How can I deny it when I know it is true?
The past six months had been… transformative. After their reconciliation, they’d left London almost immediately. Not because Eliza was fleeing, but because they both needed a fresh start, something to enjoy that was their own. Needed time awayfrom scandal and gossip and painful memories to simply be together.
They’d gone to Paris first, just as Eliza had planned. Walked along the Seine. Visited the Louvre. Ate pastries in sidewalk cafés and practiced their French with varying degrees of success, most of which was hers. Then Vienna, where they’d attended the opera and Morgan had, to Eliza’s great amusement, behaved himself admirably. Rome, where they’d thrown coins in the Trevi Fountain and explored ancient ruins. Venice, Florence, Prague.
Six months of discovery. Of learning each other all over again, but this time without fear, without walls, without holding back.
“We brought gifts,” Morgan said, gesturing to the large trunk by the door. “Far too many gifts, according to me. But Eliza’s a terrible influence and kept insisting we buy things.”
“I did no such thing,” Eliza called from across the room. “You were the one who wanted to purchase an entire Venetian chandelier!”
“It was an exceptional chandelier.”
“It was the size of a carriage.”
The boys immediately abandoned their acrobatics and raced to the trunk. “Can we open it? Please?”
“Of course,” Eliza said warmly. “Morgan, help them with the latches?”
What followed was delightful chaos as the boys pulled out treasure after treasure. Wooden toys from Germany, illustrated books from France, sweets from Austria that they immediately tried to eat before Miss Winslow intervened.
“And this is for you,” Morgan said to Ambrose, handing him a carefully wrapped package. “From a bookshop in Prague. The proprietor assured me it was a first edition.”
Ambrose unwrapped it carefully, his eyes widening. “Morgan, this is… this is an extraordinary atlas. Thank you.”
Imogen received a delicate music box from Vienna, Helen a beautiful shawl from Florence, and the boys an elaborate puppet theater that immediately became the center of their attention.
“You spoil us,” Imogen said, but her smile was warm with affection.
“We had six months of accumulated guilt over not writing often enough,” Eliza said. “We had to make amends somehow.”
As the men became absorbed in helping the boys set up their puppet theater, a process that seemed to require a great dealof engineering and heated debate about proper staging, Eliza settled more comfortably on the settee beside Imogen.
“So,” Imogen said quietly, “I have news. About Whitfield.”
Eliza’s expression sobered immediately. “What happened? The trial was supposed to be last month…”
“It was. He was convicted on all three counts of murder.” Imogen’s voice was gentle. “But the judge, he showed mercy, if you can call it that. Instead of hanging, Whitfield was sentenced to life imprisonment.”
Eliza was quiet for a long moment, her hands twisting in her lap. “Life imprisonment,” she repeated.
“In Newgate. He’ll never be free again.”
“Good.” Eliza’s voice was firm. “He doesn’t deserve freedom. He doesn’t deserve to see the sun or breathe fresh air or experience anything resembling happiness after what he did to Abigail. To all of them.”
“I thought you’d want to know,” Imogen said. “That it’s truly over now.”
“Yes,” Eliza nodded, blinking back tears. “Abigail has justice. Finally. After all this time.” She looked at Imogen. “Thank you. For telling me.”
“There’s something else,” Helen said quietly from her chair. She’d been listening to the conversation, her expression thoughtful. “It’s about Whitfield’s daughters.”
“I didn’t know he had daughters,” Eliza said, surprised.
“From his first marriage. Two of them.” Helen’s expression was troubled. “They’re young, poor girls are barely out of the schoolroom. And now, with their father’s conviction, with the scandal…”
“They’re ruined,” Imogen finished. “Through no fault of their own. The ton has turned on them. Invitations have been withdrawn. Friendships have ended. They’re being punished for their father’s crimes.”
Eliza’s heart clenched with sympathy. “That’s not fair. They’re innocent.”
