“Sadly, Beatrice could not benefit from our attentions. I could not let her see that I had no interest in her. My purpose was simply to punish Thatcham.” He smiled, and the cruelty in his face horrified Philomena. “Poor Beatrice had to die, I am afraid. She was a beautiful woman but a very poor rider. All it took was the sound of a hunting horn nearby. The horse reared, and Beatrice lost control. Luckily, her neck was broken, so there was no need to complete the task by hand.”

Philomena closed her eyes. This man’s depravity knew no depths. Poor Beatrice, indeed, and poor Hugh. Had Lord Thatcham known his wife had left him for Muldrow? Even so, he could not have imagined that Muldrow had arranged Lady Beatrice’s death. The man was cruelly deranged and corrupt.

“Now, be sure that my servants will give evidence of tonight’s event, so that there will be no mistake.” Muldrow, tiring of his explanations, stood up and pulled the cord to summon the housekeeper. Philomena glanced around, hope turning to panic.

“Come, my dear. Make yourself ready for Joseph. If all goes well, you may remain in comfort as the Lady of the Manor. I am sure your friends will enjoy watching your children growing up so close by. Everyone at Thatcham Hall seems to have become fond of you, have they not?”

“I will not allow you—You can’t…” Philomena stumbled to her feet, blinking hard to keep tears of rage from blinding her. She was alone, in the power of this evil man. Joseph continued to drink in silence throughout Muldrow’s triumphant explanations, a sneer on his face. He allowed Muldrow’s caresses with every appearance of enjoyment.

Philomena’s legs shook, but with an effort of will, she remained upright.

“Now, do not distress yourself, wife.” Muldrow brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his waistcoat. “I am a most considerate husband in many ways, as you will find. Once we have dispensed with the necessary—ahem—activity, we will go on very well together, I am sure. You may retire for a while and weep to your heart’s content. I believe young ladies invariably feel better when they have indulged in a few tears.”

Muldrow held out a lacy handkerchief. Philomena dashed it away. She would not cry in front of this monster.

“I will attend you shortly, in your room,” he continued. “My housekeeper will look after you in the meantime. I would not want to leave you alone. You are far too fond of disappearing.”

Philomena stalked from the room with a straight back and chin held high. She would not let Muldrow see her terror.

The housekeeper was waiting outside to take Philomena’s arm.

“Make our guest ready for bed,” commanded Muldrow.