Amelia felt her own throat tighten. “Thank you,” she replied softly, offering the older woman a kind smile. “Your apology means a great deal.” She hesitated before adding, “Though I am not truly the person to whom it belongs.”
Lady Provie looked puzzled.
Amelia met her gaze steadily. “Gabriel deserves to hear those words most of all.” She paused. “And so do Valerie and David.”
Lady Provie slowly nodded, emotion flickering briefly across her composed features.
“You are right,” she admitted after a long silence. “I have much to repair.”
Amelia reached across the table and gently rested her fingertips upon the older woman’s hand for only a moment. “Then begin here,” she said kindly. “Children are wonderfully forgiving when they know someone truly means it.”
As Amelia withdrew her hand, she found herself hoping that Gabriel would return home soon because for the first time since Helen’s arrival, it felt as though Anderton Manor had taken one small step back towards becoming a family again.
Where is he?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Gentlemen,” the solicitor said as he carefully placed a tray upon his desk, “I fear tea is all I possess that is capable of reviving you.” He poured each of them an exceptionally strong cup before sliding one towards Gabriel.
The day had long since broken over the village, yet Gabriel felt as though the night had never truly ended. He sat inside the offices of Mr. Carson, his family solicitor, with exhaustion settling heavily upon his shoulders and determination refusing to allow him even a moment’s peace. Every passing minute brought him closer to the meeting he had arranged with Helen that evening. If she believed she held all the cards, then she would arrive confident. Gabriel intended to ensure she left with nothing. Until then, waiting proved far more difficult than any battle he had ever fought.
Mr. Carson’s office occupied the upper floor of a sturdy Georgian brick building overlooking the village square. Shelves lined every wall from floor to ceiling, groaning beneath thick leather-bound ledgers, legal volumes, bundles of parchment tied neatly withfaded ribbons, and polished wooden boxes containing decades of estate records. A broad mahogany desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with orderly stacks of correspondence, brass scales, sealing wax, and an inkstand that had clearly survived generations of legal disputes. Tall windows admitted sunlight that struggled to warm the room while a coal fire crackled steadily inside a stone hearth near the rear wall. Beyond an open doorway lay a smaller chamber containing two simple cots, reserved for clients obliged to remain overnight during complicated negotiations or lengthy legal proceedings.
Dr. John Hunt sat opposite Gabriel, looking scarcely better rested than he did, his cravat loosened and dark circles beneath his eyes betraying a sleepless night.
“In your present condition, I recommend the cots in the back room for a brief respite,” Carson said.
Gabriel took a drink of the strong tea, then another.
Mr. Carson gestured towards the adjoining chamber. “You have both been awake the entire night,” he observed, his usually composed voice carrying unmistakable concern. “Lie down for an hour or two while we still have time.”
Gabriel stared into the dark tea before lifting his eyes. “I could not sleep even if I tried,” he replied quietly, his voice rough from fatigue. “Every time I close my eyes, I see Helen standing in my house.”
John took a long swallow of tea before rubbing both hands over his tired face. “I confess,” he muttered with a weary smile, “I should happily sleep on the floor if someone promised not to wake me until Michaelmas.”
Mr. Carson chuckled faintly despite the circumstances.
“Unfortunately, the law is inconsiderate enough to continue regardless of one’s desire for a holiday.”
Gabriel managed the smallest twitch of amusement. “A regrettable flaw in the legal profession.”
The brief humor disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. John leaned forward in his chair and rested his forearms upon his knees. “How much longer do you believe your investigator will require?” he asked, looking towards Mr. Carson. “Surely we ought to have heard something by now.”
The solicitor sighed thoughtfully before setting his own teacup aside. “Mr. Hatley is among the finest investigators I have ever employed,” he replied with quiet confidence.
Mr. Carson folded his hands atop the desk. “However,” he continued, “we asked him to locate a woman who had successfully disappeared for years under the assumption that she had drowned.” He shook his head slowly. “He only received the assignment late last night.” His expression remained calm despite the seriousness of the situation. “Even the finest bloodhound requires time to find a scent.”
Gabriel understood the logic perfectly well. Unfortunately, logic did little to soothe impatience.
His fingers tightened around the teacup. Time was precisely the one thing they lacked. Helen had already demonstrated how willing she was to manipulate, threaten, and destroy anyone standing between her and her ambitions. If she suspected Gabriel intended to outmaneuver her, there was no predicting how viciously she might respond. The thought of David or Valerie becoming the targets of her anger made something cold settle inside his chest. Failure simply was not an option. Then there were her threats to Amelia.
“He must return soon,” Gabriel said at last, setting his tea upon the desk with deliberate care. He rose from his chair and crossed towards the window, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared out across the village square below. “I am expected to meet Helen at the village tavern this evening.” His reflection stared back at him from the glass, looking older than it had the previous day. “If I fail to appear, there is no telling what she may do.”
John followed Gabriel’s gaze towards the window before glancing thoughtfully at Mr. Carson. “She is clever enough to interpret absence as resistance,” he observed quietly. “Cornered people often become dangerous.”
Gabriel nodded once. “Helen has never lacked determination.” He remembered the cold satisfaction in her smile the previous evening. “Nor imagination.” The recollection only strengthened his resolve.
Mr. Carson tapped one finger thoughtfully against the edge of his desk before leaning back in his chair. “Perhaps,” he began slowly, “there is another way.”
