“Any strike at me was a strike at William. And he struck at me through you.”
Sidonie stepped back to distance herself from Roberta’s horrible, maniac insinuations. Nobody could be so Machiavellian as Roberta painted Jonas. “He helped you yesterday.”
“Only because he’s plotting something. You’ll see.” Roberta rose on shaky legs, clinging to a bedpost for balance. Her cream lace nightdress flowed around her, adding to the dramatic effect. “Wake up, girl. He’s over at that ridiculous house right now, sniggering at your foolishness.”
“He’s not like that. If you knew him as I do…”
“Listen to yourself! You sound so inane. Jonas Merrick set himself to ruining William and everyone associated with him. Confound him, he’s succeeded. William’s dead after seeing every enterprise ruined. I’m so debt-ridden, I’ll never hold my head up in public again. And he’s convinced you that he’s some kind of knight in shining armor. Fit revenge on all of us, wouldn’t you say? ”
Sidonie wouldn’t listen to this calumny against the man she loved. “He had every right to hate William. William scarred him.”
Even before she spoke, Roberta’s calmness indicated that this was no revelation. “I know. Which gives him every reason to destroy any connection of William’s.”
Sidonie felt sick and faint. She loved her sister but sometimes the changes wrought in her over the last years left her staggering in horror. Roberta hardly seemed to care that her husband had disfigured a younger boy from sheer spite. “You never told me about Jonas’s scars.”
“It’s hardly something one boasts of.” Roberta paused. “And it’s all so long ago, isn’t it?”
Except it wasn’t. Jonas had suffered all his life for what his cousin had done. Roberta sighed with impatience. “I suppose you think his scars are romantic. You spend too much time with your nose buried in a book. Honestly, Sidonie, I thought you of all women would have more sense. The man is incapable of finer feeling. After all, he set out to seduce me and then had no compunction in depriving you of your virginity.”
The gorge rose in Sidonie’s throat. Hearing Roberta speak was like viewing the week at Castle Craven through a distorting mirror. Sidonie refused to listen to her poisonous insinuations. Roberta was wrong. Sidonie knew Jonas. She knew the attraction flaring between them had ambushed him, too. Hadn’t he asked her to marry him? The feelings between them were strong and genuine. She must believe that. If she loved him, she had to trust him.
Which meant, astonishingly, she’d decided to accept his proposal.
Heavens, what a change in a woman once determined to lead her life alone and independent. Sidonie Forsythe was about to do the unthinkable and surrender herself to a man in matrimony.
Roberta surveyed her with a troubled scowl. “What is it, Sidonie? You have the most bizarre look on your face.”
Sidonie shook her head. This morning, she’d hoped to tell Roberta that Jonas was the rightful Viscount, warn her before Jonas used the marriage lines to claim the title. Roberta’s difficult humor discouraged sharing such unwelcome news. How she wished she’d told Jonas yesterday, but in the confusion and panic after William’s fall, she’d thought only of concealing Roberta’s crime.
She hoped that when she revealed everything to Jonas, he wasn’t so angry that he withdrew his proposal. She could write to him, she supposed, but that seemed a cowardly method of handling this last secret dividing them. It was only a couple of days’ delay, after all. Once William was buried, she’d go to Jonas as she’d gone to him at Castle Craven. She’d give him the marriage lines, then tell him that she loved him and wanted to be his wife. Surely he’d know that her acceptance was unrelated to his new status. Good God, she loved Jonas Merrick so much, she’d marry him if he came to her a pauper.
The next days passed in a flurry of activity as Sidonie handled funeral arrangements, the estate, her sister, and her nephews, who arrived home from school. Neither boy seemed overly upset to hear of their father’s end. Roberta remained of little assistance. She mainly stayed in her room wallowing in a fog of laudanum. Her complete collapse fortified the impression that she was a grieving widow. After their acrimonious encounter the morning after William’s death, Sidonie was grateful that her sister remained largely uninvolved in practical matters at Barstowe Hall.
Soon the story Jonas concocted was so widely accepted that Sidonie almost believed William had jumped to his death to avoid the shame of bankruptcy. Sidonie’s ever-present fear of her sister’s arrest subsided to a distant hum. It appeared Jonas was right and they would make it through. Those nightmarish seconds when Roberta shoved her husband down the stairs might never have occurred.
Sidonie had originally hoped to escape to tell Jonas about the marriage lines. But she’d quickly realized that to avoid suspicion falling on him, it was better to have no open contact between Ferney and Barstowe Hall for the present.
Sidonie supported Roberta’s faltering progress down the aisle of the village church after William’s funeral service. The sickly scent of lilies procured at great expense from London had her head aching—or perhaps she had a headache because of Roberta’s generous hand with attar of roses.
She blinked eyes scratchy with exhaustion. No matter how weary she was when she collapsed into bed, she couldn’t sleep. It was odd; she’d slept alone for twenty-four years and only shared Jonas Merrick’s bed for a matter of days. But it seemed wrong not to lie in his arms at night and wake to his presence in the morning.
The church was crowded with local gentry, tenants, and a few of William’s London acquaintances. Nobody seemed particularly cast down. But then William had devoted most of his tenure as viscount to quarreling with his neighbors and embroiling them in pointless legal disputes. Not one soul genuinely regretted his absence. What a sad epitaph, Sidonie couldn’t help thinking, much as she’d loathed her brother-in-law.
She turned to check on her nephews trailing behind their mother. Seven-year-old Nicholas had handled his role in his father’s rites with a stoic courage that had brought tears to Sidonie’s eyes. Young Thomas at five had become restless during the service, but settled upon his brother’s hissed reprimand.
Ahead six brawny tenants carried the coffin, piled with more lilies, through the double doors. The villagers despised William as a man who brought ruin to the estate and who blustered to hide his complete ignorance about farming. Sidonie gathered from the servants that the local tavern had resounded with toasts to William’s long sojourn in hell.
Unsuitable thoughts for church. Her grip tightened on Roberta’s slender arm. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Her sister’s fading tones reflected extended laudanum use rather than sorrow, although today she’d done a marvelous job of playing the shocked, bereaved wife. “I’m glad that man didn’t have the gall to come.”
Sidonie didn’t need to ask who that man was. Jonas’s gallantry in coming to Roberta’s rescue hadn’t softened her attitude. “You’re cursed ungrateful,” Sidonie hissed, then forced her expression into neutrality as she nodded at a neighbor who was casting them a curious glance.
Roberta didn’t hear. Deliberately, Sidonie suspected.
Jonas’s absence stabbed her like a knife. She’d hoped to encounter him today, if only as a silent presence at the back of the church, but he’d stayed away. He was no hypocrite. He wouldn’t pay public respects to a man he despised.
Mercifully over the past days, Roberta’s brief surge of concern for her sister had subsided. She’d been in no state to inquire too carefully into what had happened in Devon. Anyway, what could Sidonie say? I thought to give myself to a monster but instead lost my heart to an enchanted prince?