A Dangerous Madness by Michelle Diener Page B

no idea you knew His Grace, my dear.” Her aunt slanted her a look but Phoebe merely nodded. Her aunt had only been a regular visitor to London since Phoebe’s father had died and she’d been in need of a chaperone. She wouldn’t know who Phoebe had and had not met.
    “I’m afraid I’ve come to give you bad news.”
    Phoebe’s eyes jerked back to his face, and she frowned. “Bad news?”
    Was this his solution to arrange for her safety? Some ruse to give her a good reason to remain indoors or go into hiding?
    “Please, I think you should sit.”
    He seemed too serious for this to be some plan he’d concocted. She shivered, suddenly cold. Her aunt sank slowly into a chair, and Phoebe followed suit. Wittaker did not join them.
    “I heard this morning from a government official that Lord Sheldrake is dead.” He was looking only at her as he spoke, and she could not read him. Could barely understand what he was saying.
    Her aunt gasped. “How?”
    “It appears to be a carriage accident.”
    Phoebe could not look away. She heard the word ‘appears’, heard his inflection.
    They had killed Sheldrake. She reached out blindly to hold onto something, and ended up clutching the armrests of her chair. “I thought he was leaving the country.” She tried to make sense of it. “Did he die in England, or abroad?”
    Her aunt turned to stare at her. Too late she remembered she still had not told her of Sheldrake’s betrayal.
    “He died ten miles from Dover.”
    “What is this, Phoebe? Why was Sheldrake leaving the country?” Her aunt’s voice was sharp and high.
    “He called off our betrothal on Sunday evening.” At last Phoebe tore her gaze from Wittaker’s face to look at her aunt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t tell you because his rejection was difficult for me to explain. He told me he was leaving the country, that he was in trouble and owed money…” She trailed off in the face of her aunt’s horror.
    “The…the…” Too well-bred to say what she surely wanted to say, her aunt looked down at her lap, her hands so tightly entwined Phoebe could see the whites of her knuckles. “After the promises he made. After everything your father went through…” She stopped short, and glanced across at Wittaker. “Thank you for giving us the news, Your Grace. I am not sure why someone as high-placed as yourself was so kind as to come and inform us personally…” There was stiff formality in her aunt’s voice now, as she rallied herself like a general facing poor odds.
    “I came because I consider myself a friend of Miss Hillier’s and I didn’t want her to hear the news from anyone else.”
    Her aunt’s mouth opened and then closed with a snap. “I…see.” She looked at Phoebe, and Phoebe could see she did not see at all.
    “May I have a word with Miss Hillier in private?” He was already walking forward to take her hand, as if the question had merely been for form’s sake. He didn’t care whether her aunt gave her permission or not.
    And the permission was Phoebe’s to give, and no one else’s. She was mistress here. She had to keep remembering that. Society conspired to make her feel in need of following rules or obeying instructions from others, but she was mistress here.
    “Certainly, Your Grace.” She raised her hand and allowed him to help her to her feet. “We can take a moment in the garden.”
    She led him out the room to the library, avoiding her aunt’s gaze, her back straight and stiff.
    The doors were still locked from last night, and she turned the key and stepped out, with Wittaker close behind her.
    She waited until they were down the steps from the house and in the garden itself before she turned to him. “Is it true? Sheldrake is really dead?”
    He looked genuinely shocked at the question. “I would never lie about something like that.”
    She looked at him for a long moment, and eventually turned away.
    “I’m sorry. For your loss.” There was an edge to his tone, and she