Page 43 of The Devil's Deceit
“Yes, but at first, he was supposed to marry my sister. He got given the choice and he picked her.”
I wince. “Ouch.”
“It’s old news. He discovered the error of his ways.”
She giggles, and I can’t help smiling. I like this woman a lot. In other circumstances, she’d be someone I’d choose as a friend. More outgoing than little old introverted me, but not so extrovert that spending time in her company would give me a headache and the need to lie down in a darkened room for a solid few hours.
“Despite that, you’re still willing to support this plan?”
“I am because—and don’t tell my husband this—I have such a soft spot for Christian. If this is what he needs to make him happy, then who am I to stand in his way? You’re both adults who know what you’re doing. I’m not here to police nor to judge what the two of you do. I’m only here to… grease the wheels.”
I laugh this time. “Okay, what is it you want to know?”
We talk for thirty minutes or so, and it feels less like an interrogation and more like two friends chatting. She doesn’t question my background. She just accepts me for the person I tell her I am. The entire time, I have a thickness in my throat I can’t clear. It takes me a while to figure out why, but I soon realize it’s shame. I’m ashamed that this perfectly lovely woman is being pulled into my web of deceit.
It’s clear now that I’m going to have to grow a tough outer shell to go through with what’s required to get to the truth. When we plotted our revenge, the only person who crossed my mind was Christian. It didn’t occur to me—stupidly, maybe—that his entire family would be pulled into my deception, too. Not that I care all that much about his blood family, but Victoria isn’t a De Vil by blood. When she finds out who I truly am and what I came here for, what if she blames herself for not seeing through the lies? I don’t want that. She doesn’t deserve that.
I’m stuck, though. Committed to the course until I get knocked off it, or I arrive at the final destination.
“Okay, then.” Vicky gets to her feet. “Let’s do this.”
She glides from the room, with me a couple steps behind, but once we’re in the hallway, she waits for me to move alongside her. Threading her arm through mine, she heads for the now-familiar ballroom. As I suspected, the attendeelist isn’t anywhere near as large as the last two balls, but the place is still pretty full.
Vicky wastes no time. She scans the room, then sets off with purpose toward Christian’s father and joins the small gathering, waiting for a break in the conversation. As the three people Charles was speaking with move off, she touches his arm.
“Charles, I’d like to introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Lady Grace Ambrose. She moved into the area quite recently and doesn’t know many people.”
“Hello, sir.” I dip my chin in a sign of respect, even though I have none for a man who’d help his son cover up a crime. Or, at the very least, not bother to dig for the truth. Buildings don’t just collapse, burying innocent people beneath the rubble.
“Lady Grace.” He holds out a weathered hand, and I take it. “Whereabouts in the north are you from?”
“Cumbria.”
“Ah, beautiful part of the world.”
“It is, sir. Very much so.”
“What brings you to Surrey?”
“My mother died, and, well, I needed a fresh start. I spent the first few years of my life in the county, and I wanted to come home.”
“I see. My condolences for your loss.” His eyes show true empathy. Either he’s a good actor or he’s genuinely sorry. I bet he wouldn’t be quite so genial if he knew who my mother really was.
“It’s been… difficult. But I have a friend who lives about thirty miles from here, and she offered me a place to stay until I get on my feet.”
I expect him to grill me on my lack of funds that means Ihave to rely on charity for a place to stay, but he doesn’t. We end up on the subject of music. I tell him I’m learning to play the piano and that I write a little of my own music.
His eyes sparkle. “My favorite instrument. You’ll have to play for me sometime.”
Behind his back, Vicky nods. She approves of how this conversation is going.
I press a hand to my chest. “Oh, no, sir. I’m not anywhere near proficient enough to play in front of anyone.”
“No pressure, my dear.” He opens his mouth to say something else but pauses, his gaze skipping over my left shoulder. “I’m sorry, Lady Grace, would you excuse me? It looks as though I’m needed.” He moves off with purpose, planting his hand on the shoulder of a man in a suit and leaning in to listen to him before he leaves the ballroom.
“That’s Alan, Charles’s butler and, for all intents and purposes, his right-hand man. Been with the family for years.” She gives me a brief hug. “You did great.”
I grimace. “You think?”
