Margery, her legs trembling beneath her, led the men to the drawing room, where a fire was already burning merrily in the hearth. As they settled themselves, she creased the delicate folds of her gown with nervous fingers, casting anxious glances between the two. Mr. Newton had seated himself as far as possible from Daniel, and appeared positively green, as if he would cast up his accounts then and there.
Daniel, on the other hand, looked like an avenging angel. His features were stark, his scars standing out in sharp relief, a muscle ticking in his jaw. What, she wondered wildly, was going on?
But still they sat there, not speaking. Finally, unable to stand it a moment longer, she burst out, “What are you two gentlemen doing here?”
She’d meant it to sound easy and unconcerned, as if this were a mere social visit. Trying to hold on to the niceties as long as possible, a kind of lifeline for her. Instead it came out in a jumble of words, rushing over one another in their attempt to break free.
Daniel cleared his throat, casting a dark glance at the other man. “Newton has something he needs to tell you.”
Margery blinked. Which should not have surprised her, she supposed. Why else would the man be here, after all?
And yet it shocked her just the same. What in the world would Mr. Newton have to say to her that had him so terrified, that had Daniel so furious? A wild, horrible idea flitted on the outskirts of her mind, but she hastily pushed it away before it could find purchase. Schooling her features as best she could, she looked at the man. “What was it you needed to tell me, Mr. Newton?”
If anything, Newton’s face turned greener. He looked to Daniel with wild, pleading eyes.
Daniel’s expression turned furious, and what seemed to be a threat appeared in the stormy depths of his eyes. But still the other man sat in mute fear.
Letting out a low curse that made Mr. Newton flinch, Daniel finally turned to face her. And the breath was sucked from her body at the raw emotions in his steady gaze.
In the next moment he said the very last thing she expected.
“Your husband was not a deserter.”
She actually felt the blood leave her face. “Wh-what?”
“Aaron did not desert his battalion.”
Still, she could not comprehend what he had said. How had he known about Aaron’s desertion? She had never told him. A high-pitched whining sounded in her ears, her vision turning black at the edges. She did not realize she had begun to list to the side, however, until Daniel’s hand was there on her arm, steadying her.
Jolted back to her senses, she was shocked to see him kneeling before her. In the back of her mind came the realization that he must have lurched forward to get to her, that his leg must be in horrible pain from the swiftness of his actions; the proof of it was there in the tightness at the corners of his eyes, in his pallor.
And yet, though she ached to comfort him, his words from seconds ago came back to her, quickly drowning out every other thought.
“Aaron wasn’t a deserter?”
Her voice was a mere agonized rasp, hope rising up in her. His eyes gentled, his hand rubbing her arm.
“No,” he murmured.
But another memory surfaced, of him telling her of Aaron’s death, before either of them had known the identity of that doomed boy. “But—” She stopped, nearly gasping from the pain of the recollection, before taking herself firmly in hand and forging on. “You said he was running away from the battle. You witnessed it.”
He looked as if he was in physical pain, a pain that had nothing to do with his leg. “I was mistaken. And I’m so sorry for making you think it was true.”
She swallowed hard, closing her eyes tight. “But you’re not the only one. There is another who claims it’s true as well.”
“The blackmailer.”
She blanched, an instinctual fear ripping through her as her eyes flew open to meet his. “You know about the blackmailer?”
“I do,” he said, his voice low and tight with fury though his eyes were gentle on her. “Moreover, I know who the blackmailer is.”
And then he looked to Newton.
“Oh, God.” The man moaned.
“You’re a bit late for those prayers, man,” Daniel growled.
Margery looked back and forth between the two of them, that same horrible idea from before rising up again. “I don’t understand,” she managed through stiff lips. Though deep inside she feared she did.
“Tell her,” Daniel snarled when the man looked at him with pleading in his eyes.
“Mr. Newton?” His name came from her in an agonized whisper, practically begging him to denounce what Daniel was implying. The man could not be the blackmailer.
“I’m sorry,” he said, tears springing to his eyes as he stared at her in misery. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Kitteridge.”
“It was you?” She shook her head, her whole being shying away from the truth of it. “You blackmailed me? You made me believe Aaron deserted his battalion?”
“I’m sorry,” the man repeated hoarsely.
Understanding was finally beginning to dawn on her. No, not to dawn, for dawn implied hope and renewal. This was a falling, like the darkest night. “But you were his friend.” Fury boiled up in her. She lurched to her feet, her hands balling to fists at her sides. “You were his friend, and you would tell such despicable lies about him? Lies that I refused to believe but that started to poison my mind—” A sob cut off the rest of her words. She pressed a fist to her lips, tasting the metallic tinge of blood as her teeth cut into the tender skin of her mouth.
Suddenly Daniel was beside her, his deep voice in her ear. “Margery?”
His comforting presence rallied her. She looked at him, and drawing in a shaking breath, she nodded firmly. “I’m fine, Daniel.”
Mr. Newton, however, seemed to think that was the end of it. He rose, began inching for the door. “I’m glad that’s behind us,” he babbled, as if the faster he talked, the quicker he moved, the better chance he had for escape.
Which only angered Margery the more. “We’re not even close to putting this behind us,” she raged, the fury behind her words sending Mr. Newton back to his seat. She glared down at him, disgust for this man who had claimed to be Aaron’s friend nearly choking her. “You defiled his memory, and for what? Money?”
“You don’t understand,” Newton said, his voice a pitiful whine. “My debts—”
“I don’t care,” she snapped. “I don’t care why you did it. Nothing you can say will ever be reason enough for doing what you did. Had you come to me in need of funds I would have found a way to get them to you, and gladly. You were a friend to my husband; he valued you. I would have done anything in my power to assist you.”
Mr. Newton turned as white as a sheet. “Surely not now.”
“Of course, not now,” she bit out. “You blackmailed me, Mr. Newton. And for an abhorrent untruth.”
“Yes.” Then he did the thing Margery least expected. He looked at Daniel, agony clear in his gaze. “And for my part in Aaron’s death, which His Grace will surely tell you. He was witness to it, after all.”
* * *
Daniel froze, his insides turning to ice. Such a reaction was surely ridiculous; the man must be referring solely to his own desertion, which Aaron had been attempting to prevent, thus leading to his being shot by Daniel.
But he sensed there was more, much more, behind the man’s words.
Margery wrapped her arms about herself, her expression stricken. She didn’t once look Daniel’s way, and he ached to look in her eyes to see her reaction to Newton’s words. But she kept her gaze fixed to Newton and said, her voice a mere breath of sound, “I would hear it from your own lips. Explain yourself.”
Newton cast Daniel another glance, as if pleading with him to step in. His every nerve suddenly alive, Daniel merely indicated with a raised brow that he should continue. He would not have been able to speak if his life depended on it just then.
The man, seeing he was not going to get an ounce of assistance, dropped his head in his hands. “You have to understand,” he cried into his lap. “I was so frightened. There was so much noise, so much blood. I didn’t want to die—” He bit his lip as a sob bubbled up.
Margery seemed to sense something life-altering was coming as well. She stumbled back to her seat and dropped heavily onto the cushion, her fingers gripped like claws about the arm of the sofa, her gaze frozen on Newton in fatalistic horror.
Finally, when Daniel thought he’d scream with the waiting, Newton spoke again. “I was just one soldier. I certainly wouldn’t affect the outcome. Surely I could slip away, hide until the battle was done. Only Aaron saw me, tried to stop me—” Another sob, this one seeming to have been dredged up from the depths of his soul. “The French soldier came out of nowhere. He shot Aaron in the chest, right in front of my eyes. And I ran. I didn’t stop to help him. I ran…”
Daniel felt as if he were floating up out of his body. And suddenly he was there in that field once more. Only now it was all in slow motion: Newton pushing past him, sending him sprawling into the mud and water; Daniel lifting the musket out from beneath him; sighting down the barrel, pulling the trigger. And Aaron, stumbling in front of him. No flash of flint. He’d thought it had been a misfire. But the smoke was in his eyes. And when it had cleared, Aaron again, his hand at his chest. But had he already been shot? Had his hand already been at his chest? Had he been stumbling after his friend for help?
A wild hope flared to life. Was Daniel innocent in the man’s death after all?
As he looked at Margery, however, he knew that his own guilt or lack thereof was the least of his concerns. She looked as if she might faint.
He hurried to her side, sank down next to her once more. His thigh screamed in pain again, but as before he didn’t give a damn. His entire focus was on Margery and her well-being. Her hand was like ice when he gripped it between his own. “Margery?”
“I’m well,” she managed, the weakness in her voice belying her words. But her eyes when they met his were brimming with emotion.
Before he could comprehend her expression, however, she straightened away from him and turned to look at Newton. The man was still hunched over, his hands now tangled in his hair.
“Your cowardice led to Aaron’s death,” she said, her voice flat. “And then you abandoned him.”
“I did.” He moaned. “God help me, I did.”
He peered up at Margery then, as miserable as any person Daniel had ever seen. Despite the pain and heartache this man had caused, Daniel felt sorry for him. To live with such a thing for so long could tear a person up inside. He knew firsthand. And though Newton hadn’t pulled the trigger that had caused Aaron’s death, his actions had caused it just the same.
“Will you tell the authorities what I’ve done?” Newton asked Margery then, his voice pitifully small. “About my desertion? About the blackmail?”
Margery was silent so long Daniel thought she might not answer. Then, her voice a mere whisper, “I should. I want to see you pay for what you did to Aaron, for the torment you’ve caused me.”
She turned to look at Daniel then, and her eyes were brimming again with emotion. This time, however, he could see that, mingled with the grief, was something that gave him hope like never before.
“But no, I won’t,” she continued, the strength returning to her voice as she looked again at Newton. “Despite the devastation you’ve caused, Aaron wouldn’t want it. He would instead want you to get help. He was a good man, my husband. And much better than you ever deserved as a friend. I’ll see you get the help you require to get back on your feet, in his honor. But after that, I don’t ever want your face darkening my door again.”
The man broke down in sobs. After much groveling and thanks he left. Leaving Daniel and Margery alone.
He watched her closely, desperate to give her what she needed, but not knowing what that might be. Her profile was unchanging, her gaze steady on the open door of the sitting room. She seemed utterly unaware that he was even beside her.
Mayhap she needed time alone. It could not be easy for her, learning the truth, finding out that a man who had claimed to be her husband’s friend had not only kept the truth of his death from her all these years, but had also blackmailed her with horrible lies about her husband. And so, though his heart ached to stay beside her, he reached for his cane where it lay on the ground and struggled to standing.
Before he reached the sitting room door, however, she spoke.
“You didn’t kill Aaron.”
Her voice was stark and raw in the quiet of the room. He stopped, facing the door. “It appears not,” he managed.
Once more that loud quiet, going on so long he thought he might split apart from needing to know what was going through her head. And then, “You were there for him when he was dying. You held him, comforted him. He wasn’t alone because of you—”
Her voice broke off, an agonizing sound. Without a word he closed the door and turned to hurry back to her side. But she was already on her feet and rushing to him. Her arms came about him, her face pressing into his chest.
“You were there for him,” she repeated. “He wasn’t alone.”
He guided her to the sofa and sank down onto it with her, his arms still about her, his hands rubbing over her back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m so sorry.”
He knew her tears would come, and that they would be terrible, that they would rip him in two. He did not expect, however, the violence of them. They wracked her body, the sobs raw and painful to listen to, the agony and grief of weeks’ worth of fear bursting from her. The fire in the hearth receded, the room falling into gloom, and still she cried. And through it all he held her.
Finally, after what felt like hours, her tears subsided and she fell into an exhausted silence. The only indication that she had not fallen asleep were her fingers, gently rubbing over the sleeve of his jacket. He should go now, he knew. He had told her what she needed to know, after all, which was the only reason he had returned to Synne. But he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her just then. He would see her to her bed, he promised himself. He would see her safe. And then he would leave her for good.
“Come along then,” he murmured, gently extricating himself from her embrace and helping her to her feet, securing an arm about her shoulders lest she fall. What he wouldn’t give, he thought, to sweep her in his arms and carry her up the stairs. But the bitterness didn’t come as it typically did. Instead a soft sadness took its place. The truth was, no matter what he was or was not physically capable of, if he could be by Margery’s side he would be happy.
She followed along quietly as he led her through the house, not making a sound when he stopped to ask a footman to inform Lady Tesh that her granddaughter was safe and was not to be disturbed. Her head listed on his shoulder, and once or twice he feared they might topple over—he was not the most balanced fellow, after all.
But they finally made it to her rooms. He guided her to the bed, assisted her in removing her clothes—how was he just noticing the pink dress, and what did it mean?—with infinite care and gentleness until she wore nothing but her chemise. She remained still and silent through his ministrations, not saying a word as he pulled the pins from her hair, one by one, letting the curling locks, thick and silky against his fingers, fall loose down her back. Too soon—he could have played ladies’ maid to her forever—he guided her back against the pillows and tucked a blanket about her. He took one last moment to gaze down at her. Her eyes were closed, her lashes thick and curling against the paleness of her cheeks. He hoped—prayed—that he had given her a modicum of peace.
As he turned to go, however, her voice, small and frail, called to him from the shadows.
“Stay with me.”
He dragged in a ragged breath. “You need your rest.”
“I need you.”
The same ragged breath left him in a burst. Surely she was delirious and fragile, and simply didn’t want to be alone. She would have asked it of any of her family as well if they had brought her to her bed in such a state.
Why, then, did his heart leap with joy?
Even so, though everything in him cried out to remain, he might have been able to refuse her. Had she not spoken one devastating word.
“Please.”
As if drawn to her on a string he closed the door and went to her. In silence he sat on the bed, removed his jacket, managed to pull off his boots. And then he was stretched out beside her. She came to him immediately, curling against his side, warm and soft and her body fitting against his with an aching perfection. As if she belonged there.
And as he held her close and listened as her body grew relaxed and her breathing slowed in sleep, he thought for one mad moment that maybe, just maybe, she did.