Lydia chuckled. “Well, it can be a little cold to
bare all in November. Perhaps it is something we can do when spring comes again.” Drawing Juliet into an embrace, she whispered, “Take care of Devlin. You love him, don’t you?”
“Is it so obvious?”
“The love that radiates from both of you is blinding.” Lydia straightened. “Well, we must be on our way. We have left Ada to train the new maids, and lord knows what chaos we will find on our return.”
“Devlin told me you hired staff without experience or references.” Juliet admired anyone willing to help those in need, anyone willing to give the downtrodden a chance.
It drew her thoughts back to Charlotte Drake. After studying her letter again this morning, it was clear the woman felt remorse, shame even, for having coerced her maid to give up her child.
What happened to Susan?
She did not return to work at Blackwater, and there were no letters to offer clues as to the poor girl’s fate. Juliet had taken the opportunity before breakfast to ask Mrs Barbary if she knew of the maid whose position she had taken. As always, the housekeeper gave the impression she had better things to do with her time than gossip about the past. But she did recall the mistress mentioning the girl’s name on occasion.
“Greystone is a rather unconventional man,” Lydia said, dragging Juliet out of her reverie. Love for her husband radiated from every aspect of her countenance, too. “He likes to help the disadvantaged and relies more on instinct than references when it comes to such matters. As I’m sure they all do.”
One did not need to be a wise scholar to know from where the men took their guidance. “Mr Dariell is an influential friend and confidant. One with a surprising level of insight, and remarkable intellect.”
“Indeed.” Lydia rubbed Juliet’s arm. “Write to me and let me know when you might visit.”
Again, the comment drew Juliet’s thoughts back to the letters. An urgency to make sense of it all held her in its grip. Devlin was of a similar mind too, for no sooner had they waved goodbye to their guests than her husband suggested returning to her bedchamber.
“I must take Rufus out at noon,” she said, glancing at the long-case clock and realising she had half an hour until she needed to be in the stables. “You know as well as I that disturbing his routine will set me back days in his training regime.”
Devlin raised an arrogant brow and smiled. “Will you not surrender to me, my love? Will you not admit that I have won this wager? The dog is wild. Under no circumstances will I let him run amok in this house.”
Juliet would not be deterred. “Rufus knows I come for him at noon and I shall not disappoint.”
“Not even to spend time alone with your husband?”
“Do not try to persuade me to break my oath, Devlin.” She straightened her back. “You must know that when I make a promise, I keep it. Is integrity not one of the qualities you require in a wife?”
“It is one of the many qualities I admire in you.” He captured her chin between his fingers and pressed his lips to hers. Though chaste in its delivery, she felt the tingles all the way to her toes.
“Come,” she said, fighting the temptation to straddle him and soothe away all his woes. “We have half an hour to discuss our theories regarding the letters.”
“A discussion in your bedchamber is exactly what I need,” he teased.
Oh, the thought of slipping into bed next to him sent her pulse racing, but there would be time for amorous activities later. “We must decide what to do with the letters.”
“I’ve thought long and hard about that. We will use them to bribe your father.” The razor-sharp edge to his tone said he was serious. “I’ll not have him interfering in our lives, threatening you. Nor will I tolerate your sister’s vicious tongue a moment longer.”
Juliet glimpsed the dark devil men feared.
“But should we not return them to the church, honour your grandmother’s wishes?” She thought to suggest they burn them, but she could not interfere with his grandmother’s quest for forgiveness. Clearly, Charlotte Drake had kept the letters for a reason.
Then a terrible thought struck her as she recalled her father’s earlier comment.
“Devlin, when I spoke to my father before dinner he said the letters contained incriminating evidence, that Ambrose had confirmed they were in his possession. I assumed he referred to the duel.”
“And now you think he was referring to his illegitimacy?”
Juliet had worn her illegitimacy like a noose around her neck. Over the years, she had learnt to breathe a little despite the constrictions. She knew her place, how many steps she could take before the rope grew taut and rubbed painful welts into her skin.
The baron would never cope with the restrictions, with the direct cuts, with the disdain directed his way. No wonder the lord had taken extreme measures to ensure the truth remained hidden.
“A man with my father’s power and position might escape punishment for partaking in a duel, especially when Ambrose died from an injury to his head.” Juliet took a step closer to her husband and placed her hand on his arm. Touching him banished any anxiety. “But he would suffer greatly if anyone discovered he was the son of a maid.”