A Marquis for Mary (10 page)

“Comparing yourself to our dear sister?” one of them said as she stepped forward.

“She falls short, doesn’t she?” the other cackled.

Mary swallowed hard. “It is Imogen and Isadora, yes?”

One of them shrugged. “I’m Imogen.”

Mary nodded, making a note that Imogen was wearing a red sash to her sister’s blue as a way to tell them apart. “Good afternoon to you both. I was surprised to receive your missive.”

Imogen laughed, an ugly, dry sound that lacked pleasure of any kind. “I assume you already knew about our sister’s existence.”

Mary nodded as she glanced at the portrait from the corner of her eye. “So she
was
your sister. The resemblance is uncanny.”

It was Isadora who responded, her hands fisted at her sides. “She was our beloved older sister, Miss Quinn. Who was ripped away from us thanks to that bastard you intend to marry.”

Mary pinched her lips together. She hadn’t been certain what to expect when she came here. This full-on attack had been on the list, but it still shocked her.

She tried to remain calm in the face of their bubbling rage. “I can only imagine what it must be like to lose your sister, especially in such a tragic manner. I too have an elder sister.”

Imogen shook her head. “Gemma Flynn. Yes, we’ve had our dealings with her. She kicked us out of a ball once.”

Mary drew back in surprise. Gemma, kick someone out of a ball? She could hardly imagine it. But then, Gemma was so protective of Crispin. A feeling Mary was beginning to mirror when it came to Edward.

“Have we ever paid back Mrs. Flynn for that, sister?” Isadora asked.

The two women exchanged a glance, and Imogen smiled. “I think
this
will suffice, sister.”

Mary fisted her hands at her sides. Edward had described Alice’s potential for cruelty, wrapped up in a beautiful mask. She thought she was seeing a glimpse of what he had endured, through the actions and bitter words of her sisters. This was a family of monsters, created by what horrors, she could not imagine.

But they made her father look almost tame in comparison.

“Enough,” she said softly. “You have made a threat against my future husband and it is clear by your attitudes now that you mean it. You asked me here, so tell me what you think you can do to him and what you want from me in order to protect him.”

“Sit,” Isadora said, pointing to the settee that faced Alice’s bitter little portrait.

Mary folded her arms. “I prefer standing where I am, thank you.”

The twins flounced to the settee and sat together, watching up at her with hatred burning in their eyes. But there was also pain. Despite their cruelty, she could see they did love the sister whose painted glare she felt behind her. They loved Alice and they blamed Edward for her fall.

“Do you know what your fiancé did to our sister?” Isadora asked. “Did he tell you anything about her?”

Mary hesitated. “He said that she was unhappy and she threw herself down the stairs, killing herself and their unborn child.”

Isadora shook her head. “That wasn’t what he told you. I would wager he said she was wicked. But she only wanted what she wanted. If he was not capable of giving it to her, that was
his
failing. He drove her to hurt herself, to prove to him how serious she was. And it is his fault she is dead, buried in the cemetery only because we paid off the vicar not to label her as a suicide.”

Again, Mary felt the pain radiating from these women and she felt for them despite their vows to hurt Edward. Perhaps they could be reasoned with.

“I cannot imagine your loss,” she said, taking the seat across from them at last. “I am very sorry. But you have threatened Edward and you cannot think that harming him in some way will change things.”

Imogen’s expression tightened, anger like a mask on her face. “He does not suffer like we do. He was glad to be rid of her—you could see the relief on his face the moment she was declared dead. He destroyed her and now he will move on? Marry? Have children? Be happy? While she rots?”

Mary held her tongue, because she could not deny this woman’s words. The sisters did not see Alice in a negative light. They either accepted Alice for what she was or simply refused to see her bad behavior as a problem. How could they do anything but hate Edward? Hate Crispin? Hate everyone they strove to blame for Alice’s disturbing actions?

“He
must
suffer,” Isadora added, her voice like the hiss of a snake. “You will not marry him, Miss Quinn.”

Mary bolted from the chair and stared down at them. They had serene expressions on their faces at last, as if this pleased them in some way.

“I beg your pardon, but I certainly will,” she said, trying to keep her tone calm.

“No,” Isadora said. The two women rose together. “You will not.”

“And why wouldn’t I?” Mary whispered, fearful of the answer.

“Because if you insist upon marrying him next week,
we
will insist upon going to the magister,” Isadora continued. “You see, my sister and I have strong beliefs that Alice did not throw herself down those stairs that day. We think Lord Woodley may have pushed her.”

As Mary’s lips parted in understanding, Imogen continued, her smile wide and her voice suddenly dripping with innocence. “Yes. We kept it to ourselves out of respect to our poor, dead sister. And there is the fact that horrible Woodley
threatened
us. But now that you are engaged to him, we cannot stay silent. You see, now we fear for
your
life, my dear.”

Mary stepped backward. “That is not true and you know it. There was a suicide note. There was a journal Edward told me you both saw. You
know
Alice’s intent, you know perfectly well that everything that happened was designed to hurt Edward. She arranged for her ‘fall’, her ‘suicide attempt’ out of selfish manipulation.”

“A journal? A note? No one but Edward and the two of us ever saw those things, not even the rest of our family. To protect our sister’s reputation, our understanding is that Edward destroyed them.” Imogen’s smile broadened. “We will claim we never saw a note, but that her journal spoke of her fear of Edward and her desire to protect her child.”

“No one will believe you,” Mary said. “Edward is a respected marquis.”

Isadora shrugged. “Perhaps it will go nowhere legally, although I’m certain there will be a long and drawn out investigation that will drag that whole Woodley family through the mud where they belong. He might be convicted of the crime. He might not. Either way, he will be destroyed.”

“How?” Mary asked the question, although she could see the answer dancing in the eyes of the twins.

“There have been faint whispers regarding Alice’s death for years,” Imogen said.

“Whispers encouraged by you,” Mary growled.

Imogen smiled, all but verifying the accusation. “If our story becomes public, there will be many who believe his guilt. He will be shunned, and if he is shunned by the right few, then
all
will follow. His sister and his brothers and his nasty mother will all be destroyed. His happiness and the future of any children he sires will be tarnished.”

Mary’s hands shook. She tried to stop the motion, tried not to let them see her weakness, but it was impossible. Her emotions were now too high. Her anger and her heartbreak out of control.

“Your sister died years ago,” she whispered, hating that her voice trembled. “Why not just do this to him then?”

“Because Edward was punishing himself perfectly well on his own,” Imogen said. “Hiding away like a hermit, cutting himself off from his family. He didn’t even stop his sister from getting herself married off to a rogue who only wanted her for her money.”

Isadora laughed. “That was my favorite part.”

Mary moved toward them. “You are monsters.”

The two women exchanged a glance, then dissolved into peals of laughter that grated against Mary’s ears. She flinched away, though she didn’t dare put her back to them.

“We were happy to let him rot, keeping our ability to turn the world against him in our pocket until the right time,” Imogen said. “And this is the
perfect
time.”

“Why?” Mary’s mouth felt very dry as she forced the word from her lips.

Imogen frowned. “My sister and I slipped into your little engagement party last night, you know. We saw you together, so happy. He loves you, I think.”

“Disgusting pig,” Isadora interrupted, venom dripping from her words.

“Yes, dear. A disgusting pig who will suffer all the more when Miss Quinn here breaks off their engagement and tells him she does not want him. Back to his hovel he will go, drowning in loss. The
ton
will chatter about the reason and he may never come out again.”

Mary blinked, digesting their words, their threats. Trying to find a way to battle them. But the women were right. If they went public with an accusation that Edward had murdered his pregnant wife, there were some in Society who would latch on to that juicy rumor like a dog with a thick bone. Even if he was declared innocent, the scandal would last far longer in the memories of those who loved to follow such things.

“Edward truly loved your sister,” she began, desperate to save him. Save them. “He told me so himself. When she betrayed him with my brother-in-law, when she hurt herself in order to punish him, I promise you that it broke him. No marriage to me, no future happiness we might share, will ever completely heal that scar she left. He suffers—you needn’t make him suffer more.”

“Until he is dead in the ground, there will never be enough suffering,” Imogen said, her tone utterly cold and strangely emotionless now.

Mary swallowed back the bile that rose in her throat. “Even if I walk away from Edward as you desire, how do I know you won’t simply wait until a future time to hurt him? To do exactly what you describe next week or next year or in another three years?”

Isadora exchanged an almost blank look with her sister, as if they didn’t understand the question. “You won’t,” she said. “But you’ll know you saved him today, won’t you? And maybe if he’s miserable enough, we’ll keep our accusations to ourselves. You’ll only know for certain that we won’t go after him now.”

“That is hardly a bargain,” Mary whispered, unable to speak in full voice as the weight of this conversation and the hatred of these women pushed down on her.

“You have one choice, my dear. End this engagement now. Today. If we do not hear from you that it has happened by two o’clock tomorrow afternoon, we are prepared to move forward with our plan. Is that clear?” Imogen asked.

“But—” Mary began.

“Is it clear?” Isadora barked.

Mary could hardly breathe. They had her cornered. There was no amount of reason or pleading that would change their minds. That fact
was
clear as the summer’s day outside.

“I understand your meaning perfectly,” she said, moving toward the door with as much dignity as she could muster when all she wanted to do was collapse in utter anguish.

“We look forward to you telling us you have done the right thing,” Isadora called behind her, her voice now sickly sweet as pie.

Mary ignored her and entered the foyer. She found the door already open, the butler glaring at her as he motioned to the carriage that awaited her outside. Her maid was situated within, watching her through the open door with worry and confusion.

Mary said nothing as she entered the vehicle, nothing as the door was shut and they began to drive back toward Crispin and Gemma’s home. She said nothing even as her maid questioned her.

There was nothing to say. Nothing to do. Only a decision to be made that had no happy ending.

“Are you well?” Gemma asked.

Mary jolted from her thoughts and looked down the table toward her sister and Crispin. She found them both staring at her, expressions of kind concern mirrored on both their faces.

“You are so quiet,” Crispin added. “And you’ve hardly eaten.”

Mary stared down at her plate, left untouched for so long that the food no longer even looked appetizing. “I—” she began, but then stopped herself.

She
could
tell Crispin and Gemma what had happened. But how could they help? The choices she had to make would remain the same. And knowing Crispin, he would try to rush in to save the day, and that might only drive Isadora and Imogen to hurt Edward even more. Perhaps the sisters might even decide to include Crispin and Gemma in their destructive plans. After all they had made it clear the Flynns were nearly as hated by them as Edward was.

“You…?” Gemma encouraged when Mary didn’t finish her thought.

Mary blinked. “I am not feeling well, I fear,” she lied. “Perhaps whatever little ailment you suffered this morning is catching, Gemma.”

Her sister blushed, and Mary thought she heard Crispin mutter, “I hope not, at least not until after you are married.”

She frowned. So she had guessed correctly. Gemma was with child again. Another reason not to drag her and her husband into her troubles. This was a happy time for them, and they deserved that.

“I think I will excuse myself and lie down a while, if you don’t mind,” she said, rising to her feet with a weak smile.