“You know where she is?” Trewlove simply stared. Collinsworth sighed. “Of course you do. Is she well? At least tell me that.”
“Well enough. She’ll do better once she knows no one is looking for her.”
“Tell her to come home. All will be forgiven.”
His expression was one of disgust and fury. “She’s done naught for which she needs forgiveness.”
Ah, yes, he was definitely the chap from her youth—or perhaps he was a recent conquest—but it was obvious he cared deeply for her. For some reason, Collinsworth felt a measure of relief to know this man was watching out for her. “We’re not going to the country until she is back within the bosom of the family. We keep thinking she’ll come to her senses—”
“There’s nothing wrong with her senses. Now get that damn letter written.”
An hour later, Finn stood in Vivi’s bedchamber, watching as she slept. Unlike her companion in the room whose snoring reminded him of the arrival of a train, she was silent. In sleep, she looked almost as young and innocent as she had when he’d first met her—only now the tiniest of furrows creased her brow as though even in dreams she worried about the children or was reliving her time in a madhouse. He wished he could wipe away every moment of pain she’d ever experienced.
He glanced around at the sparse furnishings. Two beds that looked more like cots, small, narrow with plain wooden bedsteads and thin mattresses. A small plain pine table beside each bed. A washbasin, mirror, and one straight-backed wooden chair. Drab curtains at the window. Christ, the room was depressing.
As he set the letter her brother had written on the bedside table, he had little doubt she’d find employment elsewhere, that she could soon move into more comfortable lodgings now that she was free to move about as she desired without fear of being hauled off to her mother, who had treated her daughter so unconscionably cruelly. If she hadn’t extracted a vow from him earlier in the evening, he’d have paid a little visit to her mother as well. As he turned to leave, she whimpered. He froze, waited.
She made another sound, this one more desperate, more alarming. He glanced back at her. Her head had begun thrashing, her hands were fisted in the sheets. Small strangled whimpers escaped. He was familiar with those noises. He’d made them enough times in prison when locked in a nightmare where danger lurked. Within the gossamer shadows of the dream, he’d be striving to scream for help but it was as though his vocal cords were frozen, couldn’t function properly, and no one would ever be alerted to his distress.
He folded his hand over her shoulder, gave her the gentlest of shakes, leaned near, and whispered in her ear, “Shh, now. You’re safe. No one will ever harm you again.”
She quieted, stilled, and he left his hand where it was until her breathing slowed and deepened. He pressed his thumb to the pleats between her brows, rubbing them until they disappeared. With one last look at her, lost in peaceful slumber again, he crept on silent feet from the room, wondering how he could ensure the words he’d just spoken were a promise.
Lavinia awoke on a sigh. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d slept so well or felt so rested upon first opening her eyes. Perhaps she should attend a fete every night. It was still dark, but she knew dawn would be arriving soon because Sister Bernadette had lit the lamp and was going about her morning ablutions at the washbowl.
She remained beneath the covers, preparing herself for the briskness of the chill that would greet her, dreading the moment she placed her feet on the cold floor. If she ever had any extra coins, she was going to purchase rag rugs for each of the sisters so they could ease into the day. So much she had taken for granted—never having cold feet, for one.
Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself and pushed her way up—stopped. Stared at the letter resting on the bedside table, a letter with her name on it. She recognized the handwriting as her brother’s, and her breath caught. “Did Sister Theresa deliver this?” she asked, picking it up with care as though it were a hideous spider that would suddenly leap free and skitter over her.
“I don’t think so,” Sister Bernadette said. “It was there when I lit the lamp. Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning.” She settled back against her pillow and studied the letter, a small smile beginning to form. She had a strong suspicion she might know how it had come to be where she’d found it. Finn was still ever so skilled at breaking into bedchambers.
Turning it over, she slipped her thumb beneath the wax that bore the family crest and worked it free. She unfolded the paper and read the words.
My dear Lavinia,
I have called off the hounds—the two gentlemen I hired to find you. Actually, I did it weeks ago, but I didn’t know how to get word to you until your friend made his presence known and offered to deliver a message to you. So you are now free to go about your pursuits without worry that you will be snatched from the streets.
However, I do hope you will consider returning home. Mother worries terribly, as do I. I don’t know what objection you had to Thornley—I’ve always found his company to be top-notch—but be that as it may, I am certain we can find someone else more agreeable for you to marry. We will remain in the city until you are again in residence.
Your loving brother,
Neville
Clutching the letter to her chest, she felt as though a great weight had been lifted, as though she could float to the ceiling if she so desired. Bless Finn. What a glorious gift he’d given her, almost as grand as Sophie. She was free at last.
Later that morning, after finishing with the daily lessons, she was tapping the letter she’d written Finn on the desk, wondering how to get it to him. She had no idea where to find him. She supposed she could take it to his sister at the Mermaid and Unicorn and ask her to deliver it to him. Only she didn’t really want to send him a letter expressing her gratitude to him for what he’d done. She wanted to tell him in person. Which the letter she’d written indicated.I need to see you. —V.
Simple and sweet.
She did wish she’d asked him where he laid his head at night. The patter of tiny footsteps sounded just before Daisy charged into her office. She came to an abrupt stop, hopping from foot to foot, as though she needed to be taken to the loo. Her eyes brightened, her impish grin filling most of her face. “He brung the horse back, Miss Kent! ’N’ this time, it’s gots a saddle!”
She shouldn’t have felt such immense joy and yet she did. She wondered if he might like to have another outing. This time in Whitechapel. Yet even as she had the thought, she knew they needed to end their association. But it was so difficult when they were once again friends, in spite of the past.
She followed Daisy out into the garden to discover he’d not only brought Sophie but another horse, a fine chestnut specimen. She wasn’t surprised someone who’d once spent a good deal of his day calming horses would be the owner of good horseflesh.
In a grand gesture, he swept his flat-cap from his head. “Miss Kent.”
