“I see,” Lord Millerton murmured, turning to look at Lord Cambleton. “Then it was you who did such a thing.” He moved a little closer towards Lord Cambleton, who merely steepled his fingers and looked up at Lord Millerton with interest. “You made certain that Lord Hazelton could not speak of what he knew to Lady Callander, did you not?”
Lord Cambleton let out another long sigh. “Again,” he said, a little plaintively, “I do not know what you speak of.”
“Miss Sarah told me what she had to do,” Bridgette interrupted, before she could think to do otherwise. She pinned her gaze to Madame Bereford who, after a moment, lifted her hands from where they had been flat on the desk in front of her and set them in front of her lap, her head cocked just a little, as though she was a curious bird looking to discover whether or not Bridgette was friend or foe.
“Miss Sarah told me that you had demanded she draw close to Lord Hazelton and that anything he said to her was to be passed on to you.” Her lips quirked despite herself. “But you did not expect her to come to care for Lord Hazelton, did you?”
Madame Bereford let out a bark of laughter. “There is no such thing as love and affection with my ladies,” she said, mockingly. “There is only pretense.”
“No,” Bridgette replied, softly. “You are mistaken, Madame Bereford. Miss Sarah told me everything. She cared for Lord Hazelton and thus, did not tell you all that he spoke to her about.” There came a silence in the room and Bridgette used it to her advantage, seeing the anger spark in Madame Bereford’s eyes, seeing the way her lips pulled flat. “You beat that girl until she told you something, although I know that she did not tell you all.”
“You told these two men that Lord Hazelton had begun to suspect that the gentleman he had known as Lord Callander was not, in fact, the Earl of Callander. And thus, he had to be silenced, before he could work out the rest,” Lord Hearst said, taking a few small steps forward and standing a little closer to Lady Madeline. “Who was it that pretended to be Lord Callander?” He looked from one gentleman to the other. “Ah, it must have been you, Lord Cambleton. After all, you are only a baron from Scotland — thus, you do not have a great deal of significance within society. You could easily pretend to be the Earl of Callander to anyone you wished. And you chose Lord Hazelton in order to procure money from him.”
“Lord Hazelton would certainly consider matters with a good deal more seriousness if it came from an Earl rather than a mere Baron,” Lord Millerton added, his eyes drifting fr
om Lord Cambleton to Lord Chesterfield. “And given that Lord Callander was something of a recluse and had never come to London, you thought your plan to be quite successful.”
“You did not attend balls or soirees, I think,” Lord Windsor stated, from where he stood against the door. “Rather, you kept your meetings with Lord Hazelton confined to private meetings and mayhap only accompanied him to Whites when he was already a little jolly from the evening’s entertainment.” One shoulder lifted. “That way, if he referred to you as Lord Callander in front of those who knew you, you would simply be able to laugh at his drunkenness.”
Lord Cambleton’s lips curled into a sneer. “You speak a lot of rot,” he snarled, darkly.
“I do not think so,” Lord Windsor replied, quite politely. “Instead, I believe that I speak the truth, even if I am assuming a good deal.” He tilted his head and looked at Lord Cambleton steadily. “You are the falsifier.”
Bridgette caught her breath, one finger pointed out towards Lord Cambleton. “Lord Hazelton informed me that the man he believed to be my husband had both a thick beard and full moustache,” she said, hoarsely. “You covered your appearance as best you could.” She eyed him carefully. “Perhaps ensure that your frame was a little thicker when it came to your ruse.”
Lord Cambleton narrowed his eyes, one finger pointing out towards her and Bridgette felt a shudder run straight through her. “You know nothing.”
“Give it up, old boy.”
Stunned, Bridgette whirled around to see Lord Chesterfield slumping back in his chair, his eyes downcast, his chin on his chest and his hands resting loosely on the arms of his chair.
“Denying it will do no good,” Lord Chesterfield continued, heavily. “They are wise to your pretense.”
Lord Cambleton went almost sheet white, before the heat rushed back into his face, turning him a dark crimson. With a shout of outrage, he made for Lord Chesterfield, only for Lord Millerton to step directly in his path.
“I do not think that is wise,” he murmured, and Bridgette caught her breath as she noticed a small glint of metal held in Lord Millerton’s hand. He was not taking any risks, a knife held gently out before him, which she knew Lord Cambleton noticed. The gentleman took a small step back, his hands raised but anger still coming from him in waves.
“Lord Cambleton pretended to be Lord Callander simply because we needed someone of high standing to convince other gentlemen to give us the financial backing we required,” Lord Chesterfield said, seemingly now nothing more than a damp rag that had been wrung out and left to dry. “That is all. No more, no less.”
Bridgette felt her stomach twist angrily, her face heating as she thought of her late husband. Lord Callander had never been an interesting sort, for he had always pushed away from society, had kept his own counsel and very rarely seemed to take enjoyment from anything. At times, she had thought he eschewed even her company, but she had come to respect him, her fear dying away in the few short months they had lived as man and wife. To know now that someone had been using his name, his title and his influence for their own benefit made her a little angry, although she was not quite sure why.
“You wanted the Earl of Callander to speak to Lord Hazelton, then,” Bridgette breathed, looking directly at Lord Cambleton. “Rather than you yourself, since you are merely a baron.” Her lip curled and Lord Cambleton snarled in response.
“It is only by chance of birth that some are given a greater title than others,” he stated, mockingly. “Your husband I had met on one occasion only and discovered him to be the most dull of all gentlemen.” He laughed and Bridgette’s stomach tightened. “I knew then that we could use his title and his bearing, for he told me, quite specifically, that not only had he never been to London but that he had also no intention of doing so. Thus, my plan was in place and I proceeded with it.” His lips flattening, he sneered at her. “For whatever reason, he decided to come to London after all, ruining all of my plans and forcing my hand!”
A vision of Lord Hazelton, slumped where he sat, flooded Bridgette’s mind. “Then you killed Lord Hazelton,” she whispered, the memory hitting her hard. “You discovered from Madame Bereford that Lord Hazelton thought he had seen Lord Callander again, even though he knew him to be dead.” She jerked backwards as Lord Cambleton took a step closer, only for Lord Millerton to put a hand firmly his arm. “Miss Sarah spoke a warning to Lord Hazelton, and he tried to ensure that our meeting was kept a secret.”
“But you were watching him,” Lord Millerton stated. “You killed him as he sat, waiting for Lady Callander.”
Silence once more flooded the room, the tension building with every single second that passed. Lord Cambleton’s mouth was shut tightly, his eyes darting from one person’s face to the next, as though he were assessing each of them and trying to decide what would be best for him to do. Bridgette shuddered violently, closing her eyes for a moment as a streak of fear ran down her spine. Was she truly standing in the place of a murderer?
“You cannot prove anything.”
Lord Cambleton’s words were thick with malevolence, another shudder running through Bridgette as he spoke.
“Lord Hazelton refused us,” piped up Lord Chesterfield. “If he had simply kept quiet about such things, then his death would not have been entirely necessary.”
Bridgette closed her eyes tightly, a swirl of panic in her chest. So Lord Chesterfield had known that Lord Hazelton would die and yet he had stood beside her and expressed his sorrow about hearing of such a thing. “You killed him so that he could not work out who it was that had been pretending to be my late husband,” she said, quietly, “so that he could not tell me of it.” Opening her eyes, she saw Lord Cambleton’s eyes dart away, his jaw working furiously. “But was that the only purpose? You only sought to keep him from speaking of your ruse?”