Still, Kincaid–with Joanna’s help–gave them a brief summary on his findings.
It appeared that Rosemary was right. Lady Aston had not been well for a number of years. In fact, her husband revealed she’d been in and out of a discreet medical facility intended for those incapable of caring for themselves due to issues of the mind. Over the last few weeks, he claimed she’d seemed better. Lucid and calm.Solucid and calm that he’d agreed to bring her to the wedding after she had presented him with (forged) invitations.
In trying to paint himself as an innocent party, he said that at first he’d tried to keep her at home. And when he finally did agree to take her to the wedding, it was only because she had vowed to him that she wanted to use it as an opportunity to make amends for the awful things she’d done. Including having Sterling’s sister kidnapped and paying his mistress an appalling amount of money to stage her own death.
The marquess did an excellent job of painting himself as just another victim of his wife’s nefarious actions. Right up until he accidentally revealed, upon further questioning, that he was the one who had blocked the door with an armoire after Lady Aston kidnapped Rosemary.
Love, he’d tearfully admitted when Joanna had demanded why he had gone along with his wife’s evil scheme. He had helped her because he loved her. And he’d chosen not to see her madness for what it was because of the very same reason. Which put him in the unique position of being both a villainanda victim. A weak man who had followed his heart straight into ruin without any consideration for the pain that his actions–or lack thereof– would create.
It was decided that the safest place for Lady Aston was the same facility that Lord Aston had recently taken her out of (against her doctor’s orders, as it turned out). He’d convinced himself that she was better because that was whatheneeded her to be. But it was readily apparent that barring a miracle, Lady Aston was going to require medical care and supervision for the rest of her life. A mind wasn’t a bone to be set and, sadly, hers was twisted beyond recognition. While it couldn’t be healed, perhaps, with time, it could be helped. While ensuring those she had hurt would be safe as well.
Kincaid considered bringing Lord Aston back to London and turning him over a magistrate to face charges as an accomplice in his wife’s crimes. Ultimately, however, it was decided that a public trial would only create more scandal and unnecessary heartache. Instead, the marquess agreed to leave England entirely. Banishment was a harsh, but fitting punishment for a man whose entire self-worth was defined by what others thought of him. Being forced to live without the constant admiration of his peers was a prison in and of itself.
As for Rosemary and Sterling, theydidfinally get to enjoy their much anticipated wedding night. Again. And again….and again.
The next morning, they woke to a damp, drizzly day which left them with no inclination to leave their bed. Propping herself up on a mountain of pillows, Rosemary cracked a yawn (neither of them had gotten much sleep) and giggled when Sir Reginald leapt up onto the bed and promptly made himself a comfortable nest in between the two newlyweds.
“He’s in my spot,” Sterling said, eyeing the squirrel with narrowed eyes.
She scratched Sir Reginald between his ears. “He doesn’t think so.”
Grumbling, Sterling crossed his arms. “How long do these things live?”
“According to recent scientific findings summarized inGardner’s Chronicle, with the right care and in an environment free from predators, squirrels have the potential to live…forever, really.” Only the twinkle in Rosemary’s gaze indicated she was jesting.
But Sterling found no amusement in her words. Just a deep, profound gratitude.
“The rat saved your life,” he said gruffly. “Forever sounds good to me.”
Epilogue
“Istopped into visit Evie the other day,” Rosemary began. As they did every morning since returning from their honeymoon on the coast of France where they had played in the ocean like children during the day and committed a blush-inducing number of wicked sensual acts by night, she and Sterling were having breakfast together.
It was a wonderful way to start the day. Some mornings they spoke at great length. Other mornings they were quiet, content to bask in each other’s company while they drank their coffee or read the paper or simply gazed out the window at the falling rain. Most of all, it was a time to be appreciative for everything that they had. The most important of which was each other.
For as long as she lived, Rosemary would never forget the terror she’d felt when she was locked in that closet. Unable to see. Unable to move. How frightened she had been! But in hindsight, after the initial shock of the entire ordeal had faded, she came to realize that her fear hadn’t stemmed from dying. Rather, she’d been afraid of losing Sterling. Of losingthis.
This beautiful life that they had created.
That theywerecreating.
One morning at a time.
Nudging his plate aside, Sterling rested his elbows on the table. “How is the mother-to-be?”
“My feet are as fat as potatoes,” Evie had moaned as she’d laid in the parlor with a damp rag draped across her temple. “My belly is the size of a watermelon. I run out of breath walking up the steps, and I cannot go twenty minutes before rushing into the water closet. Carrying a baby is awful. Whoever says otherwise is not to be trusted.”
Rosemary bit the inside of her cheek. “In excellent health and good spirits. Glowing, really.”
“Is that so?” Sterling said with a great deal of skepticism. “Because Weston mentioned that she tried to kill him with a fire poker when he offered to bring her a glass of water.”
“I, ah, believe the fire poker slipped.”
“Yes, but why was she holding one in the first place?”
“To kill Weston,” Rosemary sighed. “But in Evie’s defense, she has terrible aim.”
“That’s not a defense, it’s an admission of guilt.”
