"James, I am not going anywhere! I know you are concerned, and I am deeply appreciative, but I'll thank you to stop trying to run my life for me."
"Don't you know what this note means? Lot's wife turned to a pillar of salt, a popular spice. It is obvious that whoever sent this intends to kidnap you for his brand of the spice trade."
"Yes, I see that. It doesn’t alter my decision. I owe it to Mr. Waddley to pursue this matter to the end."
"Did you love him so much?" he asked softly.
"Love him?" she looked confused. "No, no, but he was a good man. He was good to me. Really he was. He was gentle and—and he treated me like a queen," she said shakily, a sheen of perspiration glistening on her brow.
She plucked her handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her forehead. She stood up and paced the room, wringing the handkerchief in her hands. "He talked to me of business and people. He treated me well. He was not a demanding man either."
Branstoke watched her, a hooded, preying expression to his eyes. "I've never heard you address him by his Christian name," he said.
Hearing his observation, something cracked inside her, and a miasma of darkness trickled out.
"Nonsense. What a silly notion to take,” she said desperately. “I’m sure I have, and you've not been listening. George was his name. George Waddley," she said, halting in her pacing, her hands fluttering wildly.
A shudder ripped through her body. It was all Branstoke could do to watch and not go to her as she faced her dragon.
"Lord and Master Waddley. If it weren't for him, I'd be a charity case. Now I'm a wealthy widow. He was good to me,” she stated, her expression confused.
She turned toward Branstoke. “Really, he was. And—and—andI hated him!" she cried, bursting into tears. "I hated him," she repeated, whimpering at the force of buried pain and sadness that poured out of her.
She sagged against a burl table then sank to the floor, tears flowing down her cheeks.
Branstoke came over to her, pulling her to her feet. She leaned against him, sobbing. "It was like being in a locked case, a porcelain doll on display. I was never allowed to go anywhere, see anything, except for the once-a-year treat. He took me to the opera. Oh, he bought me books and jewels and fine clothes and anything else I desired, except freedom. I was suffocating in that existence, but how could I not be thankful? He saved my father and brother from debtors' prison and me from the life of a charity case. How can I be so ungrateful? I had to do something in gratitude!"
"You don't owe him anything, Cecilia. You paid every day of your married life."
She looked up at him then, studying his expression, trying to read she knew not what there. She clung to his lapels. "I want that to be true. But now, when I fear Randolph may have led him to his death, my debt increases."
"No, it doesn't. Come, sit down on the sofa and dry your eyes. Do you have any sherry about?"
"No, but Loudon will bring it if I ring."
"Then do so. You could use it, or some brandy if you have it."
She gave a watery chuckle and did as he suggested. "I believe I consumed enough brandy last night. What a fright I must look."
She felt empty and joyously full at the same time.
"I doubt you could ever look a fright, but then, I am a smitten gentleman, so I may be unnaturally blind," he said lightly, dappled gold light shining from his eyes.
She looked at him in wonder, her eyes dark blue pools of emotion. "Never say so unless you mean it," she whispered, searching for truth.
"You rang, ma'am?"
Cecilia started and turned toward the doorway, color surging up her pale face, her eyes sparkling. "Yes. Yes, I did, Loudon. We would like refreshments, please."
"I anticipated as much, ma'am. They are right outside the door." He backed out of the room then came back in almost immediately bearing a large silver tray. He set it on the sideboard and poured glasses of Madeira for each of them. "Here you are, ma'am. May I get you anything else?"
"No, thank you, Loudon, that will be all," Cecilia said, ruefully studying the glass he handed her. It was Lady Meriton's best crystal. Trust Loudon to judge people and situations to a nicety.
Branstoke held up his hand in a toast. "To never saying anything we don't mean," he said solemnly.
Cecilia felt tears prick her eyes again, but they were tears of joy. She raised her glass. "To trust." They sipped their drinks and stared at each other.
"Now, do you understand why I wish you to go where you'll be safe?" Branstoke asked.
