“Because of Gareth?”
The other woman nodded. “I had traveled Europe with Father for several years, so each post had begun to resemble the others. Gareth had never been farther from Wales than London, so he was eager to see everything as his time allowed. In between, he and Kit told me stories of growing up in Cardiff surrounded by his father’s horses and the fun they’d had with Jasper.” She was quiet for several moments, lost in her memories. “En chemin, je suis tombé amoureux.”
Love did happen when it was least expected, for better or worse. “You married after the war?”
“No, during. My father was…livide, but he eventually gave us his blessing. I believe he didn’t want any harshness between us when I followed the regiment to stay near Gareth.”
“You followed him onto the battlefield?”
“As close as I could be. He insisted I stay at the rear, but I wanted to do my part. I volunteered in the hospital, helping with surgeries and praying I would never see Gareth—or Kit—on the surgeon’s table.”
Jasper had said Gareth survived the war. Despite her better judgment, Annabel wanted to know how Claudette had gone from happy bride to widowed mistress. “You came back to Wales after the war ended?”
“We settled in Paris. Gareth’s family was not happy with him for marrying a French girl.” She stared at her folded hands. “For five years, they returned every letter he wrote to them. And so he decided to go to Cardiff and confront them. He never returned.”
Annabel put herself in Claudette’s place. What would she have done if Jasper left and never returned? What if he’d been attacked while he was alone and bled to death in the street? “You came looking for him.”
Claudette nodded. “Kit met me on the docks in his very solemn way and brought me here to meet Jasper.” A small, quick smile flitted across her face. “He is so like Gareth. He thinks more than he says, and his body races to keep up with his mind.”
A knife pierced Annabel’s heart. That was one characteristic she loved as well. She’d couldn’t bear this story any longer. “I should return to my weeding.”
“You are worried for Jasper? Is he worse again?”
Again?
The word, combined with the concern in Claudette’s eyes, pricked Annabel’s conscience. “He is too stubborn to get worse. He’s likely prowling his room like a tiger in a cage.”
“He does that when he thinks,” Claudette said. “And the faster his feet, the faster his thoughts. Cela me donne le vertige.” She fastened her gaze on Annabel. “We all have our ways. I bake. You garden.”
And yet nothing was solved. Everything was still as confusing, as dizzying, as watching Jasper wear a path in the rug. “Mrs. Hughes, what is your relationship with my husband?”
Claudette inhaled deeply, held the breath for a moment, and then released it. “I am grateful that you asked.” She frowned. “That is the wrong word. Reconnaissante. Do you understand that word?”
Thankful. Annabel nodded, her heart thudding.
“Society sees a Frenchwoman who is dependent on a handsome man and assumes many things that are untrue. The more the hypothèse is repeated, the easier it is to believe. Even if it is painful.” Claudette briefly squeezed Annabel’s fingers. “There is more to our story than the superficial.”
Biting her tongue, Annabel forced herself to wait for the rest of the tale.
“All I have of Gareth is the letter he sent me from Cardiff, saying his family was still angry, and he was sailing for home. I don’t even have a grave where I can grieve.” Her fists tightened until her knuckles were white. “For the past year, they have accused me of killing him when he returned to Paris empty-handed. I, in turn, have been foolish enough to retaliate—accusing them of harming him when he refused to abandon me.”
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. “Jasper and Kit have been infatigable in finding the truth, in convincing all of us that we were stronger together if we focused on the same goal. Without them, I would have lost my will to fight for Gareth. And for myself.”
Again, Annabel put herself in Claudette’s place. She had slept very little last night, and Jasper was still alive on the other side of the wall. How much would it torture her to know he was lost and might never be found? That she would never see him again, even if it was only to argue?
“That is the cause of your nightmares?”
Claudette shivered. “They are terrible. Jasper says I scream the house down, though I never remember it. All I know is his kindness when I wake.”
Is that what you think of me?
“I have misjudged you,” Annabel said, meaning every word. “I am sorry.”
“It is already forgiven.” Claudette dabbed her eyes and smiled. “I was often jealous of Gareth. When you find someone you love, it is easy to believe that everyone loves them in the same way. I am happy that Jasper has you.”
“Yes, well…” Annabel floundered for a topic that was not her marriage or the husband she had disappointed. “Have you been in Cardiff since we first met at Kennet Hall?”
Claudette nodded. “Jasper and Kit convinced me to stay, to see if villagers might talk to a widow more easily. That worked in two ways. The women were more willing to talk to me, but Gareth’s family also observed from a distance. I wrote them an apology, and we have met. Our friendship is fragile, though, and they look for any reason to doubt me.”
Which was why she couldn’t stay at Kit’s new home. A newlywed marquess and his wife were the perfect hosts. “Are you closer to finding the truth?”
“We have a name and a collection of stories, but we don’t know how anything ties to Gareth. It couldn’t have been his military service, not in Wales. He’d been gone so long that any grudges would have likely faded. That only leaves his father’s stables, but the family has no records of dealing with Mr. Collins.”
Annabel lost her breath. Mr. Collins from Wales. A body that would never be found. A scheme in danger of failing.
Spencer.
She pushed away from the table and fought to keep her chair upright. “Excuse me. I must speak with Jasper right away.”
*
“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Jasper demanded.
“I was distracted by your collapsing in my arms in a bloody heap,” Kit said around a mouthful of scone.
He made it sound far worse than it had been. “And after that?”
“You were unconscious for a good bit. I had to choose between watching you sleep or catching up on things at Warwick House.”
