Page 18 of When He Was a Duke
“How marvelous.”
“Yes, it was. She had a Harvest Masquerade one year and The Emerald Court Ball another.”
“What about the last one? Do you remember much of that night? Father said the theme was a night of a thousand stars.”
Mrs. Blythe didn’t answer for a moment, clearly gathering herself, the pain of grief obvious in her eyes. “Your mother adored theconstellations. She was forever looking up at them through her telescope.”
“I remember Mummy’s dress. It was silver and lavender, right?”
“That’s correct. Her lady’s maid, Lizzie, spent a month on it, working long hours. It was a masterpiece.”
“My governess let me look just for a moment from the banister. Mummy looked like a princess.”
“She was the most beautiful one there,” Mrs. Blythe said.
“What else do you remember about that night?” In the years since Lady Wentworth’s death, Rose had not felt comfortable asking about her mother’s last hours. The questions were there, stuck in the back of her throat. But it was an unspoken command from Father that she not ask any of the staff about that night. Now, though, facing a marriage with Baron White, Rose no longer cared about pleasing her father or abiding by his wishes. A compulsion to know more drove her to ask Mrs. Blythe for further details. “Did you see her right before she was killed?”
Mrs. Blythe looked down at the desk, moving a stack of correspondence from one side to the other. “The guests all left around midnight. The carriages lined up for a mile. Prudence, Mrs. Carter, Lizzie and I were in the kitchen, having a cup of tea and a piece of the cake leftover from the party when Finch came running in.” Her voice grew husky with obvious emotion. “He’d found her in your father’s study and had been told to go into the village to wake the constable. We were all so shaken we didn’t know what to do. Mary had been sent up to start the fire in your mother’s room but came running in not long after Finch left for the stables.”
“How old was Mary then?”
“She was only thirteen at the time. We’d only hired her the month before.”
A fuzzy memory floated through Rose’s mind of a young Mary Bright, her face thin and peaked. She’d sometimes been asked to lookafter Rose when the governess was needed elsewhere. They’d played together in the nursery. Hadn’t they?
Now, Mary was their head maid. All grown up, tall and pretty, with a sweet but shy demeanor. Yet, there was a quality in Mary that Rose could never quite pinpoint. A lack of trust perhaps? She never quite looked in Rose’s eyes.
“Poor Finch,” Rose said. “Having to see her like that.”
“He’s never been the same, poor lad. We all loved your mother. Worshipped her. She was such a gentle, kind mistress to us. The house was never the same after we lost her.”
“Were you surprised that it was Lord Ashford who killed her?” Rose asked.
Mrs. Blythe’s lips pursed again. She picked up a glass paperweight in the shape of a bird, staring at it for a moment. “In truth, I never fully believed it was him.”
Rose stared at her in shock. “But why?”
“It never added up to me. Nothing pointed to him whatsoever. He and your mother were on friendly terms. The night of the ball, I noticed them sitting together for some time, chatting in the drawing room, clearly enjoying their conversation.”
She hadn’t heard that before.
Mrs. Blythe continued. “For another thing, Prudence and I both thought we’d seen him leave early, right after his time with Lady Wentworth in the library. Just after the masks came off. But no one else could pinpoint exactly when. According to Hargrave anyway. Lord Ashford was a widower and had the reputation for being devoted to his children, leaving little time for social events. He and his wife were a great love match. According to my friend, he was devastated by her death.”
“How did she die?”
“Childbirth, I believe it was. Anyway, Lord Ashford was known as a benevolent, decent man. His staff respected him for his kindness andgenerosity. Their housekeeper was a friend of mine. She was heartbroken for the children.”
“How sad.”
“Yes, it was. I didn’t go to the hanging but I knew some who did. They said the children were beside themselves. The little girl begged them to spare his life. Lord Ashford claimed his innocence until the very end.”
“I wonder what happened to his children?”
“They were sent away to live with some distant cousin. The crown stripped the family of everything. Titles. Wealth. The manor was shuttered. Tenant farmers were left with nothing, not to mention all the people employed at Ashford Hall. It was a terrible thing.”
“But if Lord Ashford didn’t do it, then who did?”
“I’ve no idea. There were a hundred guests at the ball. It could have been any one of them.” Mrs. Blythe paused, gazing toward the window. “They never found her mask. We all found that odd. Lizzie scoured the lady’s quarters, but it was nowhere.” She tilted her head, looking at Rose intently. “Why are you asking? Has something brought it up?”
