Page 87 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
Phaedra feared that her face revealed some of what she felt. Her grandfather had seemed uneasy in her presence of late, and had grown more belligerent than ever. After growling his usual dissatisfaction with her unpowdered hair, he barked, “Why thedeuce do you keep staring at me in that addle-witted fashion? Sometimes I think you’ve not been right in the head since the death of that Searle woman.”
“Hester’s violent death came as a shock to me,” Phaedra said quietly, lowering her eyes. “Despite the fact that I never liked her. She was a most unpleasant woman.”
“But a damned efficient housekeeper. I shall ne’er come by another so cheaply.”
Phaedra choked back a bitter laugh. Hester’s presence at the Heath had proved far more costly than her grandfather could ever imagine. The woman’s death had forced Phaedra to open her eyes, to seek answers about Armande. Those answers had led to her plans for this night. But thinking of the manner of Hester’s death, Phaedra shuddered. That was one mystery that must remain unsolved, although it would continue to trouble her long after she had left this place.
Phaedra’s eyes traveled unwillingly toward the iron-spiked mace. There was more than one matter she should be content to let rest, but she could not seem to do so. She would never see her grandfather again after tonight, never have the chance to demand an accounting of his exact part in James’s tragedy.
She asked, “Did you ever hear how Hester used to terrify cook’s children with the story of James Lethington?”
Her grandfather appeared absorbed in consulting his pocket watch, shaking the timepiece as though it had stopped running. He grunted. “Fool woman would’ve done better to tend to her dusting instead of blathering about what was none of her concern.”
“But I often have wondered about the murder myself,” Phaedra continued, studying her grandfather through her lashes. “Ewan sometimes spoke of it, of how he testified at Lethington’s trial. But something never quite rang true. Do you suppose Ewan truly did witness his uncle’s death?”
Weylin’s florid countenance seemed to darken a shade. “‘Course he did.” Then after a lengthy pause, he added, “And even if he hadn’t, it would not have mattered.”
“Not have mattered!” Phaedra trembled with outrage, tortured by a vision of the rope crushing James’s neck. “When a man’s very life was at stake!”
“Lethington was guilty. I saw enough myself to be sure of that.”
“Truly, Grandfather? Exactly how much did you see?”
He feigned not to have heard her question. He stumped over to the bottom of the stair, peering upward. “Where the deuce is Armande? The man takes his blasted time about everything. Why hasn’t he proposed to you by now?”
Phaedra refused to allow herself to be diverted. “From what I heard, James Lethington might have had a reason for attacking Ewan’s uncle. Carleton Grantham abducted his sister. Did you ever hear anything about that, Grandfather?”
His only reply was a grunt.
Phaedra persisted, “Julianna must have been a great inconvenience. Ewan always said he would have married her instead of me if she had not died.”
Her grandfather dragged forth a handkerchief to mop at his brow. “Ewan was a fool. From the way your marriage to him turned out, without even a son to inherit the title, I might as well have let him indulge his folly and marry some poor china-maker’s chit.”
Phaedra sucked in her breath. “You might as well have let Ewan marry Julianna? Pray tell me, Grandfather, what you did do prevent it.”
Never had Phaedra seen such an expression upon her grandfather’s face. His eyes shifted away from her in guilty fashion.
“Why, nothing,” Weylin blustered. “Except to offer Ewan Grantham enough money to make sure he forgot about the Lethington girl. It was the wench’s own idea to run off and kill herself.”
In that moment, Phaedra had a sick feeling that all of James’s suspicions were correct. Her grandfather did know more of what had happened to Julianna Lethington than he ever would tell. But before she could ask anything further, James descended the stairs.
He looked magnificent, his powerful thighs molded by a pair of satin breeches, his rich burgundy frock coat showing off to perfection the power of his chest and shoulders. Phaedra was disturbed to see that he had powdered his hair. It was as though upon this final night as the Marquis de Varnais, he was determined to play the role to the hilt.
But he was not quite bringing it off. There was a high color in his face that belied the marquis’s cool indifference, a suppressed excitement in his manner. Phaedra thought it fortunate that her grandfather had never really obtained a good view of James Lethington, or surely he would have recognized him in Armande tonight.
When his gaze met Phaedra’s, she forgot all her doubts. She read nothing upon James’s face but the glow of a man deeply in love, about to realize his heart’s desire. Yet when his eyes shifted to her grandfather, her uneasiness returned.
James’s mouth hardened with a contempt he was no longer at any pains to conceal. “Ah, Monsieur Weylin, garbed in all the splendor of your customary good taste, I see.”
Even her thick-skinned grandfather could not possibly mistake the sneer behind James’s words. Bewildered by his guest’s change in manner, he sought to reply; Phaedra hastened to interpose herself in between the two men.
“We’d best hurry. I do detest arriving after the performance has begun.” She handed James her cloak with a nervous smile. He stared hard at her grandfather a moment longer, then gazed down upon her with a gentle smile.
He eased the cloak about her shoulders with great tenderness, even daring to press a furtive kiss behind her ear.
“Soon, my love,” he breathed. “Very soon, it will all be over.”
She thought that a most strange way of expressing their departure, but she nodded in agreement. She felt relieved when they left the house, James supporting her arm, her grandfather trailing after them.
