Several days later, he went to see Lilliana.
Roxbury’s carriage was pulling away when Atlas arrived at Somerville House. Heaviness settled in his chest. Perhaps Lilliana’s betrothal was finally official.
She received him in Somerville House’s expansive gardens. As he crossed over the wide stone verandah and trotted down the steps leading to the lush manicured lawn, he easily spotted Lilliana—her dark hair and snowy day dress resplendent against the verdant backdrop.
She sat at a table set with crystal and fine china, the remnants of tea and refreshment as elegantly laid out as at any supper party Atlas had ever attended. The crystal caught the sun, adding glimmer to the picturesque tableau.
“Enjoying the fine afternoon, I see,” he said as he drew near. It was warm and gently sunny, the most pleasant day so far after a particularly brisk spring.
She looked up from the book in her lap as he approached. “It is a lovely day. I thought to enjoy it.” She studied his face. “I trust your health is improved.”
“Much, thank you.” He had been abed with a headache and some dizziness for the last few days, the lingering effects of Maria Perry’s bashing him in the head with what turned out to be a cutting board. Aside from an interview at Bow Street immediately after Mrs. Perry’s arrest, Atlas had taken to his bed, seeing few people save Jamie and Charlton, who’d returned with glowing stories of his time in Bath.
“I visited Miss Archer,” Lilliana informed him. “I have made arrangements for her to see Somerville’s physician.”
“She faces a terrible ordeal.” He pulled out the iron chair opposite her and settled into the cushioned seat. A half-full cup of tea and a floral china plate with a partially eaten slice of cake sat on the table before him. Roxbury’s, no doubt.
“Elizabeth believes it is what she deserves for attempting to poison Mr. Davis.”
“I highly doubt Miss Archer gave him more arsenic than he regularly took on his own.” A fresh sense of distaste for Davis rifled through him. “But I believe Davis wanted people to believe Miss Archer responsible for his death.”
“Truly?” Her luminous gaze regarded him over the rim of her porcelain teacup. “That would explain why he encouraged her to purchase arsenic.”
“You’ll recall he insisted that she buy the poison herself and not allow the servants to do it.”
Comprehension lit her patrician face. “He wanted her name written down in the poison book.” Illuminated by the sun, her eyes were an intriguing coppery shade. “Proof for all to see that she’d purchased the poison.”
“Imagine his surprise when she decided to put it in his drink.”
“So he meant to frame her, and then she actually attempted to commit the crime he meant for her to be accused of?”
He shrugged. “I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for certain exactly what went on in Davis’s mind, but that’s how it appears to me. He was threatening to ruin Elizabeth, and thanks to Davis, she had the arsenic in hand while at her most desperate.”
A footman appeared with a fresh table setting and whisked Roxbury’s used teacup and plate away. “It also explains why Davis only began keeping a journal in the last few weeks of his life,” Atlas continued. “It was a way for him to implicate her from beyond the grave. For all we know, he wrote all of those passages in the journal in one sitting.”
Lilliana leaned forward to pour the tea. “But why? Because she’d tried to poison him, or because she jilted him?”
“Perhaps both. He’d already been jilted once by Lady Brandon. Elizabeth’s rejection could have sent him over the edge. And once Davis realized he was ill, maybe he decided to take his final revenge on her.”
“What a terrible man.” She shuddered. “To take advantage of a young girl and then attempt to punish her in such a gruesome manner.”
He thought of the grim future that Elizabeth Archer faced. “Davis might not have succeeded in having her blamed for his murder, but he has managed to ruin her life all the same.”
“Yes,” Lilliana said, all sympathy. “The poor girl.”
“And then there’s the question of why Davis had Mrs. Perry purchase the arsenic he ultimately used to kill himself.”
“I should think it is obvious.”
“How so?”
She reached for her tea. “If he meant to frame Miss Archer, it would not do for his name to appear in any poison books.”
“Quite right.” He immediately saw her point. “If his name had appeared in the poison book, Bow Street would have assumed he used the arsenic he’d purchased to kill himself.” He drank his tea. “I imagine you’ve told Tacy what we discovered.”
“Yes. Not all of it, of course. There is no need for her to know what an absolute scoundrel her brother was. She is aware that he took his own life because he was ill. It’s been very difficult for her, but she is relieved to finally know the truth of how her brother died.” She set her tea down. “Do you still plan on setting sail for India soon?”
“Yes, the East India Company has a ship leaving in a fortnight.”
Her tone cooled. “And you have secured passage.”
“I have.” He paused, then added, “I saw Roxbury leaving when I arrived.”
“Yes, he came for tea. I never truly imagined he had anything to do with Mr. Davis’s death. He is the best of men, you know.”
He swallowed down the acid that rose in his throat at her praise of the marquess. “Is a happy announcement soon to follow?”
“That is unlikely. I rejected Roxbury’s proposal today.”
“What?” His head shot up. “But why?”
She lifted one delicate shoulder in an elegant shrug. “I do not wish to wed him.”
“I thought the two of you had an understanding. Roxbury indicated he’d even spoken with Somerville about the marriage settlements.”
“Yes, the two of them did seem rather eager to see me wed. As did you,” she added archly.
He did not miss the rebuke in her tone. “But Roxbury would have given you everything.”
“Not quite. I do not love him.”
A frisson of delight shot through him at the confirmation that Roxbury had not engaged Lilliana’s affections. “I did not think love was required in ton marriages.”
“I doubt I will ever wed again. If I do, it will have to be for a very compelling reason.” She gestured around them at the immaculate structured lawn and enormous neoclassical pile towering over it. “As you see, my brother provides very nicely for us; wealth and rank are not incentive enough for me to suffer another husband.”
“You said yourself that Roxbury is the best of men,” he protested, worried for her future. “He could have protected you and the boys.”
She exhaled, long and slow. He was obviously trying her patience. “When will you realize that not all women need saving? I certainly no longer need to be rescued.”
“I realize that.”
“Do you?” The words dripped with disdain. “You really are an incredibly arrogant man. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before now.”
He stiffened, taken aback by her reproach when all he had ever done was try to do what was best for her. “I only want your happiness.” He had sacrificed for her future, and she tossed that aside now as if it were nothing.
“Do you?” she said in a voice rich with scorn. “By happiness, I presume you mean what you believe should make me happy, not what would actually bring me joy and contentment.”
What the devil was she talking about? “No,” he said tightly. “That is most certainly not what I mean.”
“Yet you and Roxbury decided between yourselves what would make me happy.” Her nostrils flared. “And neither of you saw fit to consult me.”
His brow furrowed. “I don’t know what Roxbury told you but—”
“He informed me that the two of you conferred and reached the conclusion that he and I should wed. That is why I came to see you the afternoon you confronted Mrs. Perry. To tell you what I thought of your machinations.” She gave him a pointed look. “How considerate of you both to spare me the trouble of determining my own future.”
“That’s not what either of us intended,” he began. “You are the daughter of a duke. We both know I am beneath your touch. A woman as fine as you should wed a marquess.”
“Very pretty words.” She did not appear impressed. “Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I should decide what is best for me?”
“Of course you should.”
“And yet you could not give me the courtesy of allowing me to do so.”
“You are twisting everything,” he said, his temper rising. “Surely you comprehend that I only want what is best for you . . . and for the children.”
“I have already endured one husband who saw fit to dictate everything in my life.”
She was comparing him to her late husband? “Godfrey Warwick and I could not be more different.”
“I certainly thought so once, yet you thought to command my future just as he did in the past.” She rose to her feet, regarding him regally over the bridge of her nose. “You must have a great deal of packing to do for your journey. So if we are finished here . . .”
His jaw hardened at her dismissal, as if she were his mistress and he a mere boot boy. “No.”
Her eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
“As you should.” He came to his feet, emotion swirling in his chest. “We are nowhere near finished, and I do not appreciate being dismissed.” It was not up to her to determine when it was done between them. It was far from over.
“Is that so?” An expression of polite boredom settled on her face. “I cannot imagine what there is left to say between us.”
He stepped closer, pulled Lilliana into his arms, and kissed her for all he was worth.