Vow of Deception (The Ministry of Curiosities #9)(86)

He wasn't the first to say it. I should have taken more notice of those who knew her well. "But…I don't understand. Did she stage her own death? How, when her body was recovered and identified?"

"Identified by Buchanan. To be fair, I don't think he knew when he visited us after seeing the body in the mortuary. He thought she was dead. I asked Fullbright only last night about the injuries and he said the face was badly damaged. Buchanan identified the body based on clothing, rings and other personal items."

"Items that could easily be given to someone else." I shook my head slowly, barely able to comprehend the lengths she'd gone to. "She found someone of similar height and weight to herself, didn't she?"

"Most likely a whore. She dressed her in her own clothes and sent her on her way. She put on men's clothing and at the right moment, pushed the imposter in front of an omnibus."

I swallowed the bile rising up my throat. I knew the answer to my next question but asked it anyway. "Why?"

He squeezed my hand but offered no response.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Buchanan's residence. She'll need help now. She can't go home, she can't be seen by anyone who knows her, and he's the only one who'd help her."

It was true. He'd do anything for her; he was completely devoted, in his own perverse way.

Andrew Buchanan rented rooms in an uninspiring Bloomsbury house. The landlady led us up two flights of stairs. Buchanan opened the door on our knock and was clearly shocked to see us.

"Fitzroy! What the devil are you doing here?"

Lincoln thanked the landlady, dismissing her. He waited until her footsteps receded then muscled his way inside. Buchanan offered little resistance, although he tried.

"I say! What are you doing?"

Lincoln peeled off into the adjoining sitting room only to emerge moments later. He searched the rest of the lodgings, ignoring Buchanan's protests as he trailed behind.

I made myself comfortable in the sitting room. It was rather barren, with the barest of furniture and no pictures on the walls. No knick knacks made it a home. A box of unpacked books stood to one side, perhaps because there was no bookshelf to arrange them on. The window was open and the curtain drifted back and forth with the light breeze. Even so, the room was stifling.

Lincoln and Buchanan returned. Lincoln's expression was unreadable, and Buchanan's was anxious. At least he was sober, and there were no signs of mourning. When he'd come to Lichfield after learning of Lady Harcourt's death, he'd been inconsolable, and I'd predicted he'd be like that for weeks. The clear-eyed, clean-shaven man before us was out of character. I needed no more evidence that Lady Harcourt was alive, and not only did he know it, but he was helping her.

"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded.

"Just a visit," Lincoln said, his eyes hooded.

"We thought we should see how you were faring," I said. "You were in a bad way last time we met."

"Yes. Well. Thank you, I'm fine now. I am rather busy, though."

"Are you moving back into Harcourt House?" I indicated the box of books.

"No."

"Why not? Now that she's gone, it must belong to you and your brother in its entirety."

His lips stretched thin. "I can't face it yet. This place will do me nicely for now."

"Of course. Did you know that Lincoln and I got married this morning?" I held up my hand to show him the wedding ring. I hadn't even put gloves on before racing out of the house.

Slowly, slowly, he smiled. It wasn't cruel or disdainful, as I expected from him. It was victorious. "I'm pleased. Very, very pleased." He shook Lincoln's hand then kissed my cheek. "Congratulations. And here I thought you wouldn't get out of prison in time, Fitzroy."

"How did you know I was in prison?"

"Well." Buchanan affected a laugh. "I believe it was Lord Gillingham who told me."

"You're lying."

Buchanan's mouth shut with a clack of back teeth.

The front door opened and I shot to my feet, expecting Buchanan to warn Lady Harcourt to flee. But he did not. Perhaps because it wasn't her. Perhaps we'd been wrong and she wasn't hiding out here.

The throaty voice coming from the hallway put my doubts to rest. "I cannot believe it!" cried Lady Harcourt. "They let him go!" She appeared in the doorway, stopping dead when she spotted Lincoln.

It was one of those moments in which time freezes. No one and nothing moved, not a finger or an eyebrow. Even the breeze died.

Lady Harcourt did not try to run away, perhaps because she knew she could never outrun Lincoln.

"It seems congratulations are in order," I said when no one else tried to break the heavy silence. "You are not dead, Lincoln is free, and we are married. What a wonderful day this has turned out to be."

Her throat moved with her swallow and she reached out to grasp the door. It would seem our news had unbalanced her more than the sight of seeing us.

That was why Buchanan hadn't warned her—he wanted her to see that she'd failed and that Lincoln and I married after all, despite her machinations to keep us apart. He was always trying to win her back, always trying to force her to love him above any other, even now.