Page 75 of When We Touch

But she had said that she wouldn’t run about casting out wild accusations. The family could not take anymore scandal. Because, Jamie had said, one day, it might matter to her. But it wouldn’t. Nothing could matter anymore. She wouldn’t fall in love with any gentleman or nobleman of esteem, because her father was gone, and . . .

She hesitated. And once again, found herself wondering just who that man had been. Handsome, charming . . .

A guest at her father’s wedding. He had assumed she was a servant, and still, he had looked at her with such regard. She might, one day, fall in love with such a man . . .

No! How could she even be thinking about such a thing when her father was dead?

Sitting on the foot of her bed, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her father! She must think only about her father right now, and the fact that he had died at that woman’s hands. What if there was no justice to be had for her father, legally, in a court of law?

Somehow, such a malicious and horrible creature must be punished.

She was going to have to do something about it, and the sooner she moved, the better.

She needed help, though, that was certain.

For a moment, she paused. Then she swung her door open and went in search of Mrs. Whitley.

Chapter 10

For Maggie, the days began to pass in a blur.

She had not intended to take any of the laudanum—she had known far too many women who had come to depend on it to deal with headaches, backaches, female aches, and even the simple ache of ennui.

But by the afternoon of the first day following her wedding, she discovered that she could survive what had happened, the arrangements, her horrible sense of remorse and guilt, and even the way she felt about knowing that she would never live through such a night again—with laudanum.

And so, the first two days following Charles’s death became manageable. She simply spent them in her room, and she asked Fiona to see that her meals were brought and that she wasn’t disturbed.

She awaited the results of the autopsy.

And at last, they came.

There was no hint of poison to be found in his body. His heart had simply failed him.

When the information was brought to her by her brother, she barely acknowledged what he said. That Justin was concerned was evident.

“You should be jubilant,” he said. “You might even run around screaming and proclaiming your innocence. Of course, that wouldn’t be in the best of taste, but . . .”

She felt no real pleasure at being vindicated. Those who condemned her as a murderess would continue to do so. Of course, she might be grateful that there hadn’t been poison in his system administered by someone else—she would still have been arrested for the deed!

And yet, thanks to the laudanum, she felt very little.

“Now it’s time for the wake, and funeral,” Justin told her. “Maggie, whatever is wrong with you? Proprieties must now be met.”

“I know.”

“You’ll have to be present, and present this evening. Charles will have his wake in the grand salon, in the house.”

“Of course.”

“Maggie—”

“Justin, please. Let me be. I will follow every propriety exactly, I swear.”

And so she did. And despite the autopsy findings, several things were just as she had expected.

She was aware that when she was in a room, Arianna was not.

Her stepdaughter never spoke, and she appeared only when it was absolutely necessary, and then, in the most comprehensive mourning attire Maggie had ever seen. She was swathed from head to toe in a black dress with a sweeping skirt and heavy brocaded bodice, and a veil so dark, Maggie wondered how she didn’t trip.