“Yes,” Victor said. “We suspected that some of his ventures were less than lawful. Roderick has confirmed it. There areledgers, witnesses, correspondence—enough to bring charges if we choose to present them.”
Gwen’s heart leapt. “Charges? You mean, he could face trial?”
“Yes,” Victor answered. “We can make it very difficult for him to continue as he has. For his own safety, he would be forced to curb his temper and movements. He will not hold himself accountable, but the law might.”
Cordelia had gone very pale. “You would send him to prison?”
“If that is the result, it will be the result of his own choices,” Victor said. “We will not invent anything. We will simply bring what he has done to the authorities. They may act or not, but they will know. He will know that someone has stood against him.”
Gwen felt a fierce, almost dizzy relief. For the first time, the idea of Howard being truly checked, truly limited, seemed possible.
She turned to her mother. “This is good, Mama. This means he cannot hurt you any longer. Or William.”
Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “He is my husband, Gwen.”
“He is your tormentor,” Gwen corrected, her anger flaring. “He has used you and frightened you and struck you. He has done the same to me. He does not deserve your loyalty.”
Cordelia blinked, her tears spilling over. “You are my daughter. I love you more than any man. I know that he hurt you. I know that he hurt me. I know he deserves to pay for what he has done.”
She drew a shaky breath. “And yet I love him. I cannot pretend I do not. He was kind to me once. He can be charming. I have built my life around believing that kindness will return. That is my own foolishness, not yours.”
Gwen’s anger cooled. “It is not foolish to want to be loved.”
“It is foolish to cling to it when it turns to poison,” Cordelia whispered. “You have been braver than I ever was. You refused to drink from that cup. I am proud of you. And ashamed of myself.”
Gwen’s chest ached. “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
Cordelia shook her head. “I stood by while he raised his hand to you. I told myself I could not stop him. That I would make it up to you later. That you were strong and I was weak. They are all excuses. I was a coward.”
Gwen set the bouquet aside and pulled her mother into a fierce embrace. “Do not say that,” she croaked. “You did what you could under terrible circumstances. You survived. That is no small thing. I could not have left you, Mama. I would never have abandoned you.”
Cordelia clung to her as if she might break. “I am so sorry, my darling. For every time I told you to be silent. For every time I smoothed my skirts and pretended nothing had happened. You deserved so much better than my whispers and my excuses.”
“You did your best,” Gwen said. “Now we will do better together.”
Victor waited a respectful distance away, his expression guarded, as if he knew he stood on the edge of a private reckoning.
Cordelia drew back at last, wiping her cheeks. She looked at him with a mix of gratitude and fear. “If you decide to bring those charges,” she said quietly, “I will not stand in your way. Howard has hurt us both. He will not stop until someone forces him to. I know that. My heart will take time to catch up with my head, but I know.”
Victor bowed his head. “We will proceed carefully. Your testimony will never be made public without your consent. You have endured enough spectacle.”
Cordelia chewed her lip. “Just… give me time to prepare William. He loves his father. He does not see what we see.”
Gwen nodded. “Of course. We will not rush you. We are not going anywhere.”
Victor glanced down at Gwen, his eyes softening. “No, you are not.”
For the first time in a very long time, Gwen believed it. She was no longer the girl trapped in Fenwick House. She was a duchess, a wife, a woman with power and allies.
Howard had taken years from her. He would take no more.
She laced her fingers through Victor’s and squeezed, feeling his ring against her skin.
They would face what came next together.
The wedding breakfast took place at a townhouse Dorothea had deemed suitable for both celebration and scrutiny. It boasted tall windows, fine plasterwork, and enough space for half the ton to hover and gossip over delicate pastries.
Gwen never released Victor’s arm for long. Every time she did, someone intercepted him with congratulations or questions, and she found herself trapped by a cluster of ladies eager to examine her gown and speculate on the decor at Rosewood.
