“She told Pen.”
“That’s the same as telling you.” Sir Richard glanced across at Nell. He was the least imperious of the three men. His blue eyes were kind and when he smiled, she felt like he meant it.
Lord Hillbrook seemed to reserve judgment, but when he examined her, his cold black eyes pierced to her soul. Pray God he didn’t see the roiling confusion there or the humiliating truth that Leath’s dupes included Eleanor Trim.
His Grace was harder to read. She picked up no hostility, but her revelations hadn’t roused his enthusiasm.
Sir Richard slouched picturesquely in his chair. He was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. It was difficult to imagine him married to the terrifyingly clever Genevieve. “My apologies. We speak in riddles, Miss Trim. This isn’t our first encounter with Hector Greengrass. He worked for Leath’s uncle, Neville Fairbrother, whose outrages would make your hair curl.”
“Clearly Lord Leath comes from a rotten tree,” she said grimly, still struggling against feelings of disloyalty toward her deceitful lover. “The family connection must be how Greengrass got the diary.”
“The evidence against Leath seems damning,” Hillbrook said slowly. “But I still find it a stretch to believe that he’s responsible. For a start, I can’t see how his parliamentary work left him time to pursue women up and down the country. The fellow must never sleep to be so busy in the government and still fit in all this wenching.”
Nell studied the three men and saw that her story, while it had undoubtedly moved them, hadn’t convinced them of Leath’s guilt. She surged to her feet, disgust and outrage twisting like snakes in her belly. Her sudden movement startled Sirius from his doze and he jumped up, bristling.
She should have realized that when push came to shove, justice wouldn’t outweigh the aristocratic bond. These men were reluctant to expose Leath as a blight on the country, because they were linked through birth and prestige. A black mark against the marquess constituted a black mark against all noblemen.
She wouldn’t let them close ranks. “If you won’t help me, I’ll go elsewhere,” she said adamantly. “The press will be interested, I’m sure.”
All three rose when she did. Part of their gentleman’s code. Like protecting their own. The duke spoke in a soothing tone. “My dear Miss Trim, let’s not be hasty.”
She frowned. “We need to be hasty. Lord Leath has done enough damage.”
Nell couldn’t interpret the look that the duke sent the other two men. “We know you believe that. But before we take action, we need to be sure the facts are straight. If we attack Leath publicly, only to find that we’re on shaky ground with our accusations, he’ll sue us for libel then continue with impunity.”
“We need to be certain of our footing,” Hillbrook said. “Although I understand your impatience.”
“Especially after weeks in the cad’s company,” Sir Richard said.
She searched his face, but found no ulterior meaning to his comment. “I owed it to my sister.”
The heat in her cheeks flared as she remembered what she’d done with wicked Lord Leath during those weeks. Thank God these men weren’t mind readers. Although when she saw Lord Hillbrook’s eyes narrow, she feared that perhaps he might be.
No, that was her guilty conscience speaking. She’d been misled and mistaken. Now she aimed in the right direction. She’d avenge Dorothy. She’d make sure Leath despoiled no more innocent girls. And if she died trying, she’d mend the jagged chasm in her soul.
“With investigation, it’s possible that we’ll find more evidence,” Hillbrook said.
She sighed. “I hoped that my part was done and I could leave everything to you.”
Sedgemoor smiled. His air of self-containment and competence provided the perfect foil for Leath’s energy and cleverness. “Miss Trim, we only ask you to stay while we dig a little deeper.”
“You can contact me in Mearsall,” she said desperately. She was frantic to return to her old life, to prove that she was the same person she’d been, to forget tall, gray-eyed lords who lied.
“A few days,” His Grace said. “These allegations are so grave, we’ll have to back them to the final word.”
Unwillingly she nodded, although disappointment tasted bitter. She didn’t want to play the crusader. She wanted to find somewhere to hide away and come to terms with her sins. And her broken heart.
To Nell’s dismay, her warm welcome at Fentonwyck continued. She’d assumed that after that interview with His Grace and his cronies, she’d remain in her room awaiting developments. Or in view of her status as lowborn interloper, the duchess would shift her to the servants’ quarters. Even if upon arrival, the Rothermeres had mistaken her for some wayward gentlewoman—her clothes were cheap, but her horse definitely wasn’t—when she’d told her story, she’d been frank about her humble background.
But instead of exiling her to the attics while these powerful men decided whether to support her, the duchess invited her to dinner. It meant an odd number at the table, but Nell quickly realized that these six remarkable people didn’t stand on ceremony. Nell also recognized the strong bonds of friendship between them. Most painful of all, she’d be blind not to see the love uniting each pair.
Under Lady Hillbrook’s teasing, terrifying Jonas Merrick became almost human and his eyes shone with adoration when he looked at his wife. The Harmsworths seemed mismatched, until Nell saw them together and noticed how Sir Richard’s elegant manners offset his wife’s eccentric brilliance. Sedgemoor was clearly head over heels in love with his beautiful, pregnant duchess. And his duchess basked in the glow.
Nell’s love for Leath was so new and now so hedged with poisonous vines and sharp thorns, she could hardly bear the company of all these blissful couples. And there was the added bite that, even if Leath had been the man she’d thought, the world would never allow her to claim him openly. As his mistress, she’d always hover on the fringes of his life. Once he tired of her, she wouldn’t even have that much.
As customary in great houses, the ladies left the gentlemen to their port. Nell tried to claim tiredness. If she intercepted one more loving glance, she’d scream. But the duchess insisted that she stay downstairs for tea. Knowing that she owed these people a debt of gratitude—not to mention that she wanted them to join the campaign against Leath—Nell remained.
To her surprise, she found the conversation well within her compass. Her stepfather had followed the news and her weeks at Alloway Chase had sharpened her political awareness. After some hesitation, more about invading the intimacy between these friends than feeling out of her depth, she joined in.