What she must have suffered, Minnie couldn’t imagine.
“The bastard.” Gideon’s harsh words echoed her feelings. He glanced briefly at the portrait. “Yes, definitely a drunk and a bully, but to hit a woman?” He looked thoroughly angry, his brows knitted. When his gaze met hers, she shivered at the fury within its black depth. Gideon Drake made a dangerous enemy.
“Perhaps that’s why she wrote to Rufus. To cherish memories of happier days.” She sighed. “But little did she know her letters never reached their destination.”
He shuffled some papers again, clearly needing to do something to contain his rage. With a few words, Henrietta Walker had changed from adulteress to wronged woman. Perhaps he was as little surprised as she was now as to the reasons Hettie ran away.
“Look at this,” he said, shoving a sheet toward her. She put down the diary, determined to read it as soon as she was alone.
“What is it?” The blood drained from her face as she read the petition for divorce. “Did you see the date?”
He nodded. Leaning against the desk, he faced her. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
Still finding him too close for comfort, yet unable to pull away, Minnie agreed. “So Walker knew.”
“Yes. And a fortnight later he shot himself.”
“Hettie was brave to apply for a divorce. She’d certainly have faced ridicule and ostracism. Even with your grandfather’s support.”
“No doubt, with the reasons provided here of her suffering at Walker’s hands, Hettie would have been granted a divorce. Rufus had friends in Parliament who’d likely have pushed it through swiftly and quietly.”
“Of course, our new marriage and divorce laws weren’t in place in those days, so she had to rely on Rufus’ help.”
“And his title and reputation would have suppressed all gossip, at least for a while.”
Minnie’s heart sank. “But Walker wouldn’t agree to it. Is that what happened?”
“I suppose so.” Gideon’s expression was grim, his wide mouth a thin, disapproving line. “I’m surprised he didn’t burn these.” He pointed at Hettie’s request for divorce.
“So am I. But what puzzles me…why did he kill himself? He could have easily insisted on her coming back, cleared his name, shamed your grandfather.”
“That’s what I don’t understand either. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Unless having a supposedly dead wife return alive and well would make him a laughing stock in Trekellis.”
“Of course.” It made sense. “Hettie’s supposed death made headlines all across England, but especially in remote counties like Cornwall echoes linger for a long time. Just think of the villagers still staying away from the manor.”
“So,” Gideon shifted his weight onto his other leg, subconsciously moving closer to her, “let’s assume Walker feared for his reputation. Had his drinking gotten so out of control that he shot himself by mistake? In a rage? He doesn’t look like the kind of man to wallow in self-pity.”
“Possible. Or perhaps he did love Hettie in his own way and, rather than having the scandal of divorce attached to his name, he killed himself.” She glanced at him, but quickly averted her gaze at the cynical look in his eyes.
He tilted her head gently to face him. “Perhaps you’re right. Or it may be a combination of both.” The corners of his mouth twitched, and her hand itched to touch his lips. Heat shot into her cheeks.
He raised an eyebrow. “Well done, my enticing sleuth. It appears we have solved the riddle.”
“Perhaps that’s why we heard his voice.” In gentle strokes, his fingers caressed her exposed neck, sending butterflies across her skin. Her breathing hitched as the sensations coursed through her body.
“His voice?”
“Yes.” Why did she feel stupid voicing her thoughts? “You heard it, too. Remember? The thunder, the voice whispering Hettie’s name, the portrait falling off when the house shook.”
He smirked.
“The bastard.” Gideon’s harsh words echoed her feelings. He glanced briefly at the portrait. “Yes, definitely a drunk and a bully, but to hit a woman?” He looked thoroughly angry, his brows knitted. When his gaze met hers, she shivered at the fury within its black depth. Gideon Drake made a dangerous enemy.
“Perhaps that’s why she wrote to Rufus. To cherish memories of happier days.” She sighed. “But little did she know her letters never reached their destination.”
He shuffled some papers again, clearly needing to do something to contain his rage. With a few words, Henrietta Walker had changed from adulteress to wronged woman. Perhaps he was as little surprised as she was now as to the reasons Hettie ran away.
“Look at this,” he said, shoving a sheet toward her. She put down the diary, determined to read it as soon as she was alone.
“What is it?” The blood drained from her face as she read the petition for divorce. “Did you see the date?”
He nodded. Leaning against the desk, he faced her. “Interesting, isn’t it?”
Still finding him too close for comfort, yet unable to pull away, Minnie agreed. “So Walker knew.”
“Yes. And a fortnight later he shot himself.”
“Hettie was brave to apply for a divorce. She’d certainly have faced ridicule and ostracism. Even with your grandfather’s support.”
“No doubt, with the reasons provided here of her suffering at Walker’s hands, Hettie would have been granted a divorce. Rufus had friends in Parliament who’d likely have pushed it through swiftly and quietly.”
“Of course, our new marriage and divorce laws weren’t in place in those days, so she had to rely on Rufus’ help.”
“And his title and reputation would have suppressed all gossip, at least for a while.”
Minnie’s heart sank. “But Walker wouldn’t agree to it. Is that what happened?”
“I suppose so.” Gideon’s expression was grim, his wide mouth a thin, disapproving line. “I’m surprised he didn’t burn these.” He pointed at Hettie’s request for divorce.
“So am I. But what puzzles me…why did he kill himself? He could have easily insisted on her coming back, cleared his name, shamed your grandfather.”
“That’s what I don’t understand either. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain. Unless having a supposedly dead wife return alive and well would make him a laughing stock in Trekellis.”
“Of course.” It made sense. “Hettie’s supposed death made headlines all across England, but especially in remote counties like Cornwall echoes linger for a long time. Just think of the villagers still staying away from the manor.”
“So,” Gideon shifted his weight onto his other leg, subconsciously moving closer to her, “let’s assume Walker feared for his reputation. Had his drinking gotten so out of control that he shot himself by mistake? In a rage? He doesn’t look like the kind of man to wallow in self-pity.”
“Possible. Or perhaps he did love Hettie in his own way and, rather than having the scandal of divorce attached to his name, he killed himself.” She glanced at him, but quickly averted her gaze at the cynical look in his eyes.
He tilted her head gently to face him. “Perhaps you’re right. Or it may be a combination of both.” The corners of his mouth twitched, and her hand itched to touch his lips. Heat shot into her cheeks.
He raised an eyebrow. “Well done, my enticing sleuth. It appears we have solved the riddle.”
“Perhaps that’s why we heard his voice.” In gentle strokes, his fingers caressed her exposed neck, sending butterflies across her skin. Her breathing hitched as the sensations coursed through her body.
“His voice?”
“Yes.” Why did she feel stupid voicing her thoughts? “You heard it, too. Remember? The thunder, the voice whispering Hettie’s name, the portrait falling off when the house shook.”
He smirked.
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