The barrister kicked out his feet while holding the bandage on his arm. “Go to her. Your man and I will finish up here.”
“No. I will wait until everything is done. Mr. Marks, I hope you find what you are chasing, so you can settle down with a woman who makes you dream.”
“If there is such a woman, my lord.”
There was such a woman for Chatsworth Adoniram Wilkinson, the Baron of Wycliff, and he was blessed every day for having found her—both times.
…
I sat in the front parlor of Blaren House. I’d never been in here. The walls were freshly painted white. Every outer wall had large, wide windows. The furnishings were almost identical to Nineteen Fournier. My husband’s joke, but it would make it possible for me to have my own Knitting Tuesdays.
Miss Smith, Nicholas’s mistress, sat quietly drinking the tea I’d served her. The brunette was stoic, but the boy, his father’s death hurt him deeply. He sobbed a long time.
I closed the parlor curtains when I knew my attacker’s body would be carted away.
It was over.
The ones I knew that had touched me were dead. The ones I didn’t, they were dead to me. I had survived their worst, and I was whole. I was gold, the best kind, the kind that held diamonds.
“Lady Wycliff, thank you for your hospitality,” Miss Smith said as she held her son. “Mr. Wilkinson, we hadn’t seen him in months. He stopped sending money. It’s been desperate. Now we know he wasn’t himself. He was ill.”
I didn’t know what to say, and with Nicholas dead, I didn’t feel I needed to tell my truth. For a moment, I thought I saw something in her eyes that told me Miss Smith would believe me. But she needed hope, especially with her son listening. “My husband will help. He’ll make sure you two are provided for.”
The poor boy was four or five, not much different from my Chris and definitely not old enough to understand all the evil his father had done.
I was sad for boys with no papa.
I had a good papa. I hoped that somehow Miss Smith would raise her son to be good. I’d make sure the boy wasn’t forgotten.
I walked them to the door. Mr. Marks and the coroner passed us.
“Lady Wycliff.” The barrister tipped his hat.
I didn’t know if he had ever read my letter, but he seemed unbothered. I waved at him and wished him happiness. I knew his career would give him all that he needed.
Blurs that looked like my Wycliff and Lawden were at the cart.
I assumed they were talking with the coroner.
My blur turned and headed to me. I watched him walk. I loved his swagger.
Wycliff swept me into the grand hall.
“My heart, are you facing charges for Nicholas’s death?”
“No. My cousin’s admission in front of Thorpe and his attack of Mr. Marks, one of the Crown’s top barristers, made the inquest quite simple. This is over.”
Lawden disappeared down the hall.
It was just us.
This was over, truly over.
And my husband lived. And I lived.
“You don’t look happy, Wycliff.”
“I promised my father that I’d not use my hand directly.”
