"Rushton." Aunt Effie reflected briefly. "Oh, yes. The previous rector of this parish. The one my dear brother replaced."

Mrs. Stone nodded. Her narrow mouth trembled. "Miss Deirdre was all the reverend had after her sweet mama died. Miss Deirdre brought joy and sunshine into this house, she did. Until the Beast destroyed her."

"Beast?" Felicity's expression was similar to the one she wore when she read one of her favorite novels of gothic horror. "You mean Viscount St. Justin? He destroyed Deirdre Rushton? How?"

"That lecherous monster," Mrs. Stone muttered, dabbing at her eyes again.

"Gracious." Aunt Effie looked stunned. "The viscount ruined the girl? Really, Mrs. Stone. One can hardly credit such a notion. The man is a gentleman, after all. Heir to an earldom. And she was a rector's daughter."

"He weren't no gentleman," Mrs. Stone stated.

Harriet lost patience. She turned on her exasperating housekeeper. "Mrs. Stone, I believe we have had quite enough of your dramatics for one day. You may return to the kitchens."

Mrs. Stone's watery eyes filled with anguish. " 'Tis true, Miss Harriet. That man killed my little Miss Deirdre just as surely as if he'd pulled the trigger on that pistol himself."

"Pistol?" Harriet stared at her.

There was a moment of shocked silence in the hall. Effie was speechless. Even Felicity seemed unable to phrase another question.

Harriet's mouth went dry. "Mrs. Stone," she finally said very carefully, "are you telling us that Viscount St. Justin killed a former occupant of this house? Because if so, I am afraid I must tell you that I cannot allow you to continue in your post here if you are going to say such awful things."

"But 'tis true, Miss Harriet. I swear it on my life. Oh, they all called it suicide, God rest her soul, but I know he drove her to it. The Beast of Blackthorne Hall is as guilty as sin and everyone in this village knows it."

"Good heavens," Felicity breathed.

"There must be some mistake," Aunt Effie whispered.

But Harriet looked straight into Mrs. Stone's eyes and saw at once that the woman was telling the truth, at least as far as she knew it. Harriet felt suddenly ill. "How on earth did St. Justin manage to drive Deirdre Rushton to suicide?"

"They was engaged to be married," Mrs. Stone said in a low voice. "That was before he came into his title. Gideon Westbrook's older brother, Randal, was still alive, you see. It was Randal who was the old earl's heir then, of course. Such a fine gentleman, he was. A true and noble heir for the Earl of Hardcastle. A man worthy of following in his lordship's footsteps."

"Unlike the Beast?" Felicity asked.

Mrs. Stone gave her a strange look and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Some even say Gideon Westbrook killed his own brother to get the title and the estates."

"This is fascinating," Felicity murmured.

"Unbelievable." Aunt Effie appeared dazed.

"If you want my opinion, it is obviously all rubbish," Harriet announced. But inwardly she was aware of a cold sensation in the pit of her stomach. Mrs. Stone believed every word of what she was saying. The woman had a pronounced flare for the dramatic, but Harriet had known the housekeeper long enough to be certain she was basically honest.

" 'Tis true enough," Mrs. Stone said grimly. "I promise ye that."

"Go on, Mrs. Stone. Tell us how the Beast—I mean the viscount—drove the lady to suicide," Felicity urged.

Harriet gave up any effort to forestall the story. She straightened her spine, telling herself it was always best to know the facts. "Yes, Mrs. Stone. Having told us this much, you may as well confide the rest. What, precisely, did happen to Deirdre Rushton?"

Mrs. Stone's hands tightened into fists. "He forced himself upon her. Ravished her, he did, like the Beast he is. Got her with child, he did. Used her for his own lecherous purposes. But instead of doing the proper thing and marrying her, he cast her aside. T'weren't no secret. Just ask anyone around the district."

Aunt Effie and Felicity were silent in stunned disbelief.

"Oh, my God." Harriet sat down abruptly on a small, padded bench. She realized she was clasping her hands so tightly together her fingers hurt. She forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath. "Are you quite certain of this, Mrs. Stone? He really did not seem the type, you know. In fact, I… I rather liked him."

"What would you know of the type of man who would do such a thing?" Aunt Effie asked with irrefutable logic. "You have never had occasion to meet one of that sort. You did not even have a Season because my brother, rest his soul, did not leave us enough money to finance one for you. Perhaps if you had gone to Town and been exposed to a bit more of the world, you would have learned that one cannot always distinguish that sort of man at a glance."

"You are probably quite right, Aunt Effie." Harriet knew she was obliged to admit that what her aunt was saying was nothing less than the truth. She really did not have any practical knowledge of the kind of man who would ravish an innocent young woman and then abandon her. "One hears stories, of course, but it is obviously not the same as having direct experience of that sort of man, is it?"

"You would hardly wish for practical experience," Felicity pointed out. She turned back to Mrs. Stone. "Pray, continue with the tale."

"Yes," said Harriet morosely. "You may as well tell us all, Mrs. Stone."

Mrs. Stone lifted her chin and looked at Harriet and Felicity with watering eyes. "Like I was sayin', Gideon Westbrook was the second son of the Earl of Hardcastle."

"So he was not a viscount then," Felicity murmured.

"Of course not," Aunt Effie put in with her usual air of authority on such matters. "He held no titles at the time because he was only a second son. His older brother would have been the viscount."

"I know, Aunt Effie. Do continue, Mrs. Stone."

"The Beast wanted my sweet Miss Deirdre the first moment he saw her when she made her come-out in London. The Reverend Rushton had scraped together everything he had to give her one Season and the Beast was the one who offered for her first."

"So Rushton decided he'd better grab what he could get, was that it?" Harriet asked.

Mrs. Stone glowered at her. "The reverend told Miss Deirdre she would have to accept the offer. The Beast had no title but he had money and family connections. It was an excellent match, he said."

"All things considered, it would seem it was," Effie murmured.

"In other words, she was going to marry him for his money and the chance to form a connection with a powerful family," Harriet concluded.

"My Miss Deirdre was always a good and obedient daughter," Mrs. Stone said woefully. "She agreed to do as her papa wished, even though Westbrook was only a second son and as ugly as sin. She could have done better for herself, but her papa was afraid to wait. He could not afford to keep her in London for very long."

Harriet looked up, irritated. "I did not think him ugly in the least."

Mrs. Stone grimaced. "Great, monstrous creature. What with that dreadful scar and all, he looks like a demon straight from the Pit. Always did, even before his face was ruined. My poor Miss Deirdre shuddered at the sight of him. But she did her duty."

"And a bit more on the side, from the sound of it," Harriet muttered.

Aunt Effie shook her head dolefully. "Ah, these silly young girls who will insist on following their hearts instead of their heads. Such foolishness. When will they ever learn they must keep their wits and their virginity about them until they are safely wed if they do not wish to find themselves ruined?"

"My Deirdre was a good girl, she was," Mrs. Stone said loyally. "He ravished her, I tell ye. She was an innocent lamb who knew nothing at all of the ways of the flesh and he took advantage of her. And they was engaged, after all. She trusted him to do the right thing afterward when she found out about… about the babe."