Chapter Thirty-Seven
Elizabeth wrapped the shawl tighter around her shoulders and entered her father’s room at Waverly Park. Voices were coming from a door behind the bookcases in the drawing room. She curled her fingers into her palm, an emptiness settling deep inside her soul. How many times had she come into this room and had no idea what was hidden behind these walls?
She moved across the thick carpet and halted inside the doorway. The room ran along the entire length of the suite and was packed full of treasures.
Farnsworth stood near the window that was draped in burgundy, his cravat askew and his hair ruffled. His expression was unduly serious, as if the burden of the world were on his shoulders. Perhaps it was. Waverly Park belonged to him, and he had inherited the mess her father had left behind.
“Anthony,” she said, coming further into the room. The grand entrance was lined with Greek and Roman statuary. “It looks like a museum in here.”
“Yes, he had a robust collection.” He turned to look at her, sympathy in his blue eyes.
She glanced away, unable to hold his regard. Her entire body ached from her near death scare but Langdon’s distrust broke her heart. The time spent in the hut seemed a lifetime ago, yet she would do anything to get back the magic she had experienced in his arms. She wanted to curl up in bed and cry like she had the night before. “Of stolen goods.”
Bradley’s words still stayed with her, along with the horror on his face while falling. She hugged her arms tighter across her chest. After returning to Waverly Park late the previous afternoon, she had bathed, and cried herself to sleep. The day had dawned bright, a start to a new day. Except she had a whole plethora of sins to atone for.
“These were all purloined by my father from desperate people who needed his help,” she said. Like Langdon’s family. She wanted to ask where he was but refrained. Chances were, he had left and would never return.
“According to his books, most were, yes,” Farnsworth said.
She walked down the room where walls were hung with paintings varying in size from small cameos to large portraits by Reynolds and other notable painters. Not an inch of wall space remained uncovered. All this wealth amongst the poverty. It truly sickened her. “The books. He loved those things.” More than anything; more than her. “What do you plan on doing with all this?”
“I will try to find the rightful owners, I suppose. Some of these objet d’art he did purchase. He had a considerable fortune.” His shoulders slumped despite the positive revelation.
The elaborate wall sconces which illuminated the room blurred as she fought the tears from falling. She twisted around to stop him from seeing her emotional breakdown. Sunlight glittered off object’s d’art; golden goblets and silver candelabras, music boxes and Chinese vases placed on elegant tables in rich, exotic woods. “I would ask how that was possible, but any one of these items would have revitalized the entire estate.”
The opulence disgusted her, and she wanted to run from the room. To Langdon. Oh, how she wished to have him by her side. But alas, he distrusted her and with good reason.
“True, and I hate to speak ill of the dead, but why? I am truly at a loss for why he held this much wealth and kept it locked away for only his enjoyment.” Farnsworth raked a hand through his hair, leaving the ends to stand up before he brushed it down.
“Because you’re not a selfish person, cousin. My father never cared for anyone or anything but his own self-interest.” She traced a finger around the rim of a crystal goblet. “I bet you never thought to hear a compliment from me.”
He flashed a sheepish smile. “You would win that bet.”
“What now?” she asked, more for herself than him. With her father gone, she no longer had a home. The money from Zander’s endeavor might be lost to her as well, if charges were brought against her. It was all very overwhelming. She’d never felt so alone.
“You ask a very intriguing question, one I have no answers for.” He moved to her side and took her hand in his larger one. “I know you must be in shock right now, but know this, you’re not alone.”
The tears she’d tried to hold back fell at his sincere words. “I know.”
“I sent a note to London, informing the family of Vernon’s death. You may live here as long as you wish, although I am sure Nora and Father would also welcome you into their home. They are quite fond of you.” He squeezed her fingers.
“And I of them.” Had he asked her to stay months ago, she would have jumped at the chance. Somehow, she no longer wished to remain at Waverly Park. She wanted to put it in the past and start a new life. Nor was living with her aunt and uncle the solution.
Footsteps sounded, and she turned to see Langdon enter, his face marred with bruises from his altercations in the cave. Her heart melted and the weakness in her knees had nothing to do with grief. Dressed in his usual impeccable garb, the old Langdon was back.
“Elizabeth, Farnsworth,” he said in greeting, a noticeable clip to his words.
Throughout the morning, she ached to see him. Their time in the hut had been dreamlike and she wished with all her heart she could wipe away what followed and be back to that moment of peace.
“Langdon.” Farnsworth dropped her hand and offered an encouraging smile. “Elizabeth and I were just reviewing the contents of the room.”
For years they had been at each other’s throats, yet there was no one she would rather be with during her time of need. Well, there was one other person, and he was standing a few steps from her.
