“It is when he is under orders from your brother-in-law,” she hissed.
“Candelstone? What fairy tales are you promoting now?”
Bella compressed her lips a moment and glared at him. Then she relaxed and sighed. “If you will hear me out,” she said, striving for a calmer, slower voice, “I will tell you what I only discovered yesterday about your presumably best friend—my husband—and your so-illustrious brother-in-law, Lord Candelstone.”
He raised an eyebrow in doubt but gave a slight nod.
She paused a moment. Wondering how to begin. “Might we sit?” she asked.
He reluctantly nodded. He picked up the oil lamp from the round table in the center of the room and brought it over to the pair of wing chairs facing each other in front of the cold fireplace. The same place she’d sat the other day.
She spied her packet of letters on the table between the chairs. She thought she had carried it back to her room. If Nowlton still required proof, it would be this.
Aidan placed the lamp on the mantel. In the background, they heard the sounds of the ball, laughter and music—a world away—as they settled in a pool of dim light across from each other.
Aidan tried to look at her dispassionately, to put aside the hurts he’d harbored for three years. It was only after seeing her again that he realized he hadn’t recovered from the way things ended between them. He thought he had moved on with his life; however, he saw now that was a sham thought.
Though the lantern light might be dim, he could see the difference between his memories of Bella and the woman who sat across from him. The Bella he remembered loved to laugh, for she truly loved life and all it could offer. This woman appeared reserved, withdrawn from life, looking all about for danger. She moved with grace and assurance, none of the bounce in her step and excitement in her manner that Aidan remembered of the smart young minx he’d become enamored with. This woman appeared to have been drained of any joy.
He watched her hands move restlessly as she spoke.
“When I returned to England from Brussels when the war ended,” she said softly, “I retired to Lennox Hill. Not long ago, I received a summons from Harry’s solicitor requesting my presence in London. He said there was remaining business concerning the will that needed to be communicated. I preferred to do our business through the mails, as I enjoyed my solitary life, but the solicitor was insistent. At the time, Lord Candelstone was also importuning me to come back to work for him. And he wouldn’t stop. I wanted to tell him in person the answer was a firm,No. So, with both pending tasks before me, and with my brother stationed here, I came to London.
“Yesterday, Gwinnie and her maid accompanied me to Harry’s solicitor’s office. Hargate, Owen, and Hargate.”
“I am slightly familiar with them,” Aidan said.
Bella nodded. “Harry had written a codicil to the will that was not to be read until two years after his passing. The codicil gave me the rest of his estate. I didn’t know there was anything else to his estate. He kept it secret. The codicil included a house in Richmond and a generous annuity. Fairly straightforward as inheritances go, save for the two-year wait time.”
“So, what is your point? What has this to do with what happened three years ago?” Aidan impatiently asked. He didn’t want to be this near to her. She brought up too many memories, and not all of them terrible memories. Some memories set off a yearning in his chest.
She nodded, her head cocked to the side. “I’m getting to that.” She took a deep breath.Would he believe her? Would it matter if he did or didn’t?
“Before I left the solicitor's office, he gave me a packet of letters that Harry also told them not to deliver until the same two years had passed.”
She looked at the packet of papers on the small table. “These are the letters the solicitor gave me,” she said, poking at the stack. “They were exceedingly enlightening. Since I read them, I have alternated between hysterical tears and hysterical laughter. But I will say one thing: Harry was a master at long-range planning. Read them,” she invited.
“I will read nothing from Harry, that double-crossing fake friend.”
One corner of Bella’s mouth quirked upward in a wry half smile. “He wasn’t as much of a fake friend as you think. His own need for love and admiration conflicted. Please read them.”
“No!”
“Are you afraid?”
“Of course not.”
“Then stop the theatrics and read them. Now, while we sit here. I dare you.”
He scowled at her. “Are you threatening me?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Really? Please, as a favor to me, and to your mother, who is familiar with the contents of the letters, read them.”
“Lady Malmsby has read these letters?” he asked.
“No, but I told her about them, and the gist of their contents.”
He frowned but nodded.
