The Earl's Wallflower Bride (25 page)

“We shouldn’t let her know her mother fell on
her slipper,” the maid said. “She didn’t understand what she was
doing.”

“She’s right,” the butler told Byron. “Ever
since the accident, Opal hasn’t been herself.”

“It wouldn’t be fair to burden her with the
guilt of knowing the truth,” the maid added.

Byron glanced at the butler and footman who
seemed to be in agreement on the matter, which made everything much
easier for him than he’d thought it’d be. “I wouldn’t dream of
telling Opal about this,” he assured them. “She doesn’t know what
she’s doing.” He paused. “Perhaps, we can tell her that Mother
tripped and fell. It had nothing to do with the long hem on her
gown,” he was quick to tell the maid. “It just happened. She
tripped and no one knows why.”

“Yes,” the butler replied. “It was a terrible
accident.”

“And it was an accident,” the footman said.
“Opal wasn’t trying to harm her mother.”

“No, she wasn’t,” the maid agreed. “The dear
girl wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Byron said. “I’ll take
this back to her bedchamber where it belongs. Then she won’t
suspect anything.”

The three glanced at one another, and they
all nodded in one accord. “We won’t say anything about this to
anyone else,” the butler replied on their behalf.

“Good. Thank you,” Byron replied.

While the butler and footman picked up his
mother, Byron hurried up the steps. He grabbed the second slipper
on the way and hastened to Opal’s bedchamber. Once at her closed
door, he stopped and listened to make sure she wasn’t awake.
Sometimes, she’d jump out of bed and shuffle around, trying on
clothes or dancing to the music in her head. Sometimes she’d be
singing.

But on this particular evening, all was
quiet. Good. This was going much better than he’d planned. To be
sure, though, he opened the door, careful not to make a sound, and
saw Opal was still in bed, her back turned to him. He tiptoed into
the room and set the slippers in the exact spot he’d found them
before. Afterwards, he softly made his way back out and shut the
door quietly behind him.

***

Opal waited until the door clicked shut
before she turned onto her back so she could see the door. In the
past, no one had come into her bedchamber after she was tucked into
bed unless she was making some noise in here. Add this unusual
occurrence to the strained dinner, and it all led to bad
things.

During dinner, her brother and her mother had
given some effort into having a conversation, but they kept
glancing at each other as if they expected the other one to lift
the knife next to their plate and throw it in their direction.

She
thought
she was safe, but there was
no way she could know for sure. Byron had caught her with the key
to Warren’s old bedchamber, and though she had played the fool, she
didn’t know if he bought the act. Up to now, she’d been careful
about not revealing the truth to anyone, not even the
servants.

But tonight things were different. There’d
been the underlying animosity between her brother and her mother.
Then she’d heard someone fall down the stairs, and someone came
into her bedchamber shortly after that. Whoever came into her
bedchamber left without harming her. She inspected the room to see
what the person had taken or left so she could have an idea of why
they’d been there, but nothing about the room seemed different.

Something was going on. She had no idea what
it was, but it wasn’t good. Maybe Warren would come tonight. Byron
seemed to think he’d make it here before midnight. She had to plead
with Warren to take her to London. It’d been six years since she
last saw him, but she had always felt safe around him. The only
complaint Byron ever made about him was that he was too morally
superior to everyone else. If that was the worst thing Warren was,
she could handle it much more than the lunacy in this place.

She remained in the bed, just in case either
her mother or Byron came back. She doubted a servant would sneak
into her room. It had to be Byron or her mother. And whatever the
reason was for one of them coming in, she doubted it was to her
benefit. Releasing her breath, she closed her eyes, counting every
second as it passed.

Chapter Twenty-One

B
yron chuckled to himself as he poured himself the brandy in
the den. He couldn’t believe how easy it’d been to get rid of his
mother. Had he known it was going to go so well, he might have
gotten rid of her a long time ago.

Oh well. There was little to be done about it
now. At least the deed was done, and he wouldn’t have to worry
about what reckless move his mother would make. She had probably
planned to kill him. So really, getting her out of the way meant
saving himself, and when it came to self-defense, murder was
perfectly justified. In fact, it would be careless to let his
mother live.

He took a long swallow of his brandy then
returned to the drawing room. A glance at the clock showed him it
was a quarter to ten. Good. Warren should be here soon, and he
could get down to business without his mother meddling her way into
the conversation.

She really should have respected her place in
society. A lady, after all, should be seen and not heard. Things
like money were best left to the gentlemen. Opal, even in her
childlike mind, understood this. Had his mother been content to let
him take full control of things, he wouldn’t have had to get rid of
her. So really, it was her own fault he had to kill her. Yes.
Murdering her was perfectly justified once a person took time to
carefully examine all the facts.

Why didn’t you just send your mother off to
a cottage where she’d stay out of your way?

He shoved aside the pesky voice in his
conscience. Exiling her would never have worked. She would have
come back. She was much too demanding and outspoken for her own
good. She had to die. It was best for everyone. Besides, didn’t he
owe it to Warren’s mother to avenge her death?

He drank the rest of his brandy and turned
his attention to the landscape, lit only by the moonlight. At least
there wasn’t a cloud in the night sky. It’d make Warren’s journey
here that much easier, which, in turn, made his own task easier as
well. But as of this moment, Warren wasn’t anywhere in sight. No
carriage. No sole rider on a horse. Nothing.

Tapping the edge of his glass, he let out a
long sigh and looked, once more, at the clock. Only two minutes had
passed. Well, there was nothing he could do at this point but wait.
He put the glass on the table and lounged back in a chair. He could
read to take his mind off the passage of time, he supposed, but it
wouldn’t have done any good. Not when the image of his mother’s
twisted body kept appearing in his mind.

He shifted and tried not to give into the
memory. It only made him uncomfortable. Her eyes had still been
open, and now that he thought about it, there had been an
accusatory look in them, as if she knew as she fell down those
stairs that he’d been the one to leave those slippers on the
steps.

She couldn’t possibly have
known it. No. Not for certain.
But she
could have guessed.

He closed his eyes and focused on a better
image instead. Warren was a good distraction. Yes, he would soon be
here, and when he was, Byron would have the upper hand. He didn’t
have the key on him. He’d done that on purpose.

Warren might try to fight him for it, and
though Warren wasn’t the strongest gentleman in all of London, he
could hold his own in a brawl if he needed to. So the safest bet
had been to hide the key in his bedchamber. That way if Warren did
assault him, he wouldn’t find the key anywhere on him. And when he
realized that, he would be under Byron’s control. For once, Byron
would be the one to dictate how things were going to play out, and
if Warren wanted Iris back, he’d have to abide by his rules.

Someone picked up the glass on the table next
to Byron, and Byron jerked in the chair, his eyes flying open.

The butler offered an apologetic smile. “I
didn’t mean to disturb you, Mr. Beaufort, especially given the
tragedy of your mother’s death. I only wanted to take your glass so
it can be washed.”

“Oh, yes,” Byron replied. “You may take
it.”

“Your mother’s body is safely out of the way.
We thought it best if Opal doesn’t see it until we get the body
presented. The sight, as it is now, might scare her.”

“Yes, it would scare her.” So many things
frightened Opal. On some days, the poor girl trembled at her own
shadow, which was yet another reason Byron had waited until Opal
was in bed before going through with his plan. He cleared his
throat. “That was good thinking on your part. But Lord Steinbeck
might still arrive tonight, so I’ll still need you to tend to his
needs, just in case.”

“Of course, Mr. Beaufort.”

After the butler left with the glass, Byron
went back to the window. Still no sign of Warren. He glanced at the
clock. It wasn’t even ten yet. He rubbed his eyes and groaned. This
was becoming an abnormally long evening. Swallowing, he pulled out
his handkerchief and dabbed his forehead. The waiting was starting
to get to him.

He returned to the chair and took a deep
breath, thinking it would help relax him, but it didn’t. If
anything, each second that ticked on the clock made things worse.
His skin was starting to feel clammy, and he found himself
swallowing more frequently. In addition to that, he noted the
quickening of his heartbeat and that he was breathing faster.
Surely, this couldn’t all be because he was expecting Warren. Yes,
so much depended on this night, but this shouldn’t be cause for
such alarm.

You killed your mother, fool. Did you really
think you could do that and it wouldn’t bother you? Even if you
hated her, she was still your mother.

Byron stood up and went to the window. Still
no sign of Warren. He slammed his fist on the windowsill, and that
was when a sharp pain pierced his chest.

He put his hand over his heart and gasped.
His mother. That mean-spirited lady had done it. She’d actually
done it. She’d poisoned his brandy when he wasn’t in the den. He’d
thought he’d gotten to her first, but she’d done her own plotting
before she retired for the night. He should have known better than
to drink that brandy. He should have realized they were going to
end up in a duel tonight.

Curse you, Mother.
He fell to his knees, struggling to breathe
despite the intensifying pain. He rubbed his chest, but it did no
good. The pain was only getting worse, and he’d be just as dead as
her in a few moments. Leave it to his mother to pick a poison
that’d inflict the greatest amount of agony as possible. Curse you,
Mother!

He gritted his teeth and tried to call for
help, but the words wouldn’t come. He was quickly fading away. The
world around him grew dimmer, and he could barely make out the
sound of his own groaning. This was it. He was to pay the price for
not doing exactly what his mother wanted. She’d done it to everyone
else. Why wouldn’t she do it to him, too?

Curse you, Mother. I would kill you again if
given the chance.

Then everything around him went dark, and he
tumbled forward onto the floor, dead before he could feel the
impact.

***

Iris was sitting on the bed, staring at the
wall in front of her in the dark room when she became aware of
someone turning the key in the door lock. Gasping, she jumped up.
Since she’d been confined to this room, no one had dared to come in
here once the sun set. Did it mean…could it mean…had Warren
actually come for her?

The spark of hope slipped away as soon as she
saw Opal. Opal entered the room, closed the door behind her, and
hurried over to Iris. In the moonlight, Iris could see an
unfamiliar panic in Opal’s eyes.

“There’s a lot of commotion downstairs,” Opal
whispered, glancing at the closed door as if she expected someone
to find her in a place where she didn’t belong. Looking back at
Iris, she said, “Please, you need to help me. It’s not safe here.
Something bad is going to happen.” Then after a moment, she added,
“If it hasn’t already. We have to get out of here.”

Iris studied the girl, surprised by the
clarity in her words. “Is it possible you’re imagining things?” she
asked, not sure if she could believe Opal. The girl had seemed sane
at times and irrational at others. Maybe this was one of those
fluctuations in her intelligence.

“No, I don’t imagine things,” Opal said. “I
know you think I don’t understand everything that happens around
me, but I do. It’s a long story. Too long to explain when my
brother can come in here at any moment. I’ve been lying about my
mental condition. It’s not safe here. Mother is angry all the time,
and Byron uses anyone he can. It’s best if they don’t know the
truth. You understand?”