Part 32 (2/2)
Benedict stood as well and placed her hand on his arm. ”You hardly ate a thing. Are you unwell?”
Evangeline smiled as she watched them leave and wondered for the hundredth time when Francine would share the good news with her husband. No doubt he'd be thrilled to be a father. She kept her thoughts to herself, of course, as the only reason she had any clue of the happy tidings was due to the onslaught of visions she'd suffered during the country dances that first night.
Her smile faded as she caught sight of Edmund leering drunkenly at her over his winegla.s.s. Her stepfather used to leer at her in just such a way when he'd had too much whiskey. Based on the soft snores still emanating from the direction of Mr. Teasdale, she and Edmund were virtually unchaperoned.
She leapt to her feet.
Edmund's blatantly appreciative gaze followed her every move. ”Where are you going?”
Evangeline mentioned the first place that sprang to mind. ”The nursery.”
He gestured to the seat next to him. ”Why don't you stay here with me?”
”I'm not hungry.”
”Me neither.” His lips curved in a smirk.
”I told the girls I'd visit them,” Evangeline said quickly, and quit the room before he had a chance to lumber to his feet and follow her.
She had in fact told the girls she'd visit them. She'd said ”sometime,” and now now seemed a very good time to make good on her promise. seemed a very good time to make good on her promise.
On her way to the nursery, she kept thinking about Francine's idea of Monsieur Lefebvre bribing a servant. Mr. Lioncroft had suggested a servant, as well. He'd wondered if Ginny had acted on her own, out of revenge for herself or her mistress.
Could the two be connected? After all, Monsieur Lefebvre wasn't the only one whose plans had been upset by the loss of both his position and his would-be paramour. Nancy Hetherington had been equally distraught. And had instructed her sisters to claim both she and her mother had been with them in the nursery all night.
Perhaps Lady Hetherington hadn't been protecting herself. Perhaps she'd been protecting her daughter.
By the time Evangeline reached the nursery, she'd all but convinced herself of Nancy Hetherington's guilt and planned to confront her immediately. That was not to be, however, as only the twins were present. After exchanging greetings, she settled on the sofa, content to watch the two little girls play with their dolls.
Not half an hour later, Jane swept into the room flushed and breathless. Ignoring her sisters completely, she clapped her hands together and skipped directly to Evangeline.
”Oh! Miss Pemberton, you can't imagine where I've been. Remember my locket? This one.” She gestured at her throat. ”Uncle Lioncroft has been painting my portrait. Two, really. A big one, which he says he'd like to keep himself-he wants to do one of each of his nieces, he says, so we can be with him even when we're not-and a miniature, which will go right inside my locket. See? It'll be ever so cunning.”
”I see,” Evangeline said, not quite sure how else to respond. ”I'm sure it'll be lovely.”
”Quite lovely. I'm very nearly an adult, you see. Uncle Lioncroft says my come-out will be here before he knows it. He says-”
”Nancy says,” interrupted one of the twins, ”Uncle Lioncroft killed Papa.”
”He did not,” said the other, clutching her doll to her chest. ”Nancy's mean.”
”I thought,” Evangeline said slowly, ”your mother said your father pa.s.sed peacefully in his sleep?”
”Well...” Jane twisted her locket. ”She did say that, yes. But then Nancy said she only said that so we wouldn't be scared of Uncle Lioncroft. But I'm not scared of him. He's painting my miniature. It's only Rebecca that's scared of him now. Nancy should never have said that.”
”Nancy's mean,” Rachel reiterated, still hugging her doll tightly. ”Uncle Lioncroft is nice. He got us dolls.”
”He's very nice,” Evangeline agreed. ”Your uncle is a good man.”
”Did he kill Papa?” Rebecca asked.
”No.” Evangeline shook her head. ”No, of course not.”
”See?” Rachel stuck her tongue out at her sister before peering up at Evangeline. ”Who did?”
”I...don't know.” Evangeline swallowed, then turned to Jane for help fielding questions.
Jane, however, was still twisting her locket and frowning. ”Nancy says Uncle Lioncroft will hang either way. She says he can't take portraits of us to prison because in prison, you're not allowed to have anything nice, especially if you're only there until it's your turn at the gallows. Nancy says Uncle Lion croft hurt Papa because Papa hurt Mother. Nancy says it doesn't matter why Uncle Lioncroft did it-murderers hang.”
Nancy, Evangeline thought, needed to learn to curb her tongue.
”Is Uncle Lioncroft going to hang for killing Papa?” Rachel asked, clutching her doll even tighter.
Evangeline floundered for a safe response and found none. She was positive Mr. Lioncroft was innocent of murder, but unless the true culprit was found, Nancy was probably right-the moment someone alerted the magistrate, Mr. Lioncroft would hang regardless of his culpability.
”Why did Uncle Lioncroft do it?” Rebecca asked plaintively. ”Why would he hurt my Papa?”
Because your papa was a violent brute seemed an inappropriate answer. The handprint still hadn't completely faded from Lady Hetherington's face. As her brother, of course, Mr. Lioncroft would want to protect her. He wouldn't rob his nieces of their father, but he'd certainly do his best to save his sister from future harm. seemed an inappropriate answer. The handprint still hadn't completely faded from Lady Hetherington's face. As her brother, of course, Mr. Lioncroft would want to protect her. He wouldn't rob his nieces of their father, but he'd certainly do his best to save his sister from future harm.
”He...” Evangeline began, and faltered.
The last thing she wanted was for Mr. Lioncroft's nieces to fear him. But he'd already admitted fighting with their father and being angry enough to kill him. What could she say to mitigate a statement like that, especially if Nancy parroted back to the girls everything he said?
”I hate him,” Rebecca cried. ”I hate him for killing my Papa!”
She threw her doll across the room. When the porcelain face shattered against the corner of a bookshelf, Rebecca burst into tears.
Evangeline ran to her side and gathered the weeping child into her arms. She ground her teeth against the instant headache brought on by a barrage of little girl visions about biscuits and chocolate. She'd caused more harm than good if Rebecca had interpreted her hesitation as a tacit admission of Mr. Lioncroft's guilt.
”Rebecca,” she said softly, stroking her blond curls. ”Your father-”
”Was a b.l.o.o.d.y saint,” came a low growl from the open doorway.
Evangeline jerked her gaze up Mr. Lioncroft's tall, tense form to the anger slas.h.i.+ng across his face.
”I was just-”
”Allowing my nieces to believe I murdered their father. How kind of you.” His voice was tight, his eyes cold, hard, furious, as he took in the scene before him. Jane, twisting her locket. The beautiful doll, lying rejected and ruined on the floor. Rebecca, s.h.i.+vering and sobbing in Evangeline's lap. ”I was a fool to hope otherwise.”
He spun from the doorway and stalked into the shadows.
”Wait,” Evangeline called, struggling to her feet as best she could without dropping Rebecca to the floor.
But he was gone.
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