Jaclyn wondered if she should mention that Amberwood had mentioned to her that Lord Finley was to visit. She could not shake the feeling inside of her that the duke had some ill intentions planned for the marquess. He had not said anything outright. It was just... Her instincts screamed at her he wanted some sort of retribution and the marquess would be only the beginning of it all.
“I suppose you are correct,” Jaclyn said quietly, her voice low but resolute. “I am glad we finally discussed this. I feel lighter because of it.”
“I am as well,” Charlotte agreed softly, her eyes downcast for a moment. “And from now on I think we should make a new pact—to tell each other everything. I don’t wish for there to be secrets between us any longer.”
Jaclyn gave her friend a sad smile. “I can agree to that. You are my dearest friend and there is no one I trust more than you.”
Charlotte returned the smile, though it was tinged with a sadness that mirrored Jaclyn’s own. “We do, and that’s something, I suppose.”
As the minutes passed, the weight of their conversation settled deeper into the room. Jaclyn could feel the sense of uncertainty rising within her, but there was something more—a strange, quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, this difficult truth would lead them to a new chapter in their lives. A chapter where the past didn’t dictate their future but merely served as a lesson to learn from.
Charlotte’s hand, still firmly clasped in Jaclyn’s, brought comfort. A silent promise that despite the tangled web of their lives, they would face whatever came together, just as they always had. But Jaclyn couldn’t escape the gnawing sense of unease that clung to her, the feeling that this was only the beginning. Her thoughts kept returning to the Duke of Amberwood—the man who had been thrust into this mess because of her foolish brother’s actions… And now the duke seemed to hold power over them all. The weight of his presence was unmistakable, and she couldn’t help but wonder what retribution he might seek from Lord Finley or her brother, after the duel. She did not know all the details from that night, but Barrett had come home without any injuries. Somehow, she did not think the duke fared so well.
She glanced at Charlotte, noting the somber look in her eyes. “I wish I could believe that your husband could prevent Amberwood from taking some sort of action,” Jaclyn murmured, her voice tinged with concern. “But I am afraid… Do you think... do you think the duke might seek vengeance for what happened?”
Charlotte hesitated for a long moment, then slowly nodded. “He is a proud man, Jaclyn,” she said softly. “He will not forgive easily, and neither would I, were I in his position. While I do not know him well… Declan does, and he trusts him. I suspect that, if there is any retribution to be had, he will act in his own time. The question is not whether he will act... but when.”
Jaclyn shivered at the thought. Despite the warmth of the room, the mention of the duke’s potential retribution sent an uncomfortable chill up her spine. She had no doubts that the duke would seek justice, but whether that justice would be fair or ruthless remained to be seen. With Lord Finley in residence at Easton Abbey, the stakes were higher than Jaclyn could imagine.
“I think,” Charlotte continued, her voice softening, “we need to be ready for whatever comes next. It is not just our brothers we have to worry about—it’s the consequences of their actions. We cannot control what they do, but we can decide how we handle it.”
Jaclyn looked at Charlotte, her heart swelling with affection for her dearest friend. Charlotte’s calm, steady resolve was exactly what Jaclyn needed. The two of them, together, could face whatever storms loomed on the horizon.
“You are right,” Jaclyn said firmly, her voice strengthened by the support Charlotte had always given her. “Please let me know if anything changes.”
Charlotte smiled, a small but genuine curve of her lips. “Of course.”
The tension in the room began to ease as the silence settled comfortably between them. Jaclyn felt lighter, knowing that their pact—one of complete honesty and trust—was finally solidified. For now, though, Jaclyn would trust in the strength of their friendship. That was something that could withstand even the fiercest storm. The Duke of Amberwood might have a hand in her fate, but it was her own heart and choices that would guide her through the coming challenges. And Jaclyn was determined to see it through, come what may.
Four
Kingston made his way down the stairs, the familiar surroundings of his friend’s estate offering him little comfort that morning. He headed directly to the morning room where those in residence at Easton Abbey could have their first meal of the day. He entered the room and stopped short. The room was not empty. Sunlight streamed through the large windows of the room, casting a soft glow over the polished mahogany table. The scent of fresh-baked bread and the rich aroma of tea filled the air, a welcome balm after the restless night. His thoughts were clouded with a growing sense of dissatisfaction—his mind plagued by matters he could not quite shake. It did not help that he would not be afforded the solitude he usually found in the morning as the Marquess and Marchioness of Easton did not join him early.
He glared at Lord Finley, who was seated at the head of the table, sipping tea with an air of studied nonchalance. His face, though relaxed, held a certain coolness, as though he were waiting for Kingston’s entrance as one would await the arrival of any important guest. His breakfast had already been served, and the steam rising from his teacup gave off a warmth that seemed to mock Kingston’s current mood.
“Good day, Your Grace,” Lord Finley greeted, his voice carrying the polite but distant tone of someone well-practiced in social niceties. He didn’t stand, but his words were courteous enough. That did not stop them from irritating Kingston. “How are you on this fine morning?”
Kingston nodded curtly but made no immediate response as he seated himself at the table. He was still deciding what his next words should be, all the while observing Finley closely. The man was a snake in the grass, and Kingston had no desire to engage in pleasant conversation, especially with everything that had transpired between them. It was not all Finley’s fault, but he had not been much help either. He knew his friend and if he had tried he could have persuaded Oakley that the bloody duel was a mistake, that he had misjudged the situation.
A servant quickly approached with a steaming pot of tea and poured some in a cup for Kingston. He accepted the cup, not taking his eyes off Lord Finley. He could feel the other man’s gaze on him, steady and unbothered, as he sipped from his own teacup. "Is there any word on the London Times?" Kingston finally asked. He took a small sip of his tea, his gaze never wavering from Lord Finley’s face. The Times would be days out of date as it took a while for it to arrive so far in the country, but he still liked to read them.
“I’m certain we can retrieve it, Your Grace,” the footman said smoothly. He gestured toward another servant, who nodded and quickly left to fetch the paper.
Kingston could feel the weight of the tension pressing between them, but it was Finley who broke first, his voice casual, as if the events of the past few days were merely an afterthought. “I do hope that the injury you received from the duel does not continue to trouble you,” he said, his tone surprisingly sincere, though it carried an undercurrent of something Kingston could not quite place. “It would be most unfortunate if it caused you any lingering discomfort, especially considering the circumstances.” He cleared his throat. “I do not want to burden my dear sister over this. She is newly married, as you are aware. She should not have to worry about any discord between me and you.”
Kingston’s jaw tightened at the mention of the duel. He didn’t want to discuss the injury—not with Finley, not with anyone. The wound had been painful, yes, and it had taken longer than he cared to admit to heal. But what irked him the most was that he had been so damn foolish to get into the duel in the first place. Lord Oakley had fired too soon—an unforgivable breach of honor—and yet, Kingston had been forced to remain silent about it, not wanting to cause a scene. It still bothered him—more than he was willing to admit. His irritation grew as Finley’s words sank in. Was this man truly trying to find some way to make himself appear sympathetic? To salvage whatever vestige of goodwill remained after the duel? Kingston took a deep breath, steadying himself. He would not let Finley’s words provoke him. He had more important matters to attend to than dwelling on his injuries.
“I am fine,” he said curtly, avoiding eye contact. “It was nothing, truly.” He could feel Lord Finley’s eyes on him, assessing, but he refused to meet the gaze. Instead, he busied himself with the tea, letting the warmth of the liquid soothe the frustration bubbling within him.
“I hope you do not hold any ill will toward me or Lord Oakley,” Finley continued, his voice still carefully measured. “It was a misunderstanding, nothing more—he cares deeply about his sister and when he thought you had attempted to dishonor her...” His voice trailed off and silence stretched between them. Then he continued, “I trust it will not affect our future interactions.”
Kingston’s fingers tightened around his teacup, his frustration mounting. He did not trust Lord Finley, nor did he care to discuss matters of honor with him. That duel would always be a sore subject for him, and he would not agree to anything. He still had not decided how he wished to handle the situation with Finley or Oakley. The fact that Finley thought he could dismiss it with a few words made Kingston’s blood boil.
“There is nothing to discuss,” Kingston replied coldly, leaning back in his chair, forcing his tone to remain even. “The matter is settled.” At least for the moment… Time would tell if he could truly let the matter go or not.
For a long moment, Finley said nothing, seemingly content to watch Kingston simmer. The silence hung between them like a heavy fog, neither man willing to break it first. Finally, the servant returned with the London Times, placing it neatly in front of Kingston. The words of the paper were a welcome distraction, but the tension remained. As he picked up the paper, he could feel the weight of Lord Finley’s gaze, and he knew this conversation was far from over.
“I am glad we were able to have this conversation, Your Grace,” Finley said with a polite smile, but there was a glint in his eyes that Kingston could not ignore. “I will be here for a few more days, and I trust we can leave our past disagreements behind us. For my sister, you understand.”
