“Did you see his face as he beat our aggressor?” Alexandra couldn’t forget the mask of demonic rage as the duke had driven fists the size of pike hammers to devastating effect.
She was unused to such displays of brute strength.
“He’s certainly no stranger to violence,” Cecelia concluded. “That’s something we mustn’t forget. but also, his wrath was unleashed in protection of us, or … at least of his fiancée.”
“To think that one of you could have been shot yesterday.” Francesca’s voice wavered with aberrant sentimentality. “It’s a tragedy beyond imagining. One I’ll do anything to avoid.”
Gathering her courage, Alexandra smoothed at a bejeweled tassel in her friend’s twinkling gown. “All three of us were exploring the ruins, Frank, we can’t be absolutely certain the attempt was on your life, alone.”
Francesca tossed her head and let out an undignified snort. “Who else?”
“Itmighthavebeenme.” The words fled on a whoosh of unsteady breath, pent for days and dying to escape.
Her friends gaped at her, their faces identical—if lovely—masks of unadulterated astonishment.
“How is that possible?” Cecelia cried.
“What are you talking about?” Francesca demanded.
Alexandra swallowed profusely, suddenly reticent to heap another mound of trouble on to shoulders already weighted with so much. But the attempt on their lives yesterday illustrated the direness of their situation.
There was no time left for secrets. She knew that now.
“Someone knows,” she whispered.
None of them moved. None of them breathed. Her words transported them to a place they desperately avoided.
Except in their nightmares.
Every crystal lantern, glinting silver hairbrush, and glowing mirror disappeared into the darkness of a horrific night ten long years prior. The glisten of their gowns became the grime of the garden. The red ringlets of their hair became the blood they would scrub from their skin once the deed was done.
“Alexander?” Cecelia’s husky, usually soothing voice quivered with uncertainty. “What, exactly, are you saying?”
It took Alexandra longer than she wanted to clear a tight ache from her throat. She clung to her friends’ hands, terrified that they’d pull away from her. That she’d be left in this dark memory alone. “Someone knows what we did. What I did back at de Chardonne.”
“How?” Francesca breathed. “If it wasn’t one of us, it had to be Jean-Yves.”
“It can’t be!” Cecelia cried. “Jean-Yves lives with me and could want for nothing in the world! I even brought him along to Castle Redmayne as my manservant. Alexander, you can’t believe—”
“I don’t know.” Alexandra shook her head, standing to collect herself and gather something from her trunk, wrapped in a handkerchief. She returned to the settee and sank onto it, feeling almost as numb as she had the night it happened. “Perhaps someone watched us as we buried him in the gardens. They’ve known where he’s been all this time, and I’ve been paying them for their silence every month since the Sorbonne.”
A dumbfounded silence greeted her confession as the enormity of their situation sank into the two women who’d been blessed with a decade of ignorance.
Cecelia recovered first, swiping her spectacles from her face to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You mean, you’ve paid him…” She performed a hasty calculation in her head. “One hundred and twenty-six times, and never mentioned it to either of us?”
“I’ve been trying to protect you!” Alexandra rushed to stem the tide of emotion attempting to carry her away. To stall the condemnation surely forthcoming from her friends. “As long as I’ve paid, our secret has been safe … but … but the thing is … My father has recently revealed that the estate has been floundering for quite some time. He called me back from Cairo to announce that we are bankrupt. I haven’t been able to make my payments for two months. And only last week, on the very same day I received your invitation, this was delivered to my doorstep.”
With trembling fingers, Alexandra unwrapped the handkerchief, unveiling the pearl-handled razor she’d used to open Headmaster de Marchand’s throat.
The one they’d buried in his pocket.
“Oh, Alexander,” Francesca said gravely.
“I know.” Alexandra dashed a tear from her cheek before it could finish its trail down her chin. “I am so ashamed of the danger I’ve put you in. I wish you’d just hate me as much as I hate myself. I deserve it.”
Heedless of her dress or even of Francesca between them, Cecelia lunged forward and scooped both women into her. “We only hate that you’ve carried this terrible thing with you for so long without our help.”
Alexandra’s tears fell in earnest. “I don’t know what to do.” The bereft confession tore out a piece of her soul. She always knew everything. Could handle anything. But this … this was beyond her scope.
The dinner gong vibrated throughout the house, driving them apart.
Cecelia pulled back and took a centering breath, her quick mind working behind eyes bright with emotion. “Here’s exactly what we’ll do.” She stood, pacing to help her think. “We’ll go down to dinner and make certain it is known we enjoyed ourselves immensely. We’ll be absolutely dazzling, won’t we, ladies?”
Alexandra and Francesca nodded.
“Once the dancing begins, we’ll excuse ourselves at five-minute intervals and rendezvous at the blue sitting room at the top of the east wing stairs just as we’d planned. We’ll use the key that Francesca pilfered—well done, you—and search the duchess’s study. Alexander, you’ll stand watch and divert anyone who might happen by.”
Alexandra splayed her fingers on her lap. “What if we come up empty-handed?”
“We’re not thinking like that.” Cecelia quieted her with the lift of a single black glove. “We must.” She marched to the door and laid her hand on the knob. “Afterward, we’ll meet back here and plan our next move before Redmayne reveals Francesca as his betrothed at midnight.”
“What about Alexander?” Francesca asked.
“Alexander has borne the financial brunt of this blackmail for much too long. We have enough in our accounts to cover the cost until we can figure out a long-term solution.”
“I forbid it!” Driven to her feet by outrage, Alexandra hurried to Cecelia. “I can’t let you do that. I’m the one who should pay for what happened to de Marchand. I’m the one who kil—”
Cecelia opened the door, cutting off the words no one had ever actually spoken.
Alexandra found herself enfolded in Cecelia’s arms as she whispered in her ear. “Any one of us would have done what you did. Let us help you.”
Francesca rested her hand on Alexandra’s shoulder. “All of us have secrets, you remember. We’re in this together.”
Touched, Alexandra nodded, her heart still railing against it.
Cecelia turned to Francesca, her features beset by gravitas. “If we find evidence that exonerates Redmayne, you might want to consider going through with the wedding.”