Alex took the slip, brow furrowed. Then comprehension bloomed across his features. Slowly, unmistakably, his mouth curved into a grin. He passed it to Barrington.
“Rowland’s signature,” he said, his voice rich with realization. “It was always the double s in ‘commission.’ He never spelled it correctly.”
Silence held for a long moment. Then, relief. Laughter. The sharp, sweet kind that comes not from joy, but from finallyknowing.
Barrington’s eyes narrowed. “But this one is.”
“There’s your proof,” Alex said grimly. “It’s a forgery.”
Georgina wiped her eyes, her breath coming in short, triumphant gasps. “And not even a clever one.”
At that moment, the library door creaked open. Kenworth stepped in, shoulders beaded with rain, holding a leather-bound ledger and wearing a look of long-suffering patience that couldn’t quite hide the humor beneath.
“I retrieved the ledger from the carriage,” he said, crossing the room. “Mrs. Bainbridge, I found it precisely where you said it would be.”
He set the book on the table with care, then added, more to the room at large than to her directly, “I remain grateful that she accompanied me earlier today to collect it. I gave her my best arguments for staying behind, but I suspect she could out-debate Parliament itself.”
Already at Georgina’s side, Mrs. Bainbridge arched a brow. “A good thing you didn’t waste your breath, Kenworth. We saved time.”
“And discussed the entire wedding seating arrangement while we were at it,” he added, deadpan. “I fear the guest list may haunt my dreams.”
“You shall be well prepared, then,” Barrington said, dry as dust as he closed a ledger. “If this investigation proves less treacherous than wedding preparations, we shall count ourselves fortunate.”
Georgina’s lips curved despite the tension still coiled beneath her ribs. She brushed a damp curl from her cheek, her gaze sweeping the room, where scattered ledgers, rain-damp coats, and quiet resolve bound them not just in purpose, but in partnership.
“Better our investigations than our nightmares,” Mrs. Bainbridge replied, tapping the ledger with a crisp finality.
Alex let the moment of levity settle, then straightened. “At first light, we go to Trentham & Clegg directly. Barrington, have the Brigade ready to move. Mrs. Bainbridge, I ask you and Lady Georgina to continue combing the seminary accounts. Any irregularities, no matter how small, must be found.”
Georgina inclined her head, meeting his gaze squarely. “We’ll not overlook a single line.”
“And Bexley?” Barrington asked.
“I’ll handle him,” Alex replied, his voice clipped with resolve.
A pause followed, thick with understanding.
Georgina’s eyes swept over the ledgers once more, the impact of their findings settling in her chest. They had moved beyond chance discoveries now. What lay ahead was deliberate, dangerous, and no longer hidden.
She could feel it, thrumming beneath the surface of the quiet room: not fear, but determination. A tether of purpose binding them. Barrington with his steady command, Mrs. Bainbridge sharp-eyed and unflinching, Kenworth ready at a moment’s notice, and Alex.
Alex, whose gaze met hers across the scattered ledgers. In his gaze, she saw not only determination but something deeper, something unsaid yet unmistakable. Respect, yes. Admiration, perhaps. And beneath it all, a flicker of something unspoken, far harder to name, and far more dangerous.
Heat bloomed in her chest, warmer than the fire’s glow. She did not look away.
For so long, she had lived as though her story had ended with Rowland’s death. As though her purpose had been buried alongside him. But here, now, with the evidence spread before them and Alex’s steady gaze holding hers, she felt the unmistakable stirring of something new. Not an ending. A beginning.
“You told us how to begin,” she said, her voice clear and sure. “Now, when do we begin?”
His reply was a promise, quiet and fierce. “At first light.”
Outside, the shadows deepened as the storm thickened beyond the windows, but within the library walls, their purpose held fast, no longer scattered fragments, but a force. Ready to fight.
And beneath his words, she heard something else. Not spoken, not yet, but present all the same… Not spoken. Not yet. But they threaded beneath every plan they’d made. A promise waiting to be named. With you.
Chapter Twelve
“We won’t getfar if you grind your teeth to powder,” Barrington said, his tone dry as ever.
