Rupert chuckled. “Yes, yes, very well…”
It was last night when Adrian had received a letter from his friend. A most welcome one, in fact, as Rupert claimed to have learned all there was to learn about Lady Delacourt, just as he was sure that somewhere in the trove of his discoveries was an answer as to why she had forced Harriet upon Adrian.
“I must warn you before I begin,” Rupert started. “I do not have a direct answer for you. Nothing I found speaks to you, and as far as I can tell, the two of you have never met.”
“Tell me what you know.” Adrian braced himself. “Let me be the judge.”
Rupert nodded once, exhaled and leaned back, and then he began.
“The Countess Delacourt is exactly who your dear wife has said, and from what you told me of her marriage, there is little there that brings into question her claims.”
“She was having an affair?” Adrian asked.
“Nothing confirmed,” Rupert said. “As I came to learn, she married the earl when she was just nineteen, while her dearhusband-to-be was thirty-six.” He chuckled. “The old scoundrel. But also, not so strange or worth thinking ill of. From what I came to learn, the courtship was typical. In fact, those who witnessed it firsthand are certain that the earl was infatuated with her. He pursued, she accepted, and they married within three months.”
“And the affair?” he pressed.
Rupert shrugged. “Mere whispers and rumors. Oh, it almost certainly happened. My guess is that even the earl knew of it, but chose to do nothing. Likely, he wanted to keep his wife happy.” Rupert scoffed. “A little too happy by my estimation. However, she was with child, and I suppose that was one bridge our dear earl was not willing to traverse.”
“You were unable to find out who she was having an affair with?” Adrian confirmed. “No idea at all?”
“Those who might have known were not forthcoming,” Rupert sighed. “My feeling is that with her death, few wished to speak ill of her. I will keep pushing, keep prying, and so forth. But as for now…” He shrugged again. “The man is a ghost.”
“As he is certainly not me,” Adrian grumbled.
He still could not fathom why Lady Delacourt had asked for Ophelia to deliver Harriet to his door. Was she insane? Did she confuse him with her lover? There had to be a reason!
“Anything else?” Adrian pressed with a hint of desperation.
Rupert clicked his tongue. “As you know, I asked my questions with an eye toward finding out how she might know you. On the surface, there is no discernible link. No mutual acquaintances. No hidden family ties…”
“There must be something.”
“The only link I could find…” He shook his head and laughed bitterly. “And believe me, it as weak as wet bread. But Lady Delacourt was known to holiday often in Bath, a home that belonged to her family. And one that was not so far from your residence…”
“In Bath…” Adrian perked up.
“Maybe you know it,” Rupert said. “You go there, what, once a year? It’s on the same street, doors painted bright red, with an ugly old tree growing out front.” He shuddered. “I asked why it had not been cut down and the neighbor told me –”
“It has sentimental value,” Adrian said in a whisper as it came to him like howling wind across an empty field.
“You know it?” Rupert sat up.
“I do.”
“So, you know her?”
Adrian clenched his jaw, looked ahead with a dead-eyed stare, and slowly, but so very surely, the pieces of what was a most confusing puzzle started to slip into place.
“It would seem as if I do,” he said as his heart raced. “I never knew her name. To me, she was insignificant, hardly worth noting. It is not as if I make a habit of socializing.”
Rupert chuckled. “That is an understatement.”
Adrian continued to look ahead, the memory crashing upon him like a rogue wave. It had been winter… a storm was brewing… and all Adrian had wanted to do was return to his home, sit by the fire, and drink deep into the night. A common occurrence in his life.
That was the first and last time he met Lady Delaware.
“I was walking home,” Adrian began as he pictured the moment so clearly that it was as if it had just happened the day before. “There was a storm coming, the type that saw the streets empty, as they ought to have been. I was walking past that ghastly tree…” He chuckled with mirth. “You saw it?”