Page 3

Chapter One

Scarlett

A sea of black surrounds us. Black suits, black dresses, and even black hats. I stand here, between my two best mates, in a lovely black dress, the woven fabric the same dark shade as the broken heart barely beating in my chest. An invisible veil of guilt hangs over me as I think about the one person who’s not here and should be. Willow isn’t here to say a final goodbye to her aunt Wendy, and I can’t help but wonder how much of that falls on me. We stand shoulder to shoulder, our fingertips brushing as my body shakes in a hopeless effort to keep the tears locked away. They trail down my face, a curtain of shame. Thankfully, I decided to forgo my Dior mascara today. The thought of the sticky black tears marring my skin makes me shiver, even in the warm spring sunlight.

Piers wraps his arm around my waist as Teddy slips off his jacket and places it over my trembling shoulders. Even as close as we all are, they don’t realize the chill has nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with me. Nevertheless, we stand as a unit on one side of the pale, silvery-blue casket being lowered into the muddy earth.

The minister reads a beautiful scripture about death not being the end. One can hope there’s more than this, even for people like me.

Across from us stands James Black, Wendy’s husband. He didn’t love us the same way, but he provided for us, cared for us even. I hadn’t seen him in years, until Piers recently took over his struggling company. Things didn’t end well with him and Piers the night Willow left—for any of us, really. It hasn’t been the same since. The acquisition was like petro on a smoldering fire.

Felling James’ heated stare on me, I don’t dare look up. Piers tenses beside me, feeling it too. The minister now talks about how much Wendy loved all the children of Everlend, and how it was her life’s mission to build a home for the lost and broken. James mumbles, and anger radiates from Piers in waves.

James was always a proud, jealous man. But the hatred he felt for Piers was something else entirely. Before Wendy met James, it’s no secret she loved Peter Nichols, Piers’ father. Even though she chose James, Piers paid for the sins of his father just by being born. Wendy loved Piers fiercely. After all, he’s the piece of Peter that remained after he was killed at sea. Wendy and James could never have children of their own, so we were her kids. Her orphaned niece, Willow, Piers, Teddy, me…and all the lost and broken boys and girls of London, who were lucky enough to grace the doorstep of Everlend Estate.

How someone could be so heartless they would resent those very children for taking the love and affection he wanted from her, I’ll never understand. My heart may be dark and broken, but at least I have one.

Dirt being tossed onto the casket catches my attention. The way it covers the white garden roses, tainting them, makes me terribly sad.

Inside that shiny box, covered in white blooms and brown dirt, lies the only real mother any of us ever had. There’s a crowd full of mourners standing behind us who also loved Wendy Darling like a mum. Who wouldn’t be standing here today had it not been for her love and compassion.

Things she showed me countless times, even when I didn’t deserve it. She taught me about forgiveness. She gave it when I was too cowardly to ask for it, when I didn’t think I needed to, and even when I didn’t think myself worthy. I thought I would have more time to thank her, to tell her how much I loved her for being one of the few people who saw good in me. A sob rips through my throat at the thought of disappointing her. Now that she’s gone, will the light fade completely, if no one else can see it?

At the conclusion of the service, I ask Piers and Teddy to take me home, and we quickly depart. On the way, we stop off at a pub for a drink to honor Wendy. As badly as we would like to return to the estate for the wake, we know it’s probably not the best idea. James wouldn’t want us there, so we respect his wishes and stay away.

“To Wendy.” Piers lifts his glass in salute.

“To Wendy,” Teddy and I reply, clinking the overflowing glasses before downing the whiskey.

It burns as it goes down, but I welcome it—and the numbness that will soon follow.

#####

Cohen

I stand back, lost in the crowd of mourners, doing my best to blend in. Another chap in a dark suit here to pay his respects. Not sure what I hope to accomplish by coming here today other than maybe a chance to see the person responsible for ruining my life. Or should I say people?

One of those people I grew up blaming is now lying in the cold earth, and after hearing all the amazing things people had to say about what a wonderful woman she was, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been given the entire story. I might never know the truth now.

When my London contact sent me the link to the obituary, my first thought was it couldn’t be right… James’ wife wasn’t old. But I guess cancer doesn’t discriminate, and there it was right there on my screen, a photo of Wendy Darling Black, a list of the wonderful things she did, the life she lived, including starting Everlend, a country estate that she transformed into a home for the lost children of London. I was so torn between what I was supposed to feel and what I was reading, until my eyes found the words my heart was looking for… survived by husband, James Black.

Seeing his name there, set off a trigger in me. I knew I needed answers. So I made up my mind to go to London.

It’s no secret I had planned my revenge on him for years, dreamed of his downfall, but I never wanted his demise to be at the expense of someone else’s life.

I adjust my position until I can see him from where I’m standing. James Black. He can’t see me, but now I can see him, as he glares at a group across the grave from him. One in particular, I’m assuming is the Piers Andrew Nichols, son of Peter Nichols—James’ most hated enemy. I know all about Piers.

I know about how he grew up living in what was practically a castle. How he fell in love there and was kicked out. About the career he’s built and the life he has. I know he recently took over James’ company, seeking his own revenge—just another thing he took from me that wasn’t his to take.

I move up in the crowd to get a closer look, noticing a striking blonde flanked by Piers and another gentlemen that I don’t recognize. The blonde lifts her head at that exact moment, and blue-violet eyes filled with tears meet mine. She’s looking at me, but not seeing me. The emptiness is something I recognize. Looking away, I shift back into the crowd. I don’t know why I stay, but I do.

I keep my head down and listen to the countless tales of the children that she saved from the streets of London, a surrogate mother to so many. And their version of the story is seems like she was the hero, not the villain. Even more than a hero, it sounds like she was a saint. But even saints have a past.

I’m not heartless enough not to feel sad for the loss of her life, but being here only brings confusion, and I decide it’s best to go as the crowd begins to thin out

The service concludes with a song and a verbal invitation is extended upon the crowd for a wake meal at the estate. I doubt that invitation is extended to the likes of me, though. It would be a great chance to see the infamous Everlend estate up close, but I need a few days to get settled and formulate a plan. I’ve waited years for my chance to confront James, I’m not about to rush it.

I need to spend time gathering information and finding out everything I can about him and those closest to him, starting with the attorney handling the estate. With Wendy gone, it’ll be time for James to name a new heir and put his own plan in place—a plan I vow to make myself a part of.

As the crowd parts, I see him. His head is down as he walks, and I notice his black hair is peppered with a distinguished dusting of gray. As if he can sense me watching, he looks up, and our eyes lock. I shouldn’t have stayed so long, but what’s done is done.

Lifting my chin, I smile and hold his gaze, challenging him as he squints in confusion, studying me.

Realization dawns, but is quickly replaced with shock. Then his eyes gloss over and roll back in his head. Panic and confusion ensue, and someone screams as James falls to the ground.

I should use the distraction to make my escape, but I’m frozen in place. Seeing James laying on the ground doesn’t bring satisfaction or even relief.

I feel something, but it’s an emotion I’m not entirely familiar with. Not quite sadness, maybe a little disappointment. I pray it’s nothing serious as I turn away to leave.

Because you can’t get revenge on a dead man.