ear if you ever feel the need to talk privately ….’
How Juliet longed to tell someone about her years as Edward’s wife. Longed to tell of those nights when he had come to her bed and taken her with cold indifference to the pain he was inflicting. Of his cruelty in the early months of their marriage, when she’d still thought it worth pleading for his gentleness and understanding. Pleas she had ceased to make after that single occasion when Edward had shown her just how much more pain and humiliation he could inflict when thwarted.
Oh, yes, Juliet longed to tell someone of those things, but knew that she never would ….
‘I thank you for the offer, Dolly.’ She smiled, to take any offence from her refusal. ‘But for the moment I would much rather discuss how I am to go about apologising to Lord St Claire for this latest misunderstanding.’
If Dolly was disappointed in Juliet’s determination not to talk about the past, then she gave no indication of it as she instead laughed huskily. ‘Oh, my dear, you must not be so eager to concede that you were in the wrong. Men are fond of believing themselves in the right of it, you know, and to eat a little humble pie on occasion does them no harm whatsoever.’
Despite her earlier tension, Juliet found herself laughing at Dolly’s nonsense. ‘But in this case Lord St Claire was in the right of it …’
‘I did not say you have to punish him for ever, my dear.’ Dolly gave her a conspiratorial smile. ‘Just long enough for him to feel the cold chill of your displeasure. The ball I am giving tomorrow evening should be time enough to allow yourself to forgive him.’
Juliet raised dark brows. ‘So I am to forgive him, then?’
‘Of course.’ Dolly gave a gracious inclination of her head. ‘I have found with Bancroft that it is by far the best way. By the time I have finished forgiving him he is usually so befuddled he has quite forgotten that he was not actually to blame for our fall-out, and is just grateful that we are … friends again!’
Juliet felt colour warm her cheeks as she realised what sort of friendship the other woman was alluding to. ‘You quite misunderstand my relationship with Lord St Claire—’
‘It is still early days yet, Juliet,’ Dolly pointed out.
She shook her head. ‘I assure you I have no intention of ever becoming that sort of friend with Sebastian St Claire.’
Or any other man ….
Sebastian’s expression remained outwardly calm as the Earl talked. Which was not to say that he was not disturbed by the older man’s conversation—only he had no intention of revealing his own thoughts at Bancroft’s talk of agents of the Crown and treachery.
Bancroft, it appeared, had for some years been involved in such a network of agents, of which Gray—a man Sebastian had known since childhood—appeared to be a member! Dolly, too, if Sebastian understood the Earl correctly; all those years Dolly had been the mistress of one member of the aristocracy or another she had been reporting information back to Bancroft!
‘So it appears Crestwood was either responsible himself for passing along privileged information, or it was someone else close to him in whom he confided,’ Bancroft finished gravely.
Sebastian realised he had been guilty of allowing his thoughts to wander. But, hell, what man would not when confronted with such a fantastic tale? ‘Let me see if I understand this clearly. You are saying that Crestwood, or someone close to him, for years passed along privileged information to the French? That such information was used to forestall several English efforts to defeat Bonaparte, and also to aid the Corsican’s escape from Elba two years ago?’
‘I am saying exactly that,’ the Earl confirmed.
Sebastian’s brother Lucian had resigned his commission in the army when Bonaparte had finally surrendered, but he had returned to duty the following year, along with his fellow officers, in order to participate in the battle at Waterloo, following Napoleon’s escape from Elba. Lucian had returned from that last battle a hard and embittered man, and most of his friends had not returned at all ….
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. ‘You also believe that this “someone close” to the earl was his wife? That if the heroic Crestwood did not do it, then it must therefore have been Juliet who was the traitor?’
Gray frowned. ‘Crestwood was a hero and a gentleman, Seb. But he was not a man who had close friends as you and I do. In effect, there was no other person close to him except his countess. Now Crestwood is conveniently dead, and so unable to deny or admit these allegations.’
Sebastian stood up restlessly. ‘You are claiming that Lady Boyd deliberately pushed Crestwood down the stairs to his death in order to cover up her duplicity?’
His friend nodded. ‘It is reasonable to suppose that Crestwood finally discovered his wife’s treachery, and that when he confronted her with it, she pushed him down the stairs to stop him from making her conduct public.’
‘Is it not a simpler explanation that the man was foxed?’
‘The man did not drink strong liquor of any kind.’
‘Then perhaps he fell.’
‘He stood the deck of his own ship for over twenty years—are you seriously expecting us, or anyone else, to believe that he lost his balance at the top of his own staircase?’ Gray calmed with effort. ‘Besides, several of the servants heard the sounds of an argument only minutes before the Earl’s fall.’
Sebastian gave a disdainful snort. ‘Servants have been known to say anything if they believe it might earn them a guinea or two!’
‘No such bribery was offered,’ the Earl assured him.
Still Sebastian could not countenance the idea that Juliet was guilty of deliberately murdering her husband, let alone of treason. Although the sacrifice Lucian and his friends had made during the war said he had to hear Bancroft out … ‘The man was such a prig that he had no real friends, and such a paragon that he did not drink alcohol. Therefore it must be his wife who is the one guilty of treason? Of pushing Crestwood to his death so that he could not reveal her perfidy?’ Sebastian shook his head. ‘That seems to be rather a leap to have made on so little evidence, gentlemen.’
‘There is more, St Claire.’ The Earl’s tone immediately drew Sebastian’s attention. ‘Lady Boyd’s aunt, the sister of her mother, lived in France with her French husband—Pierre Jourdan. As a child, Juliet Chatterton spent many summers in France, with this aunt and uncle and her young female cousin.’
‘Does that mean that every English man or woman who has connections with the French, however tenuous, is suspect? My own valet is French. Does that make me guilty of treason, too?’
‘You are not taking this at all as I had hoped, St Claire.’ The Earl looked most unhappy with Sebastian’s response.
Possibly because Sebastian would much rather not think of Juliet in the role Bancroft and Gray had chosen to thrust her into!
She was full of defensive bristles, yes. But what woman would not be when she had come to Banford Park knowing she was entering the lions’ den? That all of Society believed her as guilty of killing her husband as Bancroft and Gray so obviously did? But Sebastian had seen that air of vulnerability
