Foxglove (Belladonna, #2)(71)
She’d invited Charlotte not only because she was close to Everett these days but also as an apology and out of a hope to mend their relationship. The woman was too good a friend for Blythe to let slip away due to her own stubbornness.
Eliza was invited because it seemed there was something going on between her and Byron. Diana, however, Blythe had invited for two reasons: the first being that if she wasn’t, Diana would undoubtedly take offense and find something about the Hawthornes to spread gossip about, which was the last thing any of them needed. The second reason was that if Diana was there, news of this visit would spread throughout town by morning. Blythe figured it couldn’t hurt to help salvage the Hawthorne name a little more before the trial.
“It’s been ages,” Eliza crooned, sipping her tea. “When was the last time the four of us were able to take tea together?”
It had been well over a year. A year of her mother’s death, her own illness, and several months of a long, painful recovery that only Charlotte had cared enough to try to understand. Blythe had just begun feeling well enough to venture back into some semblance of her life the night the duke had passed.
“It’s been too long,” she said by way of answer, not caring to give them an exact number even if she had the months memorized. If she gave that number a voice, she feared it would somehow hold power over her. That she might suddenly fall back into the dark space she had clawed herself out of with every scrap of strength that she’d had.
“I’m surprised any of you were allowed to come,” Blythe said with a casual grace that didn’t match the way she scrutinized the group’s every motion in response. She was certain her being seen with the prince at the investiture had something to do with their availability.
“Your father hasn’t been tried.” Charlotte’s voice was as smooth as the springtime breeze, and just as calming. “And my father is wise enough to understand that the investigation is still ongoing, and that the papers will try to weave a story from anything these days.”
At least someone among them believed in her father’s innocence. Blythe hadn’t realized how much tension she’d been holding in her shoulders until it ebbed. She looked to Charlotte then, offering the smallest nod to signal that she was relieved to have her friend return.
Eliza didn’t need to explain her attendance—the duke had overseen her, and now Everett had filled the role. As busy as he was with his new role and taking over the estate, Eliza could very likely get away with anything these days. And that was if Everett even cared that Eliza was at Thorn Grove at all.
As for Diana, she’d still not said a word and had just taken her first sip. It was tentative, testing it. She kept glancing behind each of the girls as well, as though expecting a ghost to pop out and frighten them.
Blythe had no doubt her family had forbade her from coming, and that Diana likely had to wriggle her way to tea. She would have clawed a path to Thorn Grove if it meant being at the very source of the town’s latest scandal.
“Will Miss Farrow be joining us?” Eliza asked, scanning the place settings in search of a fifth.
“She will not,” Blythe answered with every bit of composure she had. “Signa had to return to her own home rather unexpectedly.”
Charlotte flashed her a curious look, smart enough to understand that after their discussion, this could be no coincidence.
“And what of Percy?” Eliza pressed. “Has there been any word from him?”
“I’m afraid not—”
“Not even a location?” Eliza seemed a touch strained, her grip tight on her teacup. “Certainly someone must know something.”
Blythe left no room for rebuttal when she spoke again, “No one knows anything about Percy.” She forged ahead, unwilling to linger on the topic. “Regarding my father, however, his trial will take place at the week’s end.” Saying the words aloud was like picking up a dagger and slamming it between her ribs. She wasn’t above letting some desperation into her voice, nor was she above looking pathetically helpless as she set her teacup down and wrung her hands in her lap.
“I need to figure out who truly killed the duke, and my father will be released. Has”—she paused, her leg restless under the table—“has Everett mentioned any suspicions?”
Blythe hadn’t anticipated being quite so bold, but there was no going back. Eliza’s already fair skin paled until it was almost gray, purple shadows like bruises beneath her eyes.
“Heavens, Miss Hawthorne. If any of us had a suspicion, don’t you think we’d have shared it?” Eliza’s drew out her fan, fluttering it at herself until the pallor began to slip away from her skin. “No one has tried to reach out about money or the title. Everett has claimed everything without issue.”
“And no one has tried to come after him,” Blythe pressed, this time looking at Charlotte. “Right? You were there for him those first few weeks. Did you see anything odd?”
Blythe had been careful with her words, but even so, Charlotte nearly choked on her tea, splashing a drop on the collar of her dress.
Diana leaned toward Charlotte. “You’re not still circling around Lord Wakefield, are you?” Blythe cared little for Diana’s voice in general, though there was a knowing edge to it that made Blythe despise it more than ever. “I never thought you brave enough to try that again.”