“Do you believe there is a chance that Charles died at the hands of another?”
She took another sip of her tea, and for some reason, Monty held his breath.
“As the years passed, my grief has eased, and I have thought often about that morning I came home and found the man I had loved for so long dead.”
He thought of Iris then and the warm weight in his chest he experienced when she was close. He would be devastated if anything happened to her.
“I’m sorry you lost your husband, Marion.”
“He was more than my husband, Monty. Quite simply, he was my life.”
It hit him then, hard. Iris could be that for him. They’d not spent much time together, and yet he knew deep in his soul he now carried Iris in his heart. The thought terrified him.
He’d never believed that he would love as Marion did… not until now.
“Do you believe my husband was murdered, Monty?”
He couldn’t look away from her intense gaze, and he would not lie to her. “I do, Marion.”
“Do you think that whoever killed Charles may have been responsible for your parents’ deaths?”
He nodded again.
She exhaled slowly and then said, “If that is indeed the case, then I want you to find who did this and get justice for my husband and your parents, Monty.”
“I will ensure those we love are avenged,” he vowed.
She reached across the table to lay her hand on his. Monty found himself gripping her fingers.
“I know you will. But what I also wish is for you to find happiness and let the past no longer define you when this is over.”
“How do you know I let the past define me?” He looked into her faded blue eyes.
“You are here, many years after your parents were murdered, still looking for answers. You have told me you have no family.”
“You’re astute.”
“Start your life. Your parents would wish it, Monty.”
He then sat there with Marion Lionel in her lovely garden and took tea, and in that moment, he felt like they’d been friends for years. An hour later, he was back on his horse heading to London, to the church, after telling her he would call again soon.
Last night he’d received a summons to meet with Geraint.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
The ride to London was spent thinking about his parents and Iris. Marion had told him to start living his life. Could he do that if his parents’ killer wasn’t found?
Could he start a life with Iris and Henry?
Putting those thoughts aside for later when he was lying alone again in his bed, he pulled the hood of the cloak he’d donned for the return journey over his head. The steady drizzle of rain had started as he’d entered London.
Running to the church, he banged a fist on the old wooden door four times and then entered. His wet booted feet squelched on the stone floor. He’d only taken a few steps, and Monty stopped.
The Devilles were here. When the note had arrived that he was to meet Geraint, he’d thought it would be just him.
“Veritas scutumtibi erit,” Geraint said.
“Veritas scutumtibi erit,” he replied, still looking at the wall of Devilles. He could feel their anger.
