husband and the oppression she had suffered, had believed she would always suffer. She walked down the hallway away from the foyer, almost unseeing.

Her thoughts were racing along with her heart; she still had not caught her breath. Olivia walked to the service stairs and ran up one flight of stairs, and then another, and made her way to the nursery.

The room was cold and so dark that she could just make out the furnishings. She walked into the room, then sank onto the end of the little bed and began to gulp air into her lungs.

How was it possible?
What miracle was this, that she had been freed from her prison? He was dead! A surprising swell of sorrow rose in her, but was quickly overcome by the stronger swell of relief. The tension began to seep out of her body as the reality began to sink in. She was free of him. She was
free
.

Olivia remained in the dark, cold nursery, staring at the pattern of rain on the windows, feeling something she had not felt in so long that at first she didn’t recognize it.

It was hope. The tension was gone, and in its place, she was filling up with hope.

But there was something else there, too; something nibbling at the edges of her relief—guilt. She had said things she knew would anger him. She had caused him to rush from Everdon Court in a state of inebriation. Was she not, in part, responsible for his death? Had she not fantasized about it time and again?

The relief, the guilt, the confusion, was overwhelming.

The house was quiet when Olivia finally quit the nursery and walked down the steps. How long had she been in the nursery? She moved silently to the ground floor, and as she turned the corner into the main corridor, she saw the light of a single candle.

Harrison was sitting outside the morning room beneath a wall sconce. His elbows were on his knees, his head in his hands.

As Olivia walked down the carpeted hallway, he didn’t lift his head.

“Harrison?”

He jerked upright at the sound of her voice. When he saw her, he hastily stood.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I am fine,” he said. “A bit stunned.”

“As am I.” She looked at the door of the morning room.

“The undertaker has come,” he said. “He and his wife are within and Brock is with them now. Messengers have been sent to London to give the news to his family.”

He’d taken care of everything, just as she’d known he would.

“Olivia—”

“I can scarcely believe it, Harrison,” she blurted, before he could speak, before he could say things that she could not answer. “It feels as if I am moving in a dream.”

“I understand.”

“I am free of him.” Tears suddenly clouded her vision. “I dreamed of freedom, but I never wanted to be free of him like this.”

Harrison nodded. He looked as if he wanted to speak, but he pressed his lips together and touched her face. “There are many things to consider. But at present, there are many arrangements to be made.”

“Yes.”

“You should get some rest while you can.”

“I cannot possibly rest!”

“Try,” he urged her. “Scores of people will begin to arrive in the morning, and the marchioness must be on hand to meet them and direct the funeral proceedings.”

He was right. Olivia nodded and caressed his hand, then walked past the closed door of the morning room, half expecting Edward to come lurching out, demanding to know where she was going and why she didn’t maintain a vigil by his side.

But the door did not open. He was truly dead.

T
he sound of sniffling woke Alexa the next morning. She pushed herself up onto her elbows. Rue was standing at the wardrobe, her cap on backward, folding Alexa’s things and putting them away.

With a groan of exasperation, Alexa rolled onto her side. “Please try not to weep so early in the morning, Rue,” she said, and closed her eyes.

“I beg your pardon, miss,” Rue sniffed loudly. “It’s all my fault, it is. I’m not to say he’s gone for a pint, but I did, and that’s the reason he’s dead this morning.”

Alexa opened her eyes. “
What
did you say?” She sat up. “What are you saying? What has happened to Mr. Tolly?”

Rue gasped, her eyes widening. “Did something happen to Mr. Tolly?”

“For God’s sake, you just said he was dead!”

“Not Mr. Tolly, miss! Oh no!” Rue cried. “I could not bear it if something were to happen to Mr. Tolly!”

Alexa climbed out of bed. “Then who are you sobbing over?” she asked.

“His lordship. It’s him who’s dead.”

Alexa gasped. “By all that is holy, girl, tell me what you mean! Why do you say that?”

“It’s true!” Rue cried. “He fell off his horse and broke his neck. He’s gone and died, miss!”

The news was so stunning that Alexa couldn’t make sense of it. Edward,
dead
? “Help me dress,” she said.

It was as if the marquis’s death had wiped all the rain from the early morning sky. It was the deep blue of a robin’s egg, and sunlight glinted off the moisture that clung to the trees.

As Alexa rushed up to the main house she saw coaches in the drive, and among them, the undertaker’s black carriage. She still could not believe it had happened, that the marquis was gone. She’d heard it all from Mrs. Lampley, who was eager to share the rumors that were flying about Everdon. The marquis had ridden into the village in the rain, Mrs. Lampley said, and had gone into the public house, and before God and everyone, had accused Harry of making a cuckold of him.

“What do you mean?” Alexa had demanded. “He accused Mr. Tolly of an illicit affair with my sister?”

“Even worse,” Mrs. Lampley said. “He accused Mr. Tolly of putting a child in her!”

Alexa had been too stunned to speak, and Mrs. Lampley had taken that as invitation to continue. She said the marquis had left the public house in a rage and ridden away too fast for the night and the muddy roads, and he and the horse had both gone down.

Both beasts were dead now.

Alexa did not give the marquis’s accusations any credence. Olivia would never forsake her marriage vows; propriety would always come before desire. Olivia was more concerned with appearances than her own happiness.

At the main house, a somber footman directed Alexa to the salon. She could see Olivia within, facing a pair of gentlemen who were wearing black armbands. Olivia was dressed modestly in black, her hair knotted at her nape and wrapped in black crape. She saw Alexa hovering at the door, and asked the gentlemen to excuse her for a moment. She steered Alexa into an anteroom and shut the door.

“He’s gone, Alexa,” Olivia whispered. “Can you believe it? He’s dead!”

Olivia looked wan, as if she’d not slept at all. But there was something entirely different about her. It took a moment for Alexa to realize that her sister’s face seemed younger. It was free of tension. “I am astonished,” Alexa said. “It seems impossible.”

“I couldn’t believe it until I saw him. And still, it seems almost too . . .” Olivia shook her head. “The family has been sent for. The funeral shall be held on Friday. He will lie in state until then.”

Alexa didn’t care about the arrangements. She waited for Olivia to say more, to at least acknowledge the events surrounding her husband’s death. But Olivia just gazed distantly at the small window. It seemed as if she were miles from this small room.

“Are you not concerned about how it happened?” Alexa asked carefully.

That drew Olivia’s attention. She gave Alexa a quizzical look. “He was thrown from his horse and broke his neck.”

“Oh dear God,” Alexa said as realization dawned. “You are not aware of how what happened, are you?”