Drops of Gold(53)

“This person lost a loved one under less than ideal circumstances. She had been unwell, not in body so much as in mind. Melancholy to the point of . . . I’m not sure how to describe it.” Marion felt flustered, trying to explain without bending confidences too far, needing Lord Lampton to understand something she didn’t understand herself. “Without speaking ill of the dead, my lord, this particular lady seemed, by her own husband’s description, though I think he hardly realizes the implication, almost . . . almost mad. Not in a violent or dangerous way. But unnaturally sad and despondent.

“I am told she refused to so much as hold her infant daughter, whose arrival she had apparently been quite eagerly awaiting. She spurned all efforts by her husband to comfort her.”

Marion began talking faster, feeling guilty and afraid they’d be interrupted at any moment. She hadn’t told Lord Lampton the identity of the person whose history she was spilling, but he listened, slowly nodding his understanding. She was as good as breaking her word to Layton. For his own good, she assured herself without much success.

“He didn’t know what to make of it, what could possibly have caused such all-encompassing sadness. He kept it a secret, even from his family, hoping, I imagine, that she would improve somehow.”

Lord Lampton pushed away from the window, his look one of pained concern as he began pacing. Marion kept herself glued to the spot as she rushed on through the recitation she’d practiced for hours the past two nights.

“She didn’t die a natural death, Lord Lampton.”

He looked at her then, eyes nearly as bleak as Layton’s had been when he’d told her what she was telling his brother.

“He didn’t want . . . He wanted to spare her and their daughter the disgrace of . . . of a . . .”

“Suicide’s burial,” Lord Lampton whispered, mercifully finishing the phrase for her.

Marion nodded as she pushed on. “So he kept it secret. The doctor ruled her death the result of a wasting illness, no doubt a favor to . . . this person. It was put about that she had died that way. He never told a soul otherwise. By then, I think, he was too beaten down and overwhelmed to know that they would have supported him rather than condemned him.”

“Condemned him?” Lord Lampton asked, her words obviously causing him pain.

“He passed her death off as something it wasn’t,” Marion tried to explain. “Knowing what she’d done would have implications with the law and the church, he . . .”

“He lied.” Lord Lampton nodded his weary understanding. “He lied to—”

“The government. The church. God.”

Lord Lampton rubbed his face with his hands.

“That bothers him,” Marion pushed the final confession out. “That he is perpetrating a fraud, especially against the Almighty.”

“Of course it would.” Lord Lampton sighed. Then he mumbled as if talking to himself. “He always was the most faithful of all of us. Even more so than Harry, just not as obnoxious about it. Lying to God would bother him a great deal.”

“He told me he doesn’t think God cares one bit about him,” Marion said.

“So all these years, it wasn’t grief.”

Marion shook her head. “Guilt,” she said.

Lord Lampton crossed the floor to her and grasped her hands for a moment. “Thank you, Miss Wood.” He spoke with an intensity that, until that morning, she would have thought entirely foreign to him. “You are indeed a Most Honorable Governess.”

Marion smiled at the reference to the last truly enjoyable evening she’d had. But the smile, she knew, didn’t quite reach her eyes. She wasn’t entirely sure about what she’d just done. “I was told all of this, no doubt, in a temporary fit of thoughtlessness,” she hastened to tell him. “I was made to understand that it was quite a closely guarded secret.”

“Do not worry, Miss Wood.” Lord Lampton smiled reassuringly. “I have no intention of telling this ‘close acquaintance’ of ours that I am in possession of these new bits of knowledge. But they will prove more helpful than I think you know.”

“It would mean my job and my integrity.”

Lord Lampton raised his hand as if to swear an oath. “May my cravats wilt,” he swore, “if I reveal the source of my information.”

Marion smiled in spite of herself.

Lord Lampton’s expression grew mischievous. “That is my betrothed’s favorite of all my oaths.”

“It can be trusted?” she asked, not entirely joking.

“Miss Wood.” Lord Lampton’s tone became serious once more. “I love my brother. Seeing him so nearly himself again only last week was among the happiest moments of my life. I have attempted for half a decade to accomplish what you have now put within my grasp.”