Chapter Fourteen

B lessing adjusted the focus of the telescope to bring the constellation Canes Venatici , Latin for hunting dogs , into sharper detail, but it did no good. The two dogs, Asterion and Chara, remained blurry. She straightened from the eyepiece and rubbed her eyes that burned with the grit of weariness and too many tears. The problem was not the telescope. It was her.

She lowered herself to the fainting couch beside the wall of windows and stared out at the night sky that had always brought her solace—at least, until now. Now, all she saw when she looked into the darkness was the horrible mess of her life staring back at her. At times, she thought herself ridiculous and petty for taking issue with being able to trust Thorne and ignore the gossip that would surely follow them for quite a while if she married him. After all, he hadn't really done anything wrong. It had just felt wrong—and most definitely looked wrong. Then she remembered his laughing with Miss Sykesbury, remembered how guilty he had behaved when he realized she was there, as if he had perhaps toyed with the idea of dabbling with Ravenglass's cousin. Then the sickening churn of renewed jealousy and anger convinced her she deserved better. The stinging outrage and humiliation promised she would find a way to forget him and fall in love with a man she would never doubt.

A sad, huffing laugh escaped her. Papa would tell her she was caught in analysis paralysis— too much thinking and not enough forging ahead and taking action. How she wished Papa and Mama were here to tell her what to do. Because if she chose poorly, it would tarnish the rest of her life.

The faintest lightening across the horizon, a glowing blush of pinks and yellows kissing the rooftops, made her realize that dawn was upon her, and she had spent yet another night wrestling with her demons of heartache and indecision. She reclined on her side on the fainting couch, propping her head on her arms so she could watch her precious stars fade into the brilliance of morning's light.

Serendipity and Fortuity would come in search of her soon, when they awakened and discovered her bed empty. They would beat on the door until she unlocked it and showed them she was still alive and well. That was…not exactly well, but she was alive and truly befuddled.

The knock on the door came earlier than she expected, and it wasn't a pounding, but a reserved tap. She pushed herself up to a sitting position and frowned at the door. Why on earth would Walters disturb her at such a peculiar hour? Another rap on the door was followed by a hesitant "My lady?"

Poor man. At his age, he should still be abed, should have been pensioned off years ago but refused to accept it. "I'm coming, Walters," she wearily called out as she crossed the room. He had probably brought her a tea tray. Serendipity and Mrs. Flackney, the housekeeper, had been trying to feed her at every opportunity since the upsetting encounter at Gunter's, and then the embarrassment of the ball.

She unlocked the door and swung it open wide but was surprised to find Walters standing there with nothing but the small letter salver in his hand. At this hour? "Dear Walters—you should have saved yourself the worry and simply tossed it into the fire like I did all the others."

The butler stood there blinking at her like a great sleepy owl. "It is not from Lord Knightwood, my lady." He lifted the tray higher and waggled a bushy gray brow at the seal. "A messenger brought it before first light."

"That's rather curious, don't you think?" Blessing took the note and studied the flowery script, not recognizing the hand.

"Indeed, my lady." He tucked the small silver dish against his side. "Shall I bring you a tray? Tea or chocolate, perhaps, and one of Cook's scones fresh from the oven?"

The concern in the old man's eyes touched her. Walters rarely exhibited any emotions. "Thank you, Walters, but no. Do not trouble yourself. I'll come to the dining room and eat from the buffet along with the others. That will be all for now."

"Very good, my lady." He gave her a weary bow and shuffled away, his bent form a sad reminder that he would not be with them forever.

She closed the door but didn't lock it, then meandered back to the fainting couch, studying the sealed letter all the while. Something about the thing filled her with a sense of leeriness, as if a rabid animal hid inside the folded paper, waiting to lunge out and clamp its jaws around her throat as soon as she opened it.

She forced a weary laugh. What a ridiculous vision.

"I must try to get some sleep," she told the room at large. "I am becoming sillier by the day." As she lowered herself to the couch, she broke the seal and unfolded the expensively heavy paper someone had used for the one-page missive.

Lord Knightwood is under investigation for assisting in the murder of the Earl of Myrtlebourne. As the illicit lover of Lady Myrtlebourne, it is believed he aided her in disposing of the earl because she carries Knightwood's child. It would be in your family's best interest to stay as far away from Lord Knightwood as possible.

Regards,

The Rt. Hon. Agnew Montagne

Earl of Myrtlebourne

"Carries his child," Blessing repeated in a horrified whisper. That part bothered her more than Thorne being under investigation for the murder of the earl. She stared down at the letter, reading it a second, then a third time as her mind raced to recall everything she had heard about Myrtlebourne.

The earl had been found expired in his dressing room by his valet. The rumor mill blamed a failure of the man's heart when he flew into a rage after finding out about his wife's affair. Perhaps she had told him about the unborn child? But how in the world could that be deemed murder? If the earl had a weak heart, it would have eventually taken his life regardless of his wife's escapades. Or had they decided it was some sort of poison? Why would they decide such a thing now, rather than at the time the man died?

She frowned, clenching her teeth until her jaws ached. Something about this did not make sense. If the note had mentioned a court case regarding adultery, she would have believed that easily. But this? Murder? And Thorne might be many things, but he was not a coward who would do such a thing so quietly. The man reacted with passion and temper. Heavens to mercy, she easily recalled two instances where he had caused public scenes—once at Lady Burrastone's party when he had challenged Montagne to a duel, and then just days ago at their very own ball when he had refused to accept her rejection. The memory of it still thrilled and saddened her.

No. If Thorne ever resorted to murdering someone, it would not be something as sneaky as poisoning a man and leaving him to die in his dressing gown. Subtlety was not a trait Lord Knightwood had mastered.

Snatching up the letter, she charged from the room. She needed more information. Information that Serendipity would either possess or know how to obtain. By the time she reached their rooms upstairs, she was nearly out of breath but kept running. She raced through the sitting room and burst into the bedroom. "Seri! Wake up!"

All she could see of her sister was the top of her head. Serendipity burrowed like a hedgehog when she slept. The mound of bedcovers barely shifted, and a muffled groan rose from their depths. "Go away, Essie."

Blessing rounded the bed, lit the lamp on the bedside table, then gave her sister a hard shake. "I need you to read this note and tell me what you know about Lord Myrtlebourne and his wife." She gave her another shake. "Seri, please! This note came just this morning. Right at dawn. Supposedly from Myrtlebourne's brother."

Serendipity rolled to her back and groaned again while scrubbing her face with both hands. "What? What did you say about the Myrtlebournes?"

"Read this." Blessing shoved the letter into her sister's hands, then brought the lamp closer. "They think the earl was murdered, and they suspect Thorne and the earl's wife."

"Murdered?" Serendipity forced herself up to a sitting position against the headboard, then gave a great yawn followed by a sleepy scowl. "The man's valet found him collapsed in his dressing room. A physician was called, and last I heard, they said his temper killed him. Made his heart blow out his ears or something." She yawned again, then brought the paper closer to her face and squinted down at it. Both her brows rose, and she stared at Blessing. "Carries his child?" she whispered.

"I know." Blessing pulled in a deep breath and struggled to compose herself. "But was it not you who told me that Thorne had not been with Lady Myrtlebourne for quite some time before her husband returned? Several months, even?"

"I overheard Lord Ravenglass say that very thing in defense of Lord Knightwood at Lady Atterley's ball—and that was well over a month ago."

"Did the lady not appear quite thin just three weeks ago? Remember, we saw her entering her home when we were headed to the modiste to see about our ball gowns?" Blessing watched Serendipity closely, silently urging her to wake up enough to sort through the facts and come up with the same theory she had.

Serendipity frowned as she let the hand holding the letter drop into her lap. "If she is with child, she cannot be very far into her confinement at all. She is thinner than we are." Her frown deepened. "And if that is the case, Thorne would not be the father—unless he went to her for comfort after losing you. But that would have been after the earl had already died." She flinched. "Sorry."

There was that. Blessing couldn't deny it, but for now, she chose to ignore it. Instead, she tapped on the letter. "But the way this reads, she was supposedly with child when the earl died."

Serendipity shook her head. "Why do they suddenly think it is murder? What changed?"

Blessing shrugged. "Either they discovered a clue that made them change their minds or Montagne paid someone to fabricate evidence pointing to murder."

Appearing fully alert now, Serendipity fixed Blessing with a suspicious scowl. "Why would Montagne send this to you? Why tell you when all the ton knows you rejected Thorne, and Chance had him thrown out and told never to return? It makes no sense for this information to come to you in particular." She fluttered the letter. "I do not believe Lord Montagne sent this. And look how he signed it. Very peculiar."

"Who else would send it?" Blessing hadn't considered that angle, but now that she thought about it, it was indeed strange.

"Someone who fears a reconciliation between you and Lord Knightwood." Serendipity stared at her with such a solemn look it struck Blessing square in the conscience. "Is there to be a reconciliation after all? Have you reached an accord with your fears and inability to forget his past?"

"I do not know." Blessing looked away.

"How long will you not know, Essie?" Serendipity softly asked. "Do you mean to suspend living your life indefinitely?" She reached out and rested her hand on top of Blessing's. "Remember what Papa always said?"

"There is no greater waste of a life than one that is lived in the throes of analysis paralysis. Make a decision. Even if it is wrong, at least you made a choice and gave it your best. Mistakes are the best opportunity for learning." Blessing stared down at their joined hands. "I wish Papa was here to help me decide."

"You know better than that. Papa would never decide for you." Serendipity laughed. "He and Mama would turn red-faced with the strain, but they would leave the choice up to you and pray you chose what they secretly wanted you to choose."

"I hope I am someday as wise a parent as they were." Blessing picked up the letter and read it with fresh eyes. "The only possible authors I can think of are Lady Myrtlebourne herself, Miss Eleanor Sykesbury, and Thorne."

Serendipity nodded. "Interesting deduction. The women want him, and he wants you."

"And Montagne wants his brother avenged. Does he have enough blunt to purchase a murder conviction for Thorne?"

"Who's to say?" Serendipity threw back the covers, climbed out of bed, and stretched. "And maybe the man was murdered. Perhaps the valet found something while the physician was there, and they kept it quiet until Montagne decided what he wished to do." She let her arms drop, went to the window, and pulled back the draperies. "Lady Myrtlebourne hated her husband. According to the gossips, the man was a monster and deserved every ounce of her scorn." She turned and faced Blessing. "But the question is, what are you going to do about it, dear sister?"

"Do about it?"

Serendipity nodded at the letter. "Whoever decided to involve you in this, if they were wise, would have ensured there was some truth in the information they gave you. Chance could ask Mr. Sutherland to make a few discreet inquiries to either confirm or debunk the investigation."

"Would the Bow Street Runners tell our solicitor about something that had nothing to do with our family?"

"They will tell Mr. Sutherland." Serendipity grinned. "Remember how he and Papa used to argue until late into the night? The man is tenacious."

"True—but that still leaves the question of Lady Myrtlebourne's condition." And what, if anything, I should do about this information at all, Blessing silently added.

"Leave that to me to discover," Serendipity said with a mysterious air. "But as I said before, what do you intend to do?"

"There is nothing I can do."

"Liar." Serendipity arched a brow. "As Mama would say, state your choices aloud, young lady. "

Blessing rolled her eyes, wishing Fortuity would chime in and side with her rather than pretend to still be asleep with her head under the covers. "What do you think, Tutie?"

A very unconvincing snore rose from Fortuity's bed.

"Tutie!" Blessing ripped the covers off her sister. "Eavesdropping is very rude."

"It is not eavesdropping if you are standing beside my bed shouting!" Fortuity scooted back against the headboard, hugged her knees, and tucked her night rail around her feet. "I know what your choices are—but do you?"

They were determined to make her say them first, just like Mama would have done. Blessing counted off on her fingers: "Confront Thorne about the note and either help him in any way I can or damn him."

Serendipity stamped her foot. "Essie! Language!"

"Sorry," Blessing lied, then took hold of her next finger. "Speak with Viscount Ravenglass to gauge his reaction and see whether or not he suspects his lovely cousin is playing foul, and if she is, spit in her eye."

Serendipity groaned and dropped her head into her hands.

"And lastly"—Blessing gripped her third finger—"ignore it and refuse to dance on a string for whoever believes I am their puppet."

"Why am I thinking that will be the one you choose?" Fortuity asked.

"Because you know me well, dear sister." Blessing slowly refolded the letter. "I am not prepared to speak with Thorne. Not yet."

"Analysis paralysis," Fortuity droned under her breath.

"Oh, hush!" Blessing was beginning to question the wisdom of sharing this information with her sisters. "What would the two of you do?"

"Discover who is behind the note, what their motive is, then deal with them accordingly," Serendipity said.

"You make it sound so simple when, in reality, it is not, and you know it." Blessing tossed the note into Fortuity's outstretched hands, hoping her younger sister might provide some insight that neither she nor Serendipity had thought of.

"You know I love you and would never wish you hurt," Fortuity said while staring down at the letter.

"But?"

Fortuity looked up. "You really did overreact about seeing him with Miss Sykesbury at Gunter's."

"I know he did nothing wrong, but—" Blessing cut herself off, at a loss as to how to explain her inability to get past the immediate suspicion that sprang to mind when she saw him with another woman. Did she truly wish to spend the rest of her life jumping to those conclusions and then trying to talk herself out of them?

"Do you want him hanged for a murder he didn't commit?" Serendipity's tone was as cold and heartless as the question.

"As opposed to hanging for a murder he did commit?" Blessing asked, trying to make light of the subject and failing.

Serendipity and Fortuity glared at her, clearly unimpressed with her humor.

Blessing pinched the bridge of her nose and rubbed the inner corners of her eyes, remembering how weary she truly was before letting her hand drop away. "Fine. I shall call on Lord Ravenglass and go from there. That is all I am willing to do at this time. All right?"

Both sisters nodded, then Serendipity folded back the covers on Blessing's bed. "However, I do feel you should get some sleep before calling on anyone. Those shadows under your eyes are not becoming at all."

Blessing plopped onto the foot of her bed and started unlacing her boots. "Both of you are coming with me. Just so you know."

"Of course we are," Fortuity said as she burrowed back under the covers and hugged her pillow under her head. "We wouldn't miss it for the world."

*

While they waited for Lord Ravenglass, Blessing took in the modest yet comfortable parlor she never would have envisioned belonging to a man rumored to travel more than he stayed in London. The room was done in feminine shades of delicate rose and soft blue, but rather than the usual clutter of porcelain vases, miniature statues, and various other dust-collecting baubles, books were piled everywhere—even on the floor. Stacks of them adorned the tables and the mantelpiece. The built-in shelves on either side of the fireplace groaned with the largest collection of tomes she had ever seen stored outside of a library or office. She glanced at Fortuity and struggled not to smile. Her dear sister was in literary heaven, her head slightly tilted to one side as she scanned the titles gracing the shelves.

When the viscount entered the room, his harried look gave Blessing the distinct impression that they were the last people he had either wanted or expected to receive today.

"Good day, ladies." He bowed first to Serendipity, then Fortuity, then Blessing. "Forgive me for making you wait, but it has been a rather eventful day."

Blessing eyed the man, wondering if the eventfulness of his day had anything to do with Thorne and the matter she was about to bring to his attention. At his rather uncomfortable gesture toward their chairs, she and her sisters reseated themselves, and she decided to get directly to the point. "It is I who must beg your forgiveness, my lord, for I fear our visit will not improve or calm your day."

"I see." He shifted in his seat as though bracing himself for the worst. "How so, may I ask?"

"It is my understanding that you are Lord Knightwood's oldest and dearest friend."

He slowly nodded, leaving her with the unmistakable feeling that he was reluctant to admit the association to her, considering the state of her relationship with the rogue baron.

Rather than attempt to explain, she drew the letter in question out of her reticule and handed it to him. "This arrived for me yesterday morning—before dawn, in fact."

The viscount's expression hardened as he slowly unfolded it and read its contents. With a resigned sigh, he lifted his gaze to hers. "And how may I help with this, my lady?"

"Reveal the truth, expose the lies, and identify the true author."

With slow deliberation, he refolded the letter and gave it back to her, but didn't speak until after she had stuffed it back inside her reticule and cinched the drawstrings shut.

"Well?" She arched a brow and waited impatiently for some sort of answer.

"There was an investigation into the earl's death, but the Bow Street Runners reported a lack of evidence regarding Lord Knightwood's part in the poisoning of Lord Myrtlebourne." He shifted with a heavy sigh. "They did, however, find sufficient evidence against persons in the Myrtlebourne household to confirm their suspicions. It is my understanding that portion of their investigation is ongoing."

A sense of relief filled Blessing. "So, Lord Knightwood has been cleared of any wrongdoing and has no charges to worry about?"

"He was cleared of the murder," Ravenglass said in a tone that worried her. "However, he is still at risk. The earl's brother, Lord Montagne—whom I believe you met earlier in the Season—has decided not to pursue an adultery suit against Knightwood, since Lady Myrtlebourne will more than likely be charged with her husband's murder. I will not be so coarse as to mention what that means for her."

"Then how is Lord Knightwood still at risk?"

"Montagne decided to accept Knightwood's challenge from Lady Burrastone's party after all, and the two intend to meet at dawn tomorrow. A duel, my lady. I am sure you understand the dangers of such an action."

A panic so strong she wanted to scream shot through her. She fisted her hands so tightly that her nails nearly cut through her gloves and dug into her palms. "He must not. You must stop him."

"As his second, I have tried, my lady. I also attempted to reason with Montagne's man and with Montagne himself. I succeeded in averting this disaster the first time it reared its monstrous head, but I fear I failed this time." The viscount suddenly looked much wearier than when he first entered the room. "Knightwood and Montagne are well matched in their stubbornness. They are indeed a pair of fools intent on not only killing each other but ensuring they die in the process."

"Why in heaven's name would Lord Knightwood wish to die?" Blessing pushed up from the chair, too distraught to sit. "He adores his dear mother. How could he consider abandoning her and cursing her with the fate of outliving her child?"

Ravenglass slowly rose from his seat and fixed her with an almost accusatory glare. "A man cannot live for the sake of his mother. He has made arrangements so she will want for nothing after he is gone, but do not doubt me when I tell you—he plans to die."

"You are blaming me." She wanted to fall to her knees and weep, but held her head high, determined to see this visit through and remedy this deadly route that her life and the lives of those interwoven with hers had foolishly taken. "His choices are his own. Not mine." As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished she could snatch them back because of their heartlessness.

"I agree his choices are his own, but you asked for the truth, my lady." Ravenglass jutted his chin at her. "I do not believe Knightwood ever experienced love before he met you. He is unfamiliar with the power of the feeling and is unable to manage it when that love is not accepted or returned."

She covered her face with both hands, unable to bear the harshness of the viscount's judgment. Because judgment it was—he had as much as damned her for Thorne's impending death. "I do not want him to die," she whispered. "I could not bear it."

"I cannot stop them," Ravenglass said, his words dripping with despair. "I have tried, my lady. I swear to you, I have tried."

Blessing sagged to the floor, her staunch fortitude no longer able to force her legs to support her in this misery. She hugged herself, rocking while beseeching her sisters for help. "He cannot die, Seri. Tutie, you are a writer. How can we save him from this foolish waste of his life?"

Serendipity and Fortuity rushed over, crouched beside Blessing, and held her tight.

"Where is this duel taking place?" Serendipity scowled up at Ravenglass. "And you said at dawn tomorrow? Is that correct?"

"A field north of Camden," the viscount said. "And yes. At dawn."

"We must go there, Essie," Fortuity said, giving Blessing a gentle shake. "Only you can stop him. You can do this, Essie. You are the strongest of us all."

Hope and determination sparked within Blessing, then burst into a raging inferno of sheer single-mindedness to set things right once and for all. "I will stop him," she said. "If I have to stand in front of him and shield him with my body, I will stop him from this foolishness so that he can live long enough for me to box his ears." Hot, angry tears streamed down her face, strengthening her resolve. "Stupid, stupid man. How dare he put me through this worry! How dare he do this to his mother as well!"

Ravenglass smiled for the first time since he had entered the room. "You are the only one who can save him, my lady. He says he is nothing without his treasure, and that treasure is you. I will help you in any way I can, and with any luck, we can convince Montagne that more deaths will not bring his brother back, nor erase the poor choices made while the earl lived."

With the help of her sisters, Blessing forced herself up from the floor. "Montagne will listen to reason or I will shoot him myself. In the knees, so he has to lie there and listen to what I have to say."