Charlotte turned slowly. The medallion rested against Edward’s cravat, the Thornton crest unmistakable in the lantern light.
“No,” she whispered.
Edward’s voice came measured, though something strained beneath it. “All Thorntons carry similar medallions. It is a family tradition.”
The villager frowned. “Well, this one was lying in the snow beside the wreck. Clear as day.”
The words struck like a blow.
Charlotte’s mind raced. William, in the village. The debts. The suspicious payments. The rumors surrounding Thomas. The anonymous letter. And now this.
A Thornton crest at the scene of her parents’ deaths.
Her breathing turned shallow. For a terrible, disorienting moment, everything blurred. She took a step back without realizing it.
“Is it possible,” she asked, her voice barely audible, “that it was yours?”
The question hung between them.
Edward’s face paled—not with guilt, but with something wounded and incredulous. He reached for the medallion at his throat and removed it slowly, studying it in his palm.
“This one has not left my possession,” he said. “Not once.”
He sounded less defensive than searching, as though turning over the implications himself.
“Could’ve been another,” the villager muttered. “Don’t know your customs. Just know what I saw.”
Charlotte’s hands trembled. If a Thornton medallion had been found at the crash, there were only two possibilities: either Edward’s family had been involved … or someone had meant it to appear that way.
Her gaze lifted to Edward’s. In his eyes, she saw not guilt, but dawning comprehension.
“If a Thornton crest was there,” he said slowly, “it was placed deliberately.”
The thought settled heavily between them.
William had been present in the village. William had debts. William had a motive. And William understood reputation as well as any man alive.
“It was him,” Charlotte said, the pieces aligning with dreadful clarity. “He wanted suspicion to fall on your family. He wanted to divide us.”
Edward’s jaw tightened. “If he invoked Thomas’s name and left evidence to suggest my house was involved, it would discredit us both.”
Charlotte felt the briefest, sickening flicker of doubt—an image of loving the man whose family might have destroyed her own. The thought made her knees weaken. But it passed just as quickly, replaced by anger.
William had not only tried to ruin her. He had attempted to fracture the one alliance strong enough to stand against him.
Edward stepped closer, careful not to touch her without permission. “I swear to you,” he said quietly, “whatever crest was found there was not lost by me. If my family’s name was used, it was used as a weapon.”
She searched his face and found no deception, only resolve.
“If he planted it,” she said, her voice steadier now, “then he meant it to be discovered eventually. Meant us to learn of it.”
“And to question one another,” Edward finished.
This had never been merely about debt or desperation. It had been strategy.
William had sought leverage, scandal, and suspicion all at once.
Charlotte wiped her eyes and lifted her chin. “He miscalculated.”
