Felton had to get his wife through the next week without being upset enough to walk away. Then theusthey’d just reformed would last. Keeping Gladstone out of her sight was his main priority. Cilia would never survive being made into a murderer.
CHAPTER55
CECILIA—ARRIVING ATWARWICK
Never before had I thought my cow had a murderous stare. She sort of did, though, as we stood on Warwick’s drive. Mr. Watson put a rope leash on her and began towing her away.
Moo.
“Sir, that’s not too tight?”
“Lady Gantry, she’ll be fine. I’ll make sure she plays nice with the other animals.”
Felton put his hands about my middle. Did the man think he’d already filled this womb? Well, we’d been very friendly these past few days. Lots of practice.
He held out his arm for me while he cradled my Port Royal painting. “Shall we, my dear?”
“My lord, I hope we have not arrived too late. Tramel will enjoy this one.”
Felton put a palm to my cheek. “Things get crazed and confusing in grief. We’ll get through this together. No separating, no running.”
“Then let’s say goodbye to Tramel together.”
“Yes, Cilia. I need you for that.”
“And I need you to keep us safe.” I put my knife into his pocket. “See, I won’t stab at Gladstone again.”
“My father took your knife and cut him. He told me.”
I grabbed his coat, scrunching up the fabric that had my weapon. “But I wanted it done. Tramel saved me that day. He saved us by not letting me go through with it. Yet, now I have to look at Gladstone and know what he’s done.”
He scooped me up, pressed me close. His heat warming everything in me. “I won’t let him or anyone near you. We’ll stay in the studio.”
Setting my boots down, he put my hand in his and we walked into Warwick.
This place, the walls, the gilded trim, these were the first things to notice. The servants in silver appeared. Then the quiet hit. Warwick was always quiet.
“Felton . . . you’ve returned. You’ve both returned.” That high-pitched voice belonged to Lady Jane. She fluttered down the stairs in a coconut-white gown. Her frown was longer than her train.
“I’m glad you’re back, brother. I’m surprised. Nice to see you—”
“Don’t trouble yourself. My lord, let’s go to Tramel.” I wasn’t in the mood for her lukewarm words. I took my painting from Felton and headed to the stairs.
His beautiful daughters ran out from a parlor. Little cherubs in India print, blue and emerald gowns, jumped up and down. This noise I missed.
Amelia clapped and leapt at me. “Mrs. Cecilia!! Papa, you brought her home.”
Agatha started to come forward, but then she stopped. “He said he would. We never doubted our father.”
I understood the girl’s hurt and wanted to bundle her into my arms. “Sorry,” I choked out, but words changed nothing. I walked out on Felton; that meant I’d left them too.
Setting the painting to the floor, I reached for this girl. “I had some things to do, but I’ve returned.”
“For how long?” Lady Jane clicked her teeth, but I didn’t care about her, and she wasn’t going to make me feel worse.
Stoic Agatha took one step and I dashed the rest, then scooped her up. “Sorry. So sorry.”
When her arms tightened about my neck, I stooped and grabbed a better hold. This felt like what my husband said in the carriage,us.The hold was us.
