Part 15 (2/2)
”I don't recall that.”
”You wouldn't. I was only ten or eleven at the time, and she rarely mentioned it again. Too bad she is not still here. She could have solved this mystery in no time. What happened to her?”
She shook her head. ”Dropsy-or so the doctor claimed. Her legs swelled to twice their usual size, making it impossible to walk. It was almost a relief when she pa.s.sed on.”
”How about Mr. Morwyn?” he asked, naming an elderly man he had called on regularly during his last visit home.
”He died about six months after you left.”
”Did John annoy him?”
”No. He died quite peacefully in his sleep, leaving his man a large enough legacy that he could retire. Remember how he always wanted to have his own garden?”
He nodded. ”I'm glad for him, and more than pleased that Morwyn lived peacefully to the end.”
She frowned as their horses entered the forest. ”Did you expect John to bother others besides your tenants and servants?”
”I had wondered. He seemed to single out those I cared about.”
She shook her head. ”I doubt he even knew who they were. Just as few people ever discussed his deeds, no one ever told him anything. Unless he had delegated someone to watch your every move, he would have had no idea where you went or who you saw.”
”He knew about you.”
She s.h.i.+vered at the implication, but thrust her sudden pleasure aside. Of course John had known of their friends.h.i.+p. He had kept a close eye on her activities for years. But she offered only a bland, ”That was different.”
”Good. I feared that I had directed John's attention to the old people. I am not sure I could live with the guilt if he had hara.s.sed them.”
”Rest easy. He left them alone. John cared nothing for others, so he wouldn't have understood your concern. Visiting the vicarage explained your trips to town. He never knew the pleasure you brought to people like Miss Crabbe and Mr. Morwyn just by listening to their tales. And I know you helped several of them with money.”
”It was no hards.h.i.+p. Miss Crabbe had me laughing every time I called.”
She smiled, but reminiscing about more innocent times was dangerous, building warmth and rapport that could only hurt her in the end. ”Are your friends staying long?” she asked, changing the subject.
”As long as I do. Why?”
”I do not wish to see my sisters hurt when they leave. Flirtation may make their stay more pleasant, but they need to understand the effect.”
”I will speak to them, but I suspect they are both serious.”
She frowned. ”Can they be trusted?”
”I believe so, though you will have to make your own decision. You don't trust me, so how can you accept my a.s.sessment of others.”
It was such an astute observation that she stiffened, startling her horse.
But you do trust him, whispered a voice. He is different. He's always been different. You just admitted that recognising character allowed you to tell them apart. If their characters had been the same, you would not have seen through John's impersonations.
It's an act, she insisted, wheeling Acorn down a side path to ride alone. James let her go, further confusing her. Men were always kind and considerate when they wanted something. James wanted information, but she sensed an edginess about him that hinted at less acceptable desires.
And how did she know that she had always told them apart? she fumed, ducking a low-hanging branch. Perhaps she could only recognize them when an impersonation was intended to tease. A serious attempt might have fooled her.
You knew serious, countered the voice. John wasn't teasing that day. Remember? James is real. Trust me. He's not like the others. How does his touch make you feel?
He only wanted to seduce her, she insisted, ignoring the warmth welling in her heart.
Then why did he let you move away from him at the picnic? Even when you grabbed him, he did nothing.
She cursed the voice. But James's restraint only proved that he had patience. She couldn't believe him. She couldn't. All men lied. Experience had taught her too well.
But she did believe him, she admitted as she dismounted outside the Northfield stable. And that was dangerous. She wanted to touch him, which was even more dangerous, because she knew he would hurt her. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
And it was already too late. The pain hovered, ready to pounce.
James watched Mary gallop away. There was more here than even her usual distrust. And he would bet his entire fortune that John was involved.
He forced himself to sit quietly until she was out of sight. If he moved too soon, he would follow her. He wanted her-and not casually. So how patient must he be to win her?
He was still reeling over her revelations. John had impersonated him since childhood. It put a different face on his father's apparent capriciousness. He had believed in James's guilt, because the victims had believed him guilty. So it had not been laziness. Weakness, yes, for he had blindly clung to his fantasy of John's worthiness. But he had not struck out in uncaring ignorance.
A knot in his chest unraveled, revealing just how much pain his father's apparent disinterest had caused.
And deep down, his father must have questioned whether James had truly been guilty. Why else had he drawn up that will? Had he discovered the truth about Cotter's dog? James had sworn he'd been at Isaac's at the time, though no one had listened. Or perhaps Miss Crabbe had mentioned that he'd been in town during the incident involving Justin Northrup's pony.
The last of his guilt faded into oblivion. John had been bad from childhood. The excuses, the second chances, his efforts to remain in the background had all been useless. John had victimized him all his life, but he had been too blind to see it. Yes, John had chosen his friends as targets, but only to derive extra pleasure from his usual activities by twisting a knife in his brother's heart. The truth was simple. John had hated him-not for anything he had done, not for any flaw in his character, but merely because he existed.
Stupid! Why had he not seen it earlier?
Now that he knew Rigby had followed him abroad, he could see John's continued meddling. No one had ever explained his odd encounter with the Parisian footpad or that near-fatal accident in Austria. Had John believed the money would return to Ridgeway if James died?
If so, he must have realized the truth, for no more accidents had plagued him. Maybe John had paid a visit to his solicitor. Bradshaw had known that James was abroad, but his clerk might have produced a copy of the will he had revised before leaving.
Had Rigby been responsible for that contretemps in Naples? Or the problems in Bombay? It no longer mattered. He had done well in Bombay despite that original setback. And he no longer had to fear John. He could concentrate on wooing Mary.
She was fighting him-as this latest escape proved-but he'd taken another small step today. So how should he approach her tomorrow?
He turned toward the Court. Calling on Turnby in the morning would give him an excuse to see Mary in the afternoon. In the meantime, he had to interview Robby.
Chapter Eleven.
James followed Turnby into the stable office. It had taken some fancy talking to get him this far, and he suspected that the groom had agreed only to avoid a.s.saulting a lord where they might be seen.
He felt like he was batting away fog. No one would talk to him until they learned to trust him, but no one would trust him while he was looking for John's killer.
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