The Wicked Governess (Blackhaven Brides Book 6)(68)

By the third day after Miller’s departure, Swale began to get restive. The task must have been proving harder than they had assumed, but Swayle had faith in the villain to earn his fee in the end. He just hoped it wouldn’t take too much longer. He didn’t want to think the matter was getting out of his control, which was a suspicion when he spoke to Mrs. Winslow in the pump room, on the day of the assembly room ball.

“I suppose you have not seen Miss Grey from the hall?” he began, as usual.

“I believe they are all away,” Mrs. Winslow replied unexpectedly.

“All?” he repeated, startled.

“Indeed. Dear Lady Tamar tells me that there are only servants at the hall right now.”

“Then…little Rosa is not there? Or Miss Benedict?”

“None of them,” Mrs. Winslow averred.

“My God,” Swayle said uneasily. “Has he fled?”

Mrs. Winslow laughed. “What an odd word! I believe the servants expect them all back soon.”

“I pray you may be right,” Swayle said sorrowfully and took his leave.

This was annoying. He had hoped to have the whole matter done and dusted by this time, so that he could soak up all the town’s horror and disgust at Benedict during the assembly ball. He’d planned to bask in the glow of people’s appreciation of his knowledge and perspicacity. And perhaps even, in the moment of his fame, encounter an heiress. Or a wealthy widow. He was not fussy.

Still, the subscription ball was a great place to intensify the rumors, and if news of the death could only get there tonight, why that would be even better. But he scarcely allowed himself to hope for such a splendid outcome.

Instead, he made the most of what he did have and arrived at the assembly rooms impeccably dressed as always. And although he took his walking cane, he did not lean on it as heavily. Which meant he could dance with the charming and the wealthy women he had already picked out.

He was just returning a very young lady to her guardians when a stir at the ballroom door attracted his attention. And not just his. The way everyone turned and stared at Javan Benedict spoke volumes for the success of Swayle’s whispering campaign. Unfortunately, after one breathless moment of triumph, Swayle recognized his female companion as Miss Grey.

Oh, she wore a rather beautiful new gown of rose silk, and someone had given her pearls to wind around her throat, but it was undoubtedly Caroline Grey.

“Colonel and Mrs. Benedict,” the major-domo announced, and Swayle had to close his teeth on his furious oath. Still smiling, he made civil conversation with his partner’s family and moved about the ballroom, desperate to find out what this meant for his plans. But damn it, he couldn’t even say she had been forced into it, for happiness shone from her like a beacon.

Gone was the severe frump of a governess. In her place, had come a beautiful, fashionable, and confident young matron, more than fit to be shown off on any man’s arm. Any man except Benedict, that is. As the couple moved into the room, Lady Tamar went forward to embrace her family’s old governess. From all over the room came well-wishers and congratulatory back-slappers.

Rage began to surge within Swayle, for it was as if all his hard work, all his rumor mongering and all the seeds of suspicion he’d sown, had been for nothing. Not only had Javan so obviously not killed her, he’d married her. No one seemed to care either that she’d left engaged to a different Benedict, and that included Richard himself, who sauntered in behind the couple, as proud as if he’d made the match himself. Which he might have, Swayle supposed. Only, where the devil was Miller? What on earth had he been doing for the last five days?

“What a distinguished couple they make,” said a female voice fondly beside him. Mrs. Grant, who gave herself such airs as though she were some great lady instead of a country vicar’s wife. “It seems your fears were quite unfounded, Mr. Swayle.”

“I’m glad if that is so,” he said at once. “But I’ll be happier when I discover what has happened to my little Rosa.”

“Oh, she’s very well and very excited to have a new mother. And of course, she got to meet some new family in Scotland.”

“Family in Scotland?” Swayle repeated, trying not to stare at her. She was so beautiful in her dark, languid way, that in any other circumstances, he would have enjoyed her company. Right now, he had the horrid feeling she was torturing him.

“Of course. They all went north to meet Caroline’s—Mrs. Benedict’s—family. And married while they were there. Isn’t it delightful?”

“Charming,” Swayle said, sickened. “I shall be happiest if he treats her better than he did my Louisa.”

Mrs. Grant smiled directly into his eyes. “Well, he will no longer be fighting abroad, so there will certainly be no opportunity for some scoundrel to move into his house, take his wife, and abuse his daughter.” And without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Stunned by this rumor-reversal, it took him a moment to leap after her and actually seize her arm. “Mrs. Grant, I cannot allow you to repeat such thorough calumny. If this is what Benedict is saying…”

“Not Benedict,” said Benedict himself, materializing at his side. “Rosa.”

The blood sang in his ears. Benedict had always affected him this way, even before he’d kicked him literally out of his house. There was something harsh and inflexible about him, something that simply made Swayle feel small and less of a man. But right now, there was more at stake than Swayle’s manliness. After all this time, Rosa had accused him.