Sipping his coffee, Justin told Alice everything. He relayed the story about Cordelia falling off her horse, upchucking on his boots, about the promise of treasure and the rival searches that ensued. He told her about the collapsed abbey and the letters they found (leaving out the more salacious bits). He even admitted the rejected marriage proposals, and Cordelia’s plan to accept Rhys Billings.
It felt freeing to unburden himself like this, to lay out everything that had happened to him, to ask the advice of a parent, rather than seeking the counsel of a friend. When he finished, Alice raised her eyebrows, though not in judgment.
“Goodness,” she said. “That’s quite the story.”
“I feel like I’m living in some society lady’s garish romance manuscript,” he muttered. “Though I think the best course of action is selling everything. I’m no duke, Alice. I never will be.”
To his surprise, his adoptive mother reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “Hear me when I say, you might not have been born into nobility, but you are the most dignified, gracious man I know.”
Justin laughed lightly. “That’s only because the company I keep isn’t exactly the upper crust.”
Alice shook her head. “Your father raised you based on his ideals. Ideals that the duke himself realized. We should have told you about his help, but the situation was so complicated at the time. All that matters was the two of them made their peace before they both died.”
Justin remained quiet.
“Whatever happens to this manor house… whether you choose to live here or not, it’s important you make the same peace with yourself.” Alice’s eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
“I made my peace with it long ago,” Justin replied.
Alice smiled weakly. “Running as far and hard as you can from your past is not the same as making peace with it. Until you do, you’ll keep running directly into yourself. Believe me, no one knew that better than Charles.”
Justin’s stomach fluttered as he considered her words. “I… I don’t know how,” he whispered. “It might be this way for me, forever.”
Alice’s grip tightened on his hand. “It will get easier, my love. But know this, from the moment I met you, I knew that you were special to me, and that you deserved a better chance than you got. Charles thought the same, and even the late duke. We only gave you a small push, and from the little we offered you, you multiplied it. Everyone around you already thinks you’re worthy; now you have to believe it yourself.”
Justin let her words settle over him, feeling as though something unlocked in his chest. He swept some crumbs off the wooden table. “That was quite the speech,” he murmured.
Alice raised an eyebrow at him but returned the smile. At that moment, Dolly bustled into the kitchen, yelping when she saw the two figures crouched at the table.
“Bless me!” she said, breathing heavily. “I rather thought you were a pair of ghosts!”
Justin and Alice burst out laughing. “I might as well be,” he replied, standing up. “But I’m starting to feel a little more corporeal again.”
*
The day ofthe ball had finally arrived. It was strange, Cordelia mused to herself, that this was to happen now. It had been spoken of so much and there had been so much planning done that she hardly believed the day was upon them. She’d wokenearly and was surprised to find that she was without the dark sense of foreboding she’d had for the last few mornings.
Rhys had sent a letter via a courier, informing her that he would arrive early and he would arrange a time to speak with the Duke of Rothesay. She had no idea how he had found out about her plan to accept his proposal, but she figured that Lady Billings was to blame.
There was a knock at the door and it creaked open. No doubt it was Portia, brandishing the latest installment of the Lady Prudence article. Cordelia closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, steeling herself for the latest accusations about her character, but instead there was silence.
“Hello?” Cordelia said, sitting up.
“M-Morning.”
She was surprised to see Hermione standing in the doorway. She shut the door behind her and stepped fully into the bedroom. She was carrying a stack of papers in her hand and she held them up. “I-I-I think I m-might k-kn-know where the R-R-othesay t-t-treasure is.”
“What?”
Hermione’s cheeks reddened as she nodded her head. “I-I-I didn’t m-mean t-t-to, of course,” she began. “B-but I n-noticed something r-r-rather odd.”
Cordelia kicked off the covers and jammed her feet into her slippers, taking the papers out of Hermione’s hand. They were the letters that Cordelia had dropped on the duke’s desk a few days ago. Her hands shook as she saw that Hermione had circled some letters, crossing out others.
“What is the meaning of this?” Cordelia demanded.
Hermione seemed to be fortifying herself to launch into a long explanation, when Cordelia’s bedroom door creaked open.
“Plans to reveal all… whatever does she mean by that?” Portia hummed to herself, the day’s paper concealing the lowerhalf of her face. “Perhaps our dear Lady Prudence has finally decided to reveal her wretched self. Wouldn’t that be a scandal, especially with no one to write about it.”
