Foxglove (Belladonna, #2)(103)

Eliza’s thin brows pinched toward her nose. She looked from the poppies to the trees surrounding her as she pried herself from the dirt. “What on earth happened?”

It seemed that Blythe could barely contain her snort. “That’s what you’re supposed to tell us.”

“You’re pregnant,” Signa added at Eliza’s apparent confusion. This time when she said it, Eliza was coherent enough to look her in the eye. Signa had to try to block Life’s memories out a little longer, instead gathering the scattered puzzle pieces of this mystery and speaking her thoughts aloud as she pieced them together.

“The night your uncle died, Everett told me that the duke was trying to marry you off—”

“To a man with one foot in the grave.” Blythe, it seemed, was creeping toward the same conclusion as Signa.

“And one who wouldn’t ask questions,” Signa noted, her teeth still chattering every few words. “The late duke knew about the pregnancy, didn’t he?”

There was no escaping the truth of the situation now, and Eliza seemed to realize as much. Her mouth opened and shut several times before defeat claimed her and she released the tension in her shoulders. “All Sir Bennet ever discussed was how much he needed an heir. Perhaps he was a good fit on paper, but can you imagine letting someone old enough to be your grandfather put his hands all over you?” She shuddered. All three of the women did.

One look at the discarded vial of herbs told Signa all she needed to know about the next piece of the puzzle, and so she pressed, “You didn’t want to marry him. So you went to the apothecary for a solution.” Signa remembered her own visit there months prior, when the shopkeeper had suspected Percy was up to something and had offered Signa the means to take care of him. Perhaps that, too, had been cyanide.

Eliza’s answer came in words so sharp that each one was spoken like its own sentence. “I never, ever meant to cause my uncle any harm.” She made a fist in her skirts, taking a moment to still the quiver of her bottom lip. “I read about cyanide in the papers. There were cases of poisonings where the men did not die but briefly took ill. I only needed to make my uncle believe that Sir Bennet was no longer a viable option. I wanted him to find someone else, so I slipped some cyanide into a drink that a servant was meant to bring to Sir Bennet. But Mr. Hawthorne stopped him on his way and grabbed the laced drink.” For as long as she’d held in her secrets, they now flowed from Eliza’s lips like a rushing river.

“I must have checked the dose a hundred times. No one should have died that night, I swear it.” Eliza brought her knees to her chest, hugging them tight. “I never—God, I never meant for my uncle to die. I loved him.”

Blythe crumpled into herself at the confession. Signa, too, wished they could sew Eliza’s mouth shut and drag her to the constable to free Elijah before she said another word. Yet both she and Blythe held their tongues because, despite everything, there was a truth that hung between them—in Eliza’s place, either of them might have been just as desperate.

It was no wonder Eliza had gone to Fate’s ball only a week after Lord Wakefield’s death; she’d been desperate to find a husband. If Eliza had known of her pregnancy before the duke’s death, that meant she was at least several months pregnant. Signa peered down at Eliza’s stomach; she was doing a remarkable job concealing it. She wouldn’t be able to for much longer, though.

Signa picked up the vial of herbs and examined it closer. “Who gave this to you?”

Eliza stiffened at Signa’s brevity. “My lady’s maid, Sorcha. I’ve been ill since the start of my pregnancy, and it’s impossible to conceal it from the one who helps dress you. Once she found out, she started to bring me herbs to ease the pain and cramping.”

It was probably an innocent mistake, but still Signa couldn’t rule out foul play without saying, “In low amounts, these herbs are safe. But they have another use, Eliza. Were you aware that these are popular among women with unwanted pregnancies?” They were potent and dangerous, and could bring as much harm to the mother as the baby. Still, that rarely stopped a desperate woman from using them.

Too often the world did not consider women as people but as stepping stones for men. A woman was ostracized the moment she strayed from the prescribed path, left to fend for herself in a world with too few opportunities. Signa wished there was a safer option than these herbs, but she couldn’t fault Eliza for her choice.

“I only ever took the herbs to ease the pain.” So great was Eliza’s conviction that Blythe stirred. “I knew what they could do, though, and I wanted the option. I never meant for my uncle to die, but I couldn’t marry the man he chose for me. God, I never meant for it to happen like this.”

“What did you do with the cyanide after?” Signa pressed. “Did anyone see you with it?”

“No one,” Eliza swore. “I panicked and threw it out.”

While Blythe had kept quiet, sorrow knit itself into fine lines of her forehead as she asked in a whisper, “Where does my uncle play into this? Is Byron the father?”

This earned a blush so fierce that, at any other time, Signa might have teased the woman. “Byron knows of my condition, but the father isn’t involved. He doesn’t even know I’m pregnant.”

“Don’t you think it might be a good idea to tell him?” Blythe pressed. “Perhaps he’ll be willing to help.”