“Yes, and the hired thugs.”
“What of Lovelace?”
The corner of Mr Dalton’s mouth twitched. “He escaped.”
Gabriel sighed. “Good. We’ll linger here, give him time to reach Studland Park. Daventry will want to know every detail. And then we’ve a call to make before we return home.”
Olivia frowned. “We do?”
He ran a hand down his face, weariness etched into every line. “Someone needs to tell the Countess of Berridge her brother isn’t dead.”
London was a hive of activity by the time they reached the Earl of Berridge’s townhouse on horseback. Carriages rattled past, hawkers called out their wares, and errand boys weaved between ladies with parasols and gentlemen in polished boots.
Olivia drew more than her share of stares. It wasn’t every day one saw the Marquess of Rothley riding in shirtsleeves, his wife nestled against him, wearing his coat over a nightgown and silk wrapper. At least she’d tied her hair in a braid.
But she kept her chin high, relieved she’d lived to see sunrise.
The butler answered promptly, welcoming them in as if they were expected. Then Olivia’s friends emerged from the dining room—the wives of Gabriel’s friends. Once assured their husbands were safe, the questions came in a breathless stream.
“Where have you been? We were so worried.”
“Why didn’t you confide in us?”
“Joanna said you married Lord Rothley. Is it true?”
Olivia clasped their hands in turn, though hers were cold. “I’ll explain everything when you visit Studland Park. For now, know I stayed silent to protect you.”
While Mr Dalton was persuaded to take breakfast, Gabriel touched her gently on the back, his mouth close to her ear. “We must tell Joanna the truth. She’s in no condition to hear it from Daventry and his men.”
They were shown into the drawing room. Joanna sat curled beside her husband on the sofa, her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her, one hand covering hers as she cradled their unborn child.
She looked up through teary eyes. “Gabriel.” She didn’t seem surprised to see Olivia in her nightgown. “Olivia. Thank heavens Miss Bourne saw sense and told Gabriel where to find you.”
One didn’t need the wisdom of Socrates to work out how she knew.
“Justin came here,” Gabriel said.
“You’ve just missed him.” Joanna gestured to the sofa opposite and urged them to sit. “Aaron gave him money, use of an unmarked carriage, and the suggestion he collect his wife and leave for the Americas. He has a man in Liverpool who can help.”
The earl sighed. “We agreed to keep the details to ourselves.”
“We can trust Gabriel. He’s like a brother.” Joanna met his gaze, hesitance in her eyes. “You’re not angry? Justin said you let him go. That you urged him to save his wife and leave London.”
“I’m not angry.” Gabriel sat beside Olivia on the sofa, his thigh solid against hers. Yet he took her hand, as if he neededhelp calming the storm inside him. “It was evident he was a pawn in Mrs Culpepper’s game.”
Joanna pursed her lips and swallowed hard. “He’s sorry for the pain he caused, Gabriel, that for the past decade, we’ve both lived with questions, never knowing if he was alive or dead.”
It was clear from her tone that she saw Gabriel as family. And when she looked at her husband, the love in her eyes was unmistakable. Fierce, enduring. The kind Olivia had found too, by some miraculous twist of fate.
She squeezed Gabriel’s hand gently, the weight of the past days finally beginning to lift. “All he’s ever wanted is answers. An end to the uncertainty.”
And all she wanted now was to go home with him, close the door on the world, and take comfort in the fact they were safe, together.
“We won’t see him again.” Joanna’s breath hitched. She looked at her husband, reached for him, drawing strength from his touch. “And perhaps that’s for the best.”
“What about his grave at St Michael’s?”
Joanna managed a smile. “The grave you refused to visit? Some poor soul is buried there. I’d rather not disturb him.”
