Echoes in the Mist (Kingsleys in Love 1)

Ariana inhaled sharply. It wasn’t the first time Baxter had uttered those words aloud, but it was the first time they had cut through her like a knife. “Why would he?”

“He’s a vicious animal … that’s why.”

“That’s an opinion, not a reason,” Ariana refuted, trying to still her body’s involuntary trembling. “What proof do you have?”

“Proof?” Now Baxter’s anger was directed at Ariana. “If I had actual proof, the bloody madman would be in Newgate!” He advanced toward her, his eyes narrowing on her face. “What’s happened to you, Ariana? You never questioned my word before. You’re a Caldwell, dammit! And we’re talking about our sister!”

“I know we are!” Tears stung Ariana’s eyes. “But why are you so certain that her death was either murder or suicide? Why couldn’t it have been a horrible accident?”

“Because it wasn’t.” Baxter clamped his fists together. “Why? Has your husband”—he spat out the word—“managed to convince you of that fact?”

“Trenton and I haven’t discussed Vanessa.”

“Of course not! If you’d discussed Vanessa, then Trenton would be forced to tell you of her journal!”

An onerous silence descended, heavy as a fatal blow.

“Journal?” Ariana managed at last. “What journal?”

Baxter’s mouth snapped shut, as if by doing so it could recall his hastily blurted words.

“What journal, Baxter?” Ariana prodded.

“The one she kept during the months preceding her death,” he answered reluctantly.

“Why wasn’t I ever told of this?”

Baxter snatched up his glass and refilled it, desperately in need of fortification. “You said it yourself, Ariana. You were barely twelve years old. You were told as much as you needed to know.”

“What was in Vanessa’s journal and how did you get it?” Ariana asked, her stomach knotted with dread.

“You don’t really want to hear this,” Baxter warned.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

He sighed … heavily. “I found the journal beneath Vanessa’s pillow the day after she died. It was almost as if she’d left it there because she wanted me to find it.” He rubbed his temples. “If the journal had been there prior to that day, Theresa would have stumbled upon it when she straightened up. So I can only assume that Vanessa placed it there … that night.”

“Go on.” Ariana leaned against the side of the desk, struggling for composure.

“It contained recountings of Vanessa’s courtship with Kingsley. The madman coveted her like some cherished possession … one he controlled. As long as she was by his side he was content. But when she wasn’t, he became irrational. He hired men to follow her, to see where she was going, whom she was meeting. His twisted jealousy evolved into a hideous, insane obsession. As the months went by, he became more and more unbalanced, totally convincing himself that Vanessa was being unfaithful to him … repeatedly, wantonly … like some common street trollop.”

“And was she?”

“Never.” Baxter bit out the words. “But that didn’t deter Kingsley. If a gentleman so much as tipped his hat in Vanessa’s direction, he suspected the worst and threatened to kill the man on the spot. When Vanessa eventually rebelled, he threatened to kill her too. She was paralyzed with fear.”

“You witnessed all this?” Ariana whispered.

“I didn’t need to!” Baxter snapped. “I knew Kingsley was unstable; I’d seen enough evidence of that. And I knew he had some kind of unique hold over Vanessa. … Initially, I assumed it was merely because of how much she loved him. But as time passed, I watched her change before my very eyes. She became depressed, jumpy, withdrawn. She rarely left the house except when Kingsley summoned her. Then she sped to his side, as if she were terrified of keeping him waiting. That’s when I intervened, begging her to sever their relationship. She refused, insisting that she loved him with her whole heart. Had I known all her journal later revealed, I would have murdered the bastard in cold blood. Instead, I learned the truth too late.” Baxter’s voice broke. “He’d already killed Vanessa.”

“The journal couldn’t possibly have stated that,” Ariana gasped, paling.

“The implication is there,” Baxter spat out, exuding raw hatred. “Whether it was suicide or murder, the end result remains unchanged: Trenton Kingsley killed our sister.”

“Dear Lord.” Ariana covered her face with trembling hands.

“So … at last you believe me?”

She raised her chin, ignoring Baxter’s question in lieu of her own. “Despite these monstrous possibilities, you allowed me to marry him?”