Alexandra (43 page)

Tristan stopped breathing.

“Did you see anyone go into his room?” Alexandra continued. “Anyone who might have done him harm?”

“Y-yes.”

Alexandra sent Tristan a startled glance—a hopeful glance—before she looked back to Maude expectantly.

No further information seemed to be forthcoming. Tristan feared he’d expire if he didn’t breathe. He wished Maude would accuse him already, so he could breathe.

Alexandra’s gaze darted to his again before her smooth hand tightened over the wrinkled one. “Who was it, Maude?” she whispered, her eyes flooded with not just hope, but also a measure of self-protective doubt.

The cane crashed to the floor as Maude covered her face with her hands. Beneath her cotton dress, her bony shoulders shook with silent, racking sobs.

Petrified and resigned, Tristan crouched beside her chair. “Maude? What is it?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” came a muffled wail through her fingers. “It was a mistake, I swear it.”

“Of course it was a mistake, but that doesn’t make me any less guilty.” Ignoring Alexandra’s gasp, he eased Maude’s hands away from her face. “Whether intentional or not, I’m still responsible for his death.”

His life was over. Or at least it was meaningless, which was the same thing.

“I’m s-sorry,” Maude repeated. She stared into space, tears rolling down her parchment cheeks. “It was a mistake.”

Except for the painful knot, he felt only numbness. But she looked downright distraught. “Maude, what was a mistake?”

Her tears flowed faster. “The l-laudanum.”

Tristan dug a handkerchief from his pocket. “The laudanum?” His memory flashed on the nearly empty bottle he’d taken from his uncle’s rooms and tried to give to Alexandra.
You’ll want to take only a little,
he’d told her.
You can overdose on laudanum.

He hadn’t thought the knot could tighten more, but it did. He must have poisoned his uncle with that very same bottle.

“I just wanted him to stop hurting.” Maude took the proffered white square and dabbed her eyes with it, then balled it in her fist, staring at her hands in her lap. More tears splashed down on them. “H-he was coughing. He couldn’t sleep. I gave him too much. Too much. I used all of it.” She was babbling so fast Tristan couldn’t seem to keep up. “Perhaps I gave it to him twice that night. I didn’t intend to. I couldn’t remember. My m-memory isn’t what it used to be…”

“Could you mean…” A mist had obscured Tristan’s brain. He’d stopped breathing again. He took both of Maude’s hands. “Do you think you may have accidentally caused my uncle’s death?”

She nodded and met his gaze, her eyes reddened. “I should have died instead of him.”

“No.” He couldn’t catch his breath. His vision clouded. His pulse felt thready and weak.

“I told you,” Alexandra murmured.

He was innocent. He was innocent.

Relief flowed through him, blessed relief after more than two years. He felt weak and lightheaded and giddy, like Alexandra when she drank too much wine.

Alexandra.
She’d had faith in him all along.

“Maude.” He swallowed past a lump in his throat. “Will you tell this to the authorities?”

A sob escaped her. “Th-they’re going to hang me.”

“I won’t let them.” His knees hurt, but he remained crouched there, holding both her hands, when all he wanted was to collapse in relief. “You did your best, didn’t you? Always. You cared for my uncle when he was a child, then his children, then him again. I won’t let them hang you for doing the best you could. Everyone makes mistakes.”

He heard a little noise from Alexandra and turned to see her. A fat tear rolled down her cheek, cracking his heart.

“They’re going to hang me,” Maude repeated.

“No.” He looked back to the older woman. “I will protect you. I promise your safety, Maude, if you’ll only explain what happened to the authorities.”

She stared at her lap. “You promise?”

“I do. No one will hurt you. You can come back to live at Hawkridge, if you’d like. We’ll take care of you.”

A long moment passed when all Tristan heard was the beat of his own heart pounding in his ears. At last Maude lifted her red-rimmed gaze to meet his, her eyes filled with gratitude and relief of her own.

“I’ll talk,” she said. “I lied to the sheriff before, but this time I’ll tell the truth.”

WHEN MAUDE’S
door closed behind them, Alexandra and Tris paused on the garden path and turned to each other. And just stood there, looking at each other, for a very long time.

“Alexandra,” Tris finally murmured. He took the basket from her hand and set it on the gravel, then gripped both her shoulders, searching her eyes. “I’ve never seen you cry before,” he said.

“I’m not crying,” she said as her eyes glazed, making a liar of her. “It was just that when you said everyone makes mistakes…well, I’m sorry for mine, Tris. I’m sorry I was so obstinate that I drove you away.”

He held her face in unsteady hands. “I’m not sorry you were obstinate. Look where it led. I was too obstinate to see you might be right.” He shook his head. “I even thought Maude was confessing
my
guilt instead of her own.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” she reminded him with a watery chuckle. She blew out a shaky breath. “Goodness, Tris, we did it.”

“
You
did it,” he said. “Sweet heaven, you did it.” Grinning foolishly, he swept her up to twirl her in a wide circle right there in the cottage’s little garden.

She laughed, lifting her face to the sky. “I told you,” she crowed as he set her on her feet. “I told you that you weren’t capable of causing harm to your uncle.” She poked a finger into his chest. “And you aren’t capable of hurting me, either.”

He raised both hands in surrender. ”You were right about that, too. They were just accidents.” Then his hands darted out to seize her, yanking her to him.

“Oof!” she said, feeling the tenderness of her bruises. “Maybe now you
have
hurt me.”

“I’m sorry.” He kissed her and set her carefully away before he bent to retrieve her basket. “But I’ve never been so happy to hear
I told you so
in my entire life.”

He led her back to the curricle and handed her in, then clambered up beside her. Seizing her once more, he kissed her so thoroughly she forgot her bruises altogether.

“Let’s go home,” he said, lifting the reins.

The curricle jerked as they pulled away. She unwrapped their luncheon, spreading the napkin over her lap with all of Mrs. Pawley’s offerings. She was famished. She couldn’t remember ever being so hungry.

“Everything is going to be so marvelous,” she said, taking a big bite out of a chicken leg. “All of society will have to apologize to you, and my sisters are both going to marry dukes.”

“Marquesses aren’t good enough?” he asked with a raised brow.

She slapped a chicken leg into his open hand. “I suppose marquesses will do.”

They ate and laughed all the way home, talking about their future. Tris still hadn’t said he loved her, but she really didn’t care. She was certain he did, and if it took him ten years to admit it, she could wait.

Was it her imagination, or had she never seen the sky a more brilliant blue? The sun sparkled on the Thames. Birds trilled in the trees. Everything seemed unnaturally bright, including her joyful husband.

“I’ve never seen you so jolly,” she teased as they headed up Hawkridge Hall’s drive. “Now that I know you’re capable, I shall expect you to remain so.”

“Constantly?”

“Indeed. We’ll be the jolliest couple in England.”

His laughter trailed off as the house loomed into view. The sight seemed to sober him slightly. “It
is
jolly to know I’m in the clear, but let’s not celebrate until the authorities have taken Maude’s statement. At the rate the law moves, she could die before they get out to Nutgrove.”

“Oh, no—”

“I was jesting,” he said with a lopsided grin. He pulled up before the steps. “That old bird will probably outlive us both. Besides, I’m going to find the sheriff right now and drag him there directly. Let me take care of tying up the details, and we can celebrate tonight.”

Tonight.
His tone sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. Which nightgown would she wear?

Passing the reins to a groom, Tris lightly jumped to the gravel and came around to hand her down.

The powder blue one, she decided, offering her hand. He grinned up at her. “You waited this time.”

“I would wait forever for you, Tris.”

“I shan’t be gone that long,” he murmured, forgoing her hand to grasp her under her arms and swing her down. “Don’t tell anyone the news—I want to announce it together tonight, after everything is settled.”

He kissed her forehead, her cheek, and finally her mouth. Drawing back, he smoothed a stray curl from her face. “You must be exhausted, considering your injuries. I hope you’ll rest while I’m gone.”

Her senses still spinning, she nodded her assent.

He reached back into the curricle for the silver basket and pushed it into her hands before dropping one last kiss on her lips. “Go, will you? Before I’m tempted to accompany you upstairs.”

She went straight up to their bedroom. She
was
exhausted.

Peggy seemed to be nowhere about, so she kicked off her shoes and burrowed, fully dressed, under the covers, where she dreamed of her marvelous new life while her husband secured their future.

ALEXANDRA WAS
still snug in bed when she heard the door quietly close, followed by the
clack
of an engaging lock.

She opened her eyes and yawned. Light streamed through the windows, and she hadn’t expected her husband home until dark. Everything must have gone well.

“Tris?” she queried, rolling languidly to face the door. She couldn’t wait to see him.

But instead she saw Peggy.

Holding a gun.

For a moment, that was all that registered: Peggy holding a gun. It was surreal, really. Why would Peggy be holding a gun?

Then Alexandra’s sleep-fogged brain cleared a little, and she bolted upright in the bed.

“I’m sorry,” Peggy said, walking closer. She hadn’t aimed the gun; she just held it in her right hand. But the hand shook. She was nervous. Which made Alexandra more nervous than she already was, which was very nervous indeed. Her heart was hammering against her ribs and threatening to climb out her throat.

Her maid was walking toward her, holding a gun.

And then Peggy raised it, and Alexandra was staring down the barrel of a gun. A gun pointed at
her
.

It was, quite undoubtedly, the most frightening moment of her life.

She stared down that barrel, thinking it the longest, darkest, most menacing thing she’d ever seen.

But she couldn’t just sit there staring at it. She had to get her mouth to work. She had to say something to stop this. “Y-you cannot shoot that,” she stammered, still wondering why Peggy had a gun. “It’ll be heard. You’ll be caught.”

“But my mother won’t,” Peggy responded through clenched teeth. “And that’s all that matters.”

“Your mother?” Alexandra squeaked, inching toward the edge of the bed. Peggy was too old to still have a mother. Or at least she’d never mentioned a mother. What in heaven’s name was she talking about, and why did she have a gun, and would that hand ever stop shaking?

And then something clicked in her head, just as her feet hit the floor. “Maude is your
mother
?”

“Yes,” Peggy gritted out, and she brought her second hand up to steady the first, and her shaking finger moved toward the trigger.

Alexandra didn’t think anymore. She just sprang, one palm hitting the maid’s chest while her other hand grasped her wrists and forced them up toward the ceiling. A sharp
bang
rang out, the recoil making them both fall as plaster rained down on top of them.

Peggy dropped the gun. Or rather, it skittered from her hands and went clear under the big bed.

Relief sang through Alexandra’s veins. The bullet was spent. Peggy couldn’t shoot her anymore, at least not without reloading. And first she’d have to get the gun, which was under the bed. All Alexandra had to do was get out of the room. She’d run for help.