“That’s a risk we’re willing to take,” Viola told him.
Officer Ericson hesitated briefly and then went to examine his bookcase. He pulled a large leather-bound volume from one of the shelves and dropped it on top of his desk. “Let me check my records.” He leafed through the pages, pausing occasionally before continuing. Viola held her breath until he finally stopped. “Here it is. Olivia Jones’s report. Her parents verified her identity. They came here to inquire about her when she went missing and were interviewed by Officer Jarvis.” Ericson looked up. “He’ll be in later in the day, so I’ll be sure to have a word with him about this.”
“I’ll pay fifty pounds plus expenses for any information linking Tremaine to this crime,” Henry said. He produced his calling card and handed it to Ericson. “I trust you’ll keep us informed?”
Ericson nodded. “Of course. But I cannot guarantee the result you’re hoping for. Not with a duke involved and not with the number of years that have transpired since this happened.”
“Understood.”
Viola and Henry took their leave. “You didn’t tell him why you believe Tremaine might have killed Miss Jones,” Viola said when they were back in the carriage.
“Neither did you.” He reached for her hand and she twined her fingers with his.
“I wasn’t sure if it would be helpful.”
“Probably not. Carlton Guthrie is not a reliable source.”
“But you believe him.”
Henry kept quiet for a long while before saying, “When I consider Lady Beatrice’s unlikely death, the way Robert has treated you, the ease with which he can fly into a rage and the demimondaine whose face I believe he once bruised, I am increasingly inclined to believe that what Guthrie says could be true.”
Satisfied, Viola leaned her head against his shoulder. “Where are we off to now?” She’d failed to hear him give instructions to the driver after he handed her up into the carriage.
“To see the archbishop about a special license.” When she tilted her chin up to meet his gaze, he captured her mouth in a tender kiss that made every tight muscle in Viola’s body relax into supple languor. “After that,” he added with a murmur, “we’ll find a vicar with a minute to spare.”
“Are you sure you want us there?” Harriet asked. She and Diana were helping Viola dress for her wedding which was to take place at St. George’s in little more than an hour. “We’re not very respectable.”
“Nobody needs to know that save me and Henry.” When she’d told him what her companions had once done for a living, she’d been prepared to fight his insistence that she distance herself from them completely.
Instead he’d been curious. Furthermore, he’d said he respected and admired her for choosing to help Diana and Harriet instead of turning her back on them. “Just be cautious,” he’d advised. “Keeping their past a secret is in their best interest as well.”
She’d agreed with him wholeheartedly.
“You are my friends,” she said in response to Harriet’s comment. “Celebrating the most important day of my life with you would mean a great deal.”
“We shall miss you,” Diana said as she placed the last pin in Viola’s hair. Viola reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “We will see each other at the hospital every Sunday when you host the women’s support group and whenever you wish to visit for tea.”
Viola stood so she could look at herself in the cheval glass. A smile tugged at her lips. The image reflected back at her was no longer of an unremarkable woman with dull eyes and lifeless hair. Right now, dressed for her wedding, she saw that she was really quite stunning.
Turning, she embraced both her friends. Once she was married, she would be going home with Henry, which meant these were her last moments in the house she had shared with them.
“Thank you, Viola, for all you have done for us,” Harriet said.
Viola forced back the tears that threatened. “Indeed it is I who should thank you for advising me and listening to me when I needed it most.”
“Even though we warned you against becoming involved with Mr. Lowell?” Diana asked with a smile.
Viola grinned. “You had my best intentions at heart.” She smoothed the white muslin of her wedding gown. It had been ordered two days earlier, immediately after they acquired the special license, and had been delivered by the modiste herself that very morning.
“We were wrong though, weren’t we?” Harriet said.
“We all were,” Viola agreed. Henry was not the scoundrel the rumors claimed him to be, but rather the most perfect man she had ever had the pleasure of knowing. Marrying him felt right and she looked forward to every second of it with fervor.
“Relax,” Yates whispered in Henry’s ear when he finally stood at the altar awaiting his bride.
Continuous tremors rolled through Henry, disturbing his nerves and making him restless.Where was she?He drew a deep breath and shifted his feet while making a desperate effort to maintain a calm appearance. According to Yates, he was apparently failing in that regard.
“I am trying,” he muttered, to which Yates responded with a stifled bit of laughter.
