Page 85 of Not a Fine Gentleman

“Very good, my lady.” He bowed his way out.

Margaret took a moment to smooth her hair in front of a mirror.

Christian, who’d been largely silent, though his eyes had darted about as if searching for mysteries, finally spoke. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

Margaret touched his arm. “I’m not expecting trouble from Jane. She’s always been a good soul, if a bit of a doormat for her husband. Even if I were expecting a fight, I’ve never backed down from one.”

Christian chuckled softly. “No, indeed.”

Margaret glanced at the reflection of the men in the room, all so very dear. Even Connor Jackson had started to feel like a member of the family. But her awareness of him, and affection for him, were nothing like sisterly love. Quite the opposite.

Her sister-in-law, or rather former sister-in-law, awaited. How did one refer to the wife of one’s dead husband’s brother? Perhaps she would simply call her Jane, as she always had. Margaret strode to the front parlor to face down whatever the new Lady Hennessy had come to say.

In the parlor, Jane Hennessy stood with her hands folded. The moment Margaret entered, her sister-in-law watched her anxiously, her forehead creased in a worried frown.

Margaret went up to her with her hands outstretched as if she had every reason to believe her reception would be warm. “Jane, how kind of you to call.”

Taking Margaret’s hands into both of hers, Jane looked deeply into her eyes and whispered, “Margaret, did you kill him?”

“No,” Margaret said simply.

Jane peered more closely. Margaret maintained eye contact and let her look her fill. Would it always be this way? Would people always need to hear it for themselves? A lifetime of suspicious or fearful looks and questions stretched out in front of her. All the more reason to leave London and go somewhere quiet and safe. Or abroad, at least for a while. Perhaps if she went far enough, she would find people who would treat her as a woman instead of a murderess.

Finally, Jane nodded and squeezed her hands. “I thought not. I knew you were unhappy with him, but I couldn’t believe you’d trouble yourself enough to kill him. I tried to tell that to the Bow Street Runner, but Francis wouldn’t let me speak to the man. He’s so sure you killed his brother. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“I’m sorry for his loss.” Despite their failings, the brothers had possessed great love for one another. Perhaps they weren’t truly bad but rather only selfish, especially when it came to women. Margaret gestured to the nearest settee. “Do sit. Shall I ring for tea?”

“No, thank you. I’d best return. I merely wanted to satisfy myself that you hadn’t done it. Please, don’t tell Francis I came to see you. He’d be angry.”

“Not a word,” Margaret promised.

Jane nodded. “I will try to reason with him—without telling him that I spoke to you. Perhaps I can soften his heart. Thank you for seeing me.” She gave Margaret a tentative smile. “I hope you’ll be happy, Margaret. I truly do. After all these years of living with such an unhappy marriage, you deserve to find joy.”

“Thank you, Jane. I wish you joy as well.”

They parted, and Margaret took a deep breath, smiling. She’d found another unlikely ally. Perhaps she wouldn’t always be a pariah. Even if she were, having the trust of her family and Connor mattered more than anything.