After a Fashion (A Class of Their Own #1)(98)
She smiled. “Obviously I was going to need money, and a lot of it, so . . . once your daughter was born, I decided holding her for ransom was the only way to get the money I desired.”
“But you never returned her after we paid the ransom . . . and who was that baby girl we buried in the family vault?” Margaret demanded.
Jane waved the pistol around. “Oh, I have no idea who that brat was, but you can console yourself in knowing that you gave a poor little soul—abandoned at the morgue, no less—a fitting burial.” She lifted her chin. “If you must know, after I volunteered to deliver the ransom—a quick bit of thinking on my part since I was delivering the money to myself—I had every intention to return your daughter to you, but . . . then I got to thinking. I’d been made to suffer so much while I was in your employ that I wanted you to suffer as well. What better way could there have been to achieve that than for you to believe your daughter was dead?”
“You’re insane,” Margaret whispered.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to claim I’m mad, more just a lady suffering from unrequited love who decided to get back at her tormentors.” Jane smiled. “I didn’t want to take over the care of Harriet, but I thought it would be poetic justice indeed if I were able to turn your aristocratic daughter into nothing more than a common thief.”
Finally finding her voice, Harriet whispered, “No wonder you were so upset when I refused to go along with your plans.”
“Shut up,” Jane snarled before turning back to wave her gun at Margaret. “So, there you have it, the truth at long last. The only thing that would have given me greater satisfaction would have been to learn you were unable to have other children. Given that the young lady hovering on the edge of the ballroom bears a remarkable resemblance to the duke, well . . . I suppose all of my wishes didn’t come true.”
Margaret drew herself up and took a step forward but stopped when Jane turned the gun on Harriet. “Don’t hurt her, Jane.”
“I don’t really have a choice, do I? Harriet has always been an extreme disappointment to me, always refusing to join in with my confidence schemes. Because of that disappointment, I find myself reluctant to see her happy, or to watch all of you have a joyful reunion.”
The truth began to burrow into Harriet’s head, but before she could truly grasp everything that had been said, the sound of a pistol being cocked drew her attention. Jane was pointing the pistol directly at her, her eyes burning with hatred, and in that moment—likely her last moment on earth—she threw out a prayer to God, asking for forgiveness and—
A hair-raising howl suddenly filled the ballroom, and she watched Buford bound across the room and leap for Jane right as the sound of the gun going off reverberated around the room.
Pain sliced through her, and the sight of what she now knew was her mother’s face flashed in front of her, right before she collapsed to the ground and darkness slid over her.
22
Voices, spoken in a hushed tone, broke through the dark and silent place Harriet found herself in, but for the life of her, she couldn’t seem to open her eyes. Straining to identify the voices, she tried to make sense of the words being spoken.
“What I find amazing about this whole situation is that neither you nor Victoria recognized Harriet straightaway.”
“Honestly, Margaret, it’s not as if that thought would have sprung to mind. Even though now, upon closer inspection, it’s clear Harriet bears a distinct resemblance to you. I, along with everyone else, believed our daughter to be dead.”
“I felt an immediate connection with her, even though it never entered my mind she was my sister.”
“You tried to steal me away from her, Victoria, even though you were told I was her fiancé.”
Harriet felt her lips twitch as the conversation taking place around her drifted through her mind. She tried to open her eyes again, but they wouldn’t cooperate, and then another, more soothing, voice sounded, and she drew in a breath, wanting to hear what Reverend Gilmore had to say.
What if he was there to administer a last prayer?
What if the reason she couldn’t open her eyes was because she was at death’s door?
She didn’t feel as if death was knocking at her door, but then again, she’d never actually been close to death, so perhaps this was normal. How long had it been since the ball and . . . what had happened to her?
Had she been shot?
Had Jane gotten away, or . . .
“I must agree with your husband, Margaret, in regard to not recognizing Harriet straightaway,” Reverend Gilmore was saying, pulling Harriet back to the conversation swirling around her. “When a person is believed to be dead, another person really can’t be expected to be looking for that person, even if that person is sitting right across a table from him at Delmonico’s.”
“Besides, Father didn’t really get to inspect Harriet closely at Delmonico’s, considering she set the place on fire,” Victoria added. “I have come to realize my sister is a very unusual lady—one I’m looking forward to spending a great deal of time with in the future.”
Relief was immediate, because mention of the future certainly sounded more promising than imminent death.
“Can you ever forgive me for convincing Harriet to go along with my plan to pose as my fiancée in order to secure the deal with you, Your Grace?”