‘That I hated him. That I wished he was dead. That he had deceived me and only wanted my money. I said that I would tell Ivo I was unhappy and he would come and kill him.’
‘At least you did not threaten to kill him yourself,’ Ivo said. He sounded weary.
‘I might have done,’ Daphne said. ‘I cannot really remember. It was awful.’ Her lower lip trembled and tears began to trickle down her cheeks again.
‘When is the inquest?’ Ivo asked.
‘Today.’
‘But you will have been called as a witness, surely?’
‘It would be horrible, I was frightened and there wasn’t anyone to help me. The aunts hate me.’
‘No, they do not, they—’
‘There is only you, Ivo.’ She looked so tragic and lovely sitting there that Jane almost wanted to paint her. Almost. ‘I was so sad that you abandoned me, but I forgive you. Can you not forgive me?’
‘You had him beaten by your grooms,’ Jane said. ‘Four of them. He could have been killed, maimed. Is that what you call forgiveness?’
Daphne turned her wide, tragic gaze on Jane. ‘Oh, no! But that was not me—how could you believe it of me? Clement came home and the servants told him that Ivo had been there and had just left so he was furious, said he would deal with it. I thought he meant he would send Ivo a letter and tell him to stay away from me. Ivo, were you badly hurt? I could not bear that, I am so sorry.’
She got shakily to her feet, reaching for him, but Jane was there first. ‘You must come and lie down, you will make yourself ill, Lady Meredith.’
‘Do not call me that. I should never have married him, but I was so unhappy.’
Jane took her arm and steered her towards the door, suddenly conscious that she was wearing her own half-finished wedding gown.
She is not going to weep all over this and mark the silk, she thought distractedly.
‘Come along, Daphne. Your chamber will be ready now.’
She handed the other woman over to the care of her own maid, closed the bedchamber door and leaned back against it, trying to find enough calm to go back downstairs to Ivo.
Daphne could ruin more than my wedding gown, she realised, looking up and catching sight of her reflection in the long glass opposite.
Daphne was beautiful, truly lovely. She was frightened, fragile and in need of help and Ivo had loved her. Must still love her, because he had always evaded the question when Jane had asked him about her feelings.
He had a guilty conscience about neglecting Daphne, he had not even been able to remove that old graffiti, and now she denied having set those men on him.
I could go downstairs, tell him that I release him. It will be an awful scandal... Or perhaps it will not be so bad if I call off the wedding now. He could not marry Daphne for at least a year because she will be in mourning. What could be more natural than that the two old sweethearts came together after all?
Jane’s knees felt strangely wobbly and she realised that she was beginning to slide down the door, that she was shivering. Pride got her on to her feet again. She was not going to collapse here where anyone might see her.
I am not going to collapse anywhere, she thought, stiffening her spine and pushing away from the panels.
The man she loved was now free to marry the woman he loved. She had two choices: fight and insist on the wedding going ahead so she could spend the rest of her life knowing he loved another woman whom he could have married, or give him up so that he could be happy.
There did not seem to be much choice. First she was going to take off this gown and send away the seamstresses, then she was going to talk to Ivo. And break her heart.
* * *
‘You want to do what?’ Ivo demanded. ‘You are jilting me?’ He resisted the urge to pinch himself. This was not a nightmare, this hellish day really had become very much worse.
Jane sat down on the other side of the desk. She had found him in the midst of composing letters to the coroner and the magistrate responsible for the district around Meredith’s home, promising that Lady Meredith, despite being prostrate with grief and shock, would return the next day to attend the inquest which must have been adjourned in her absence. He had just explained that Lady Meredith had fled to his grandfather, an old family friend, as she had no one else to turn to, when Jane had walked in.
She looked pale, but composed and quite rational. Certainly not hysterical or drunk—either of which would have been excusable, he thought.
‘You want to marry Daphne, I want to be an artist,’ she said. Her voice was wobbly, but he could understand that. It had been an effort to hold the pen straight. ‘We planned to marry to avoid a scandal and because Daphne was lost to you, but now there is no need. I will break off the engagement and, if anyone wants to know why, then I will tell them that I simply do not feel fitted to the responsibilities of such rank: no one will be surprised at that. They will recognise that you did the honourable thing in offering for me. You will have to wait until Daphne is out of mourning, of course.