He looked away, staring into the boxwoods. For a long while, he said nothing. Eventually he murmured, “My daughter would have been her age, had she lived. Same honey-spun hair. Same eyes … so blue you could see eternity in them.”
Sorrow lay heavy in his words, a weight from which no mortal could crawl out from beneath. So. This was why he holed up in that house of his, living in memories, wallowing in grief. Likely he grasped at the past because the future held nothing for him.
Juliet’s heart broke for the lonely man. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“So am I.” He heaved a great sigh.
Juliet reached for him but pulled back before touching his sleeve. She sensed that he needed his sadness, for without it, he wouldn’t know what to do. Who to be. And to be cut adrift without any identity was a quick way to lose the will to breathe.
She forced a small smile. “And what will you do now?”
“Disappear, as I always do. A man can hide quite well when no one is looking.” He retreated into the boxwood, his voice barely a whisper. “But should you require a friend in the shadows, Miss Finch, you need only call.”
The courtroom, though emptying, still buzzed with low murmurs and the scrape of boots against the wooden floor. Benches creaked as spectators filed out. Henry stood in the aisle with his father and sister and, for the briefest of moments, gave in to the pity rising from his gut for the broken woman who’d so disrupted their lives. Clara was gone now, led away by two hulking guards, but her cries still remained … and would haunt him for many nights to come. How could a mind become soshattered, seemingly without warning? Had there been signs he’d missed? Would to God he’d noticed them sooner—would to God any of them had—and all this could have been avoided.
With a final look at the side door out which Clara had been led, he tucked away those thoughts and turned to his sister and father.
“So.” Relief curved his lips. “It is finished.”
Charity let out a long breath, her head bobbing slightly. “It is, and I am glad for it.”
Father, ever stalwart, nodded solemnly. “At last justice is served.”
Henry’s gaze traveled past his sister to a white-haired woman, shoulders stooped, face folded in mourning. Mrs. Whitmore. Beside her stood a woman in a dark blue pelisse, her hand supporting the grieving mother’s elbow. A short distance behind her stood a man in black with the bearing of a sentry. Her solicitor, likely, hovering close for any last-minute legal needs. Henry’s chest squeezed uncomfortably, making it hard to breathe. What a horrid day for her.
Catching his father’s eye, he tipped his head towards the sight, and with a confirming nod, he collected Charity’s arm, and they approached the woman as a family.
His father bowed formally, his voice deep but gentle. “You have my—our”—he swept his hand towards Henry and Charity—“condolences, madam. We can only imagine the sorrow this day has brought you.”
She lifted her face with a hint of Clara’s defiance, yet the red in her eyes spoke an entirely different story. “Thank you. As a parent, I am sure you understand this is an impossible sorrow to bear.”
Henry swallowed the knot in his throat. “And yet, Mrs. Whitmore, even in such sorrow you are not abandoned, not byGod or by the Russells. I hope you know you can call upon us should you have need.”
“Indeed.” Charity hesitated a moment before reaching out, offering a gentle touch to the woman’s sleeve. “If there is anything we may do to ease your burden, please send word.”
Mrs. Whitmore’s eyes filled with a glassy sheen. Her mouth worked, but it took several tries before a papery-thin voice whispered, “Thank you.”
“Come now, Mrs. Whitmore. It is time I see you home.” The lady next to her dipped her head at them before leading the woman away.
Clara’s mother seemed so small, so … breakable as she shuffled next to the blue-coated woman, her steps unsteady. Clara was her only child, her sole comfort in old age.
And now that was gone.
Beside him, his father sighed. “How I hate to see her that way.”
Charity pressed her fingers to her lips, drawing in a shaky breath. “So do I.”
Footsteps scuffed the floorboards nearby, the measured but uneven gait drawing their attention. Parker pulled up before them, an odd gleam in his dark eyes. “Well, Russells, it seems the last page of this tragedy has been written.”
His father inclined his head. “For which we have God—and you—to thank.”
Parker smirked at Henry. “As it turns out, I wasn’t half the rogue you thought me to be, hmm?”
A dry chuckle escaped him. “Surely you cannot expect me to admit to such in a court of law.”
Charity batted his arm. “Behave yourself, Brother.”
Parker’s amusement faded, his expression changing to something more serious as he tugged at his cravat. “I …” He exhaled sharply. “I realize this is not the time or place, andyet after witnessing the tragic turn of Miss Whitmore’s life, I think we all may appreciate how suddenly the unexpected can happen. That being said”—he turned to Charity—“I should like the honour of courting you again, if you are at all agreeable, Miss Russell.”
