Page 48 of Sacrificing the Untamed Lady Henrietta
“Yes, I believe so. He was well enough to set about investigating before he went home. He would like to be sure this was an accident.”
“Of course, it was an accident. What else would it be?”
She heard herself say the words, and ask the question as if there was no other reasonable explanation, but she knew it might very well havenotbeen an accident.
The real question is how much do I tell the Marquess?
She snuggled closer, enjoying the warm circle of his embrace far more than she expected to.
Nothing. For now.
* * *
The connecting door stayed open that night and Ewan hardly slept, worried for his wife, wanting to hear if she stirred and to be there if she needed anything. She slept soundly, and he supposed that was a good sign that any injuries she endured were purely superficial and would take little time to heal.
He had to admit when the coach had pulled up to the scene in front of the theater, panic had rocked him. All he saw was the giant stone from the roof smashed upon the street, rubble scattered everywhere, and Averson’s body crushing Henrietta’s, pinning her to the pavement. At least, that’s how it looked at first.
Relief had pumped through him as he watched Averson stand and help Henrietta up from the cobbles. They were both alive and under their own power, but the mess in the street told a terrifying tale. Without hesitation, he had whisked her into the coach, fortified her against the cold and queried his friend about what had happened.
Back inside the coach, taking her into his arms was the most natural thing for him to do. In fact, he could not have stopped himself even had he wanted to. Even now as he sipped his coffee in the Old Bell breakfast room, he fought the urge to go above stairs, kiss her cuts and bruises away, and wrap her safely in his arms again. He could not bear the thought of losing another loved one. Of losing her.
And they all thought I didn’t like her.
He smiled to himself, looking up from his coffee to spot Averson entering the room to join him for breakfast.
“Well?” Ewan needed not say more.
“Officially? ‘Tis an accident.”
“But –? Unofficially?”
“Mr. Kemble, proprietor of said theater, admits that a few of the edifices along the roofline may not have been secured properly. Some had been recently replaced when the façade was painted, and there is at least one shoddy workman in every gang.”
Ewan nodded slowly, indicating he understood. “However?”
“Yes, you were right to suspect there is a ‘however,’” Averson confirmed. “That stone was clearly pushed. There is simply no other explanation. Even if it was improperly secured, it could not have fallen without help. It did not jump to its death under its own power.”
“Indeed.”
The serving girl brought Lord Averson a plate full of the breakfast fare for which the Old Bell was famous. He busied himself with the goodies while Ewan contemplated plausible explanations.
“You told me on my wedding day, Averson, that you had received knowledge of my wife’s penchant for reading the medical journals from a new man in your employ. Do I remember that correctly?”
“Yes,” Averson muttered with food in his mouth.
Ewan grimaced as bits of food escaped onto Averson’s coat. “My, but you are hungry. Slow down, man!”
Averson paid him no mind.
“And did you not also indicate that this new man had previously been in the employ of General Oliver?”
Again, between bites, “Yes.”
“Would that man be known as a Mr. Seth Booth?”
Surprised, Averson looked up from his plate. “Yes.”
At last, he put down his fork and dabbed daintily at the corners of his wide mouth with his napkin, which seemed peculiarly tidy after shoveling it all in so boorishly.
