Page 35 of A Baron's Disguised Lady
“Yes. I’m sorry, Lavinia. Look at me, you shouldn’t have to see me like this. It’s not proper,” he said, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
But Lavinia was glad to have seen another side to him—a vulnerability he had not previously shown. She wanted to help, horrified as she was at the thought of what had happened to his sister. She thought of Lord Bath and the cruel and manipulative way in which he was behaving. She, too, could be another Gwendolene, as could any woman for whom the jealousy of a man—or woman—could be reason enough for murder.
“But it’s real. You loved you sister, and now you weep for her because you loved her,” Lavinia said, helping him to his feet.
He nodded, sighing, and shaking his head.
“I just don’t understand it. I’m not sure it could’ve been in her food. She stopped eating in the end. I was bringing her tidbits—anything to tempt her. I prepared them myself, or watched as the cook did so. If shewaspoisoned, it must’ve been by something else, or alongside the food,” Archie said.
“Then we need to find out what it was. We need to go back to where it happened—to her bedroom,” Lavinia said.
Archie paused, a look of uncertainty coming over his face.
“I… I’m not sure about that,” he said, but Lavinia was adamant.
She wanted to see Gwendolene’s bedroom—the place she died, and the place where, if a murder had been committed, the murderer must surely have been. If they were to discover the truth, it was the most likely place they would find something—something Archie had overlooked. She put her hand gently on his arm, hoping to reassure him.
“We can go together. It’ll be all right,” she said, and reluctantly, he agreed.
Chapter 12
The thought of entering his sister’s bedroom with Lavinia filled Archie with a sense of foreboding. He had not allowed anyone to enter Gwendolene’s room since her death, even as he himself had often gone to sit in there, staring at the empty bed, longing for just one more moment with her.
As they returned to the house, Archie feared he would break down again, overwhelmed by his grief. But Lavinia’s act ofcomforting him had taken him by surprise—her arm around him, her words of reassurance…
“I really am very grateful to you for what you’re doing for me, and for Gwendolene, too,” he said, and Lavinia smiled.
“I’m just glad to be able to help. To be honest, I’ve been so bored since arriving here. I don’t mean to be rude. I know I can come across as rude at times. It’s just that, well, since my grandfather found us, I’ve been bored a lot. Being a lady means doing nothing all day,” she said, as they walked across the lawn towards the house.
Archie smiled. He knew a lot of women for whom that was precisely the case, even as they themselves might have said they were terribly busy with this or that. But in truth, women of a certain class lived idly, busying themselves with nothing more than gossip and tea parties. It made him think of Wilhelmina and the sort of life she lived—a complete contrast to that of Lavinia.
“You’re certainly different,” Archie said, and Lavinia laughed.
“I hope so. I don’t want to be like the others,” she replied.
Back inside, they discovered their mothers were to pay a call on Lady Bingham—a widow who lived on the far side of the village and who had invited them to luncheon.
“We’ll be gone all afternoon. But I’m sure you’ll find plenty to entertain yourselves with,” the dowager said.
Archie was glad they were going out. He did not want his mother to know he was allowing Lavinia to see inside Gwendolene’s bedroom. There was an intimacy to it, one Archie was surprised at himself for sharing, even as he felt the same about Lavinia as she herself had stated—she was not like the others…
“I’ve not… well… no one else has… gone in since…” he said, as he and Lavinia stood outside the door of Gwendolene’s bedroom a short while later.
She glanced at him and gave him a reassuring smile. To his surprise, she now slipped her hand into his and squeezed it. There was no false formality to her. She wore her heart on her sleeve. She did not have the usual reserve of other women, who actions were dictated by the conventions of the society they inhabited. Lavinia was a free spirit, and Archie could not help but admire her for being so.
“It’ll be all right. But if you don’t want me to come in with you…” she said, but Archie shook his head.
Hedidwant her to come in with him. He trusted her, and now he stepped forward, his hand trembling, as it always did when he entered Gwendolene’s bedroom. Lavinia followed, her hand clasped in his, as the two of them stepped into the room.Sunlight was pouring through the window, dust dancing in the shaft falling on the bed.
It was just as it had been on the day Gwendolene had died. Archie knew every detail of the room: the dressing table, with its bottles of scent and powders, the bookcase with Gwendolene’s favorite volumes all neatly arrange, her jewelry box by the bed, and her own paintings adorning the walls.
“Poor Gwendolene,” Archie said, taking a deep breath as he gazed around the room.
Lavinia was examining the scene with interest, looking around her, her eyes darting across every surface, looking, it seemed, for clues as to Gwendolene’s last moments.
“And it’s exactly as it was on the day she died?” Lavinia asked, still holding Archie’s hand in hers.
He nodded.
