The duchess smiled at him. “Actually, it was Glory.”
As Greaves announced the visitors the next morning, Glory took a breath and prepared to play the most difficult role of her life. The thought of Wei bolstered her. She wouldn’t let her beloved down.
“Ready, poppet?” Papa murmured.
She straightened her shoulders. “Yes, Papa.”
“Whatever happens,” he said, “I want you to know that I am proud of you, Glory. I could not ask for a better daughter.”
Her throat swelled, but she didn’t have time to answer for Rothwell and Winslow entered. They’d brought a retinue of guards, all six of them armed to the teeth. Uncle and nephew swept a gaze around the room, their lips curling as they saw no threat in the tranquil drawing room.
Glory curtsied as Papa welcomed them.
“Thank you for coming,” Papa said. “May I first apologize for the events of yesterday?”
“No need to bring up the unfortunate incident, Your Grace. I am relieved that you suffered no damage from that barbaric fellow,” Rothwell said magnanimously. “Winslow assures me that we are united in our desire to ensure that the malicious lies are never repeated—the same way we are united in our efforts to stop the opium trade. Indeed, my hope is that we are soon to be connected in another way as well.”
He came over to Glory, and she tried not to cringe as he kissed her hand.
“I hope you have given my nephew’s offer the consideration it deserves, my dear,” he said.
“I am honored by Mr. Winslow’s offer.” Glory widened her eyes like a naïve debutante. “Papa says I am most fortunate to receive it on the heels of my, um, indiscretion.”
“His Grace is quite right. It is all water under the bridge, however.” Rothwell wagged his finger at her as if she were a puppy in need of training. “As long as you do not make such a silly mistake again, young lady.”
From the corner of her eye, Glory saw her papa stiffen, and she willed him to follow the plan. To see this through, for all their sakes.
“I see the error of my ways, sir,” she said penitently. “And I am ever so grateful that Mr. Winslow has given me a chance to redeem myself. But there is something I must tell you, even though I am afraid you will be angry.”
“As we are soon to be family, my dear, you can tell me anything.”
“Last evening, Mr. Chen made an attempt to contact me,” she said in a rush. “I would not see him, of course. But he…he sent this.”
She picked up the leather-bound journal from a nearby console.
“It is the diary of a man named Leonard Kray. And it…it makes horrid accusations, Mr. Rothwell.” She looked at him, her lip trembling. “There’s even a daguerreotype of you and Mr. Kray, and the inscription labels you as Erasmus Trimble.”
“Give me that diary,” Rothwell snapped.
He made a grab for it, but Glory artfully stepped out of reach and went to pace in front of the fire like a ninny with an attack of nerves.
“If any of this gets out, we shall all be ruined,” she cried. “You, me, and Papa!”
Winslow intercepted her path, snatching the diary out of her hands. He tossed it into the flames.
“There, my dear.” His charming expression was every bit as sinister as his uncle’s as the pages crackled and blackened, turning into ash. “The problem is solved.”
“But there is still Mr. Chen.” She peered fretfully up at him. “He knows everything.”
“We will take care of Chen,” Rothwell said calmly. “He will not bother you—or any of us—again.”
“What exactly are you suggesting?” Papa asked.
“The specifics are unimportant. All you need to do is back my version of events, Your Grace.”
“You mean I will have to lie. I read the journal, Rothwell.” Papa’s voice had a betraying tremor of anger. “I know what happened in Canton.”
“A mere peccadillo, Your Grace. We all have skeletons in our closets—you, yourself, had quite the wild reputation in your younger days.” Rothwell’s smile was knowing. “Great men, however, do not allow inconveniences to get in the way of larger ambitions.”
