Page 25 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
“Oh, yes!” Lady Rilendale nodded. “He’s a fine rider. His horse is a fine thoroughbred. He often goes off riding for hours at a time. Lots of good riding estates nearby.”
“I see,” Emmeline replied. Her brow creased with a frown. All the things his grandmother had revealed showed a very different character from the one she expected. She had thought he had very few interests outside business, and that he would be too cold and precise for there to be any funny stories about his youth. She was surprised.
They had followed a circular path around the garden and reached a pond. Emmeline stared over it. She had expected it to be overgrown and filthy, in keeping with the rest of the manor grounds, but the water was clear and fresh and the weeds around it had been kept from encroaching on the surface too badly.
“This was Adeline’s favourite space,” the countess murmured softly. Emmeline guessed that she was referring to Andrew’s mother. “She often sat here. I remember that well.” Her eyes clouded as she looked into the past.
“How long was she here?” Emmeline asked. “I mean, how long was she countess?” she added, looking at her hands. She did not want to upset the older lady, but any fact was welcome.
“Four years. She passed away when Andrew was three. Both of them did. My son and her.”
“I’m so sorry,” Emmeline breathed. She could imagine nothing worse. She held the older woman’s hand, and they sat in silence, staring out over the pond. She imagined little Andrew sitting here with his mother and her heart twisted painfully. The poor little boy, to lose his parents so young. However cruel and wicked he had become, no child deserved that much pain.
“It was all so long ago, dear,” Lady Rilendale murmured. “It just comes back to my mind sometimes. I upset you,” she added, staring into Emmeline’s eyes worriedly.
“No. No, you didn’t,” Emmeline said quickly. “I am all right.”
“Good. Good,” Lady Rilendale said caringly.
She paused. “Um...Lady Rilendale,” she managed to say, her throat so tight she could barely get the words out. “You might have heard, um...what the Ton is saying with regard to the late Lord Rilendale?”
“You mean Hugh?” Lady Rilendale’s eyes were angry.
“No. No,” Emmeline soothed. “I mean...” she swallowed hard and tried to say it directly. “I mean that they say Andrew murdered his grandfather.”
“What?” Lady Rilendale’s horror was every bit as huge as she expected. “No. No, dear.” She shook her head firmly. “Those rumours have no truth to them. My Randolph died suddenly, that is true. But it was his heart. I can tell you that right now. I knew for a few years that all was not well with his health. It was not my grandson’s doing. That I can tell you.”
Emmeline let out a breath she had not been aware she was holding. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her shoulders slumped with a relief so great it almost moved her to tears. She had not known how terribly the weight of that rumour had been pressing down on her, making her jumpy and afraid every moment. Certainly, Andrew seemed far from friendly and pleasant—he was cold and distant, and she would not have described him as affable or even tolerable. But he was no murderer.
His grandmother would deny it,a small, nagging voice reminded her.Of course, she would not wish to believe he did it.
She pushed the voice away. There was no good to be gained out of imagining Andrew was a murderer, and if his grandmother had long been aware of her husband’s heart condition, it seemed unlikely it was Andrew’s fault. She should not continue to torment herself with that belief when there was no real evidence for it. TheTonoften spread malicious gossip and if those closest to him could not believe it, then perhaps it was just more of that sort of slander.
They sat silently for a moment longer and Lady Rilendale shivered as a slight breeze rustled in the surrounding shrubbery.
“It’s getting cold,” Lady Rilendale noted quietly. “We should go indoors.”
“We should,” Emmeline agreed.
She walked back with Lady Rilendale and then made her way slowly up to the drawing room. She sat down on the chaise-longue with its pulled, scuffed velvet, but she barely noticed the dilapidated room around her. Her mind was reeling.
All the stories Lady Rilendale told suggested a sweet, loving youth. How was it possible that a caring, gentle boy could have grown up to be a heartless killer?
It made no sense. She could not continue to believe it.
She stared into the fire and tried to focus and gather her thoughts. Her mind insisted that she needed to investigate more, that the words of a grandmother who adored Andrew were not enough to prove his innocence in the matter. Her thoughts chased themselves
round and round in wild circles and she took a deep breath. Thinking about him and the murder was easier than thinking of his coldness and feeling hurt and angry about it and she was glad and grateful to Lady Rilendale for their talk.
She hoped they could talk again soon.
