Chapter Twenty-Six
Proposing to My Wife
Wycliff’s carriage couldn’t arrive at Nineteen Fournier fast enough. Ruth had sent for him. He had the ring in his pocket and a marriage license freshly signed by the archbishop.
Ruth’s note looked rushed. Had she just come to realize that they were meant to be? To marry her again couldn’t undo what she’d suffered, but it was a start. He’d make her happy. He would.
His carriage stopped outside Nineteen Fournier, but his excitement dimmed. Another carriage sat out front.
He had a bad feeling.
Lawden saluted. “Good luck, my lord.”
Wycliff nodded and wished luck upon himself. “Be alert. Uncle hasn’t been jailed. And Nickie is wounded. That’s a lethal combination.”
He charged up the steps, anticipating Ruth in his arms…his bed…his life, forever.
Clancy opened the door. “Afternoon, my lord.”
Like normal, he took Wycliff’s hat and cape.
The fellow had his hands out as if to take his sjambok, but Wycliff waved him off. “I’ll keep it.”
The sjambok was an extension of his power, and he was too on edge to lower his guard. Nothing was settled. “Where’s Mrs. Wilky?”
“The parlor, my lord. Shall I announce you?”
“No. I’ll go to her. Thank you, Clancy.” Wycliff straightened the daisy he’d put in his buttonhole. Seizing a big breath, he pushed open the door. “Mrs. Wilky.”
She didn’t look up. Her arm was about Mrs. Johnson. Both women wept.
The sound of it, throaty, whimpering, reminded him of Cicely the night Mama had died. She’d been so young, but Wycliff had had to comfort her while his father had made arrangements. It had been many hours, too many before he’d been alone to grieve. He’d met Ruth on the docks that night. It was a sign.
“Ladies…”
There was no acknowledgment, but Mrs. Johnson’s sobs turned more violent and angry, if tears could be anything but sorrowful.
He closed the door again hard. “Ladies.” He went in front of them and stooped to eye level with the seated women. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson, for your loss.”
“Are you?” The widow came at him, arms swinging.
He caught her hands and pulled them to her sides. “I’m sorry. Johnson could’ve reinvented himself with your strength.”
She tore away. “I wouldn’t have to be in this position if you had helped, if you had eased the credit.”
“Johnson had friends, the men who helped him build his stolen empire. He shouldn’t have needed an enemy’s mercy to survive. Sometimes judgement has to happen.”
“Those friends will all be bankrupted. That’s my only consolation. For Ruth’s sake, I hope you are as clever as you appear. I heard the Wilkinsons. They came to kiss hands and say sorry. I know fakes.” She went to the table and picked up a ledger. “They came for this. I brought it to Ruth instead.”
“Yes, and she brought a message from Madame Talease, too.”
His poor Ruth looked distant and shaken.
Mrs. Johnson handed him the ledger. “If you can use this to bury Soulden Wilkinson like you did my husband, do it.”
The widow moved to the door.
“Mrs. Johnson, here is something to help with expenses.” He went to his purse and pulled out five guineas. “Again, I am sorry.”
