Simms led Everly away. The manor door closed slowly behind them.
Alex reached for Georgina’s hand again. “Come inside.”
She didn’t hesitate.
*
The door tothe cellar creaked on its hinges as Eliza descended, the hem of her morning gown trailing lightly behind her. The lantern she carried lit only a small cone of stone and dust, but the figure in the corner was unmistakable.
Everly sat on a wooden chair, one wrist chained to the wall. His coat was gone. His shirt was stained. And yet, when he looked up, he tried for a smile, but it faltered.
“Eliza,” he said softly. “You came.”
She didn’t move closer. She placed the lantern on a narrow table and folded her hands before her. “You should stop saying my name like it still belongs to you.”
He tilted his head. “You’re angry. I understand.”
“You have no idea what I am.”
He gave a small, rehearsed sigh. “I didn’t want you to be involved. I told you that from the beginning. If you’d listened—”
“Don’t,” she said sharply. “Don’t you dare pretend this is something you protected me from.”
Then Everly said, quieter, “I never lied about how I felt.”
Eliza’s chin lifted. Her voice, when it came, was calm. Too calm. “And I will never forgive myself for believing you.”
He flinched slightly.
She stepped closer, not afraid. Not anymore.
“I’ve been thinking,” she said, her tone thoughtful, almost musing. “Another woman might have slapped you. Or screamed. She’d waste her energy on you, thinking it might matter.” She paused, just long enough. “But I’m not her. I wouldn’t waste the gesture.” She tilted her head, voice unwavering. “That would make this about anger. And you don’t deserve that from me.”
His mouth tightened, jaw flexing.
She leaned closer, close enough for him to see there was no anger left, only truth. “You don’t deserve to be hated. Or hunted. You deserve to vanish, to be forgotten. To become nothing. You won’t matter. Not even to history.”
Then she turned, retrieved the lantern, and walked out without looking back, her head high.
The door shut behind her with a quiet finality.
*
Barrington stood inthe library, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a map of the northern coast spread out across the long table. A half-written letter sat beside it, weighted down by a pocket watch. The seal of the Home Office had already been pressed into the envelope beneath it. His brother would receive it within the day.
“Your mother sends her love.” Mrs. Bainbridge sat in a nearby chair, a cup of tea forgotten in her hand. “She was quite helpful. I was with Edward yesterday,” she said, voice still clipped from travel. “I joined his entourage and sailed to Alnwick with them. I told him about the wedding. He was most generous.”
Barrington gave her a sidelong glance. “And did he offer you anything else?”
She reached into her reticule and pulled out a folded page. “This.”
He took it, scanned the contents, and nodded. “It will do.”
Alex entered without knocking.
“She’s resting,” he said simply.
Mrs. Bainbridge stood, composed as ever. “Then I’ll leave you both.”
