A knock sounded at the door, drawing my attention, and Mr. Gregory stepped inside, holding a silver platter.
“Pardon me, but a letter has just arrived for you, Miss Moore,” he said from the doorway.
Who would write to me here? My stomach rolled as I moved my heavy feet across the room to meet him. The only person who knew my whereabouts, who might need to write to me at all, was Lord Gray.
But as I took the letter from Mr. Gregory, the scrawl was not Lord Gray’s. And yet the address was Gray House, Brighton.
“Please summon my maid,” I said, hurrying toward the stairs. My intuition told me something was very wrong.
Closing the door to my bedchamber, I stopped in the center of the room, the letter weighing a thousand pounds in my shaking hand.
“Miss Moore, what is it?” Mary burst through the door, breathless. “What is wrong?”
“I have a letter from Gray House. But it is not from Lord Gray.”
Mary took the letter from my hand, eyes scrutinizing the words. “This is Mr. Jones’s hand. Why would he write to you?”
My heart sank, fearing the worst. I took the letter back from Mary, slowly pulling the fold and breaking the seal.
Mary stood beside me, waiting for my reaction. Any fate I assumed would also be hers.
Miss Moore,
Forgive me for writing to you while you are away, but I felt it necessary considering the circumstances. Lord Gray’s condition has worsened since you left us. He is now bedridden, and the doctor predicts he has but days left before his lungs fail entirely. Because of this, I have penned a letter summoning your cousin, Trenton.
I fear this is finally the end. None of us imagined Lord Gray’s illness would progress this quickly. I implore you to find a means of securing yourselves while you have the chance. There will be nothing left for you here when you return.
I have included a letter from Lord Gray, written a few days ago. I am sure he meant to send it.
If I may be of service to you in any way, rest assured I will do everything in my power to help you and your sister.
Ever faithfully,
your servant,
T. Jones
“Miss?” Mary touched my arm, and I realized I was crying.
“It’s Lord Gray,” I said. “He will die any day. What shall we do, Mary? Our time is running out faster than I imagined. I am not prepared.”
Mary squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. “I feared it, miss. More than anything, I feared this very thing when we left.”
“There is another letter,” I said, wiping my tears.
I set Mr. Jones’s letter aside and unfolded the second paper. Lord Gray’s last letter. What would he have to say to me? One last jab at my family name? I tore at the seal, bracing myself.
Amelia, Clara:
I do not wish to convey regrets, for I am ready to die, and I have been for some time. I only wish to answer for how my death will affect you.
I promised your mother I would see that you both were secured when you came of age. It does not surprise me in the least that you have failed on your own. Since I cannot recommend you to any of my associates for marriage, I have tasked my barrister the burden of finding suitable employment for you so I may meet your mother with a clear conscience.
Upon my death, if you are not married, he will contact you to make arrangements. Your things will be sent for his care until you are ready for them. Do not burden him with your needs until then.
With this letter, I end our association. I do not need your pity, nor your false appreciation for the life I gave you after your mother died. It was all for her. My only regret is that I did not save her that night after your father ruined her reputation. Had I married her then, I would not have the burden of you now.
Lord Robert Gray
“Miss Amelia?” Mary said quietly.
“We are finally alone,” I answered, my sadness hardening into bitterness. “We have nowhere to go.”
I wadded the paper into a ball as armor wrapped itself around my throbbing heart. “We will be all right, Mary. Please—speak not a word to Clara.”
Mary wiped away a tear of her own. Had she known what was to become of us? “Of course. Not a word.”
“And, Mary?”
Her face was red, and I knew she wished to escape, to process the news alone. “Yes, miss?”
“I need an audience with Lady Demsworth right away.”
Chapter Thirteen
I stood outside Lady Demsworth’s personal sitting room, waiting as her maid introduced me.
“Miss Moore.” Lady Demsworth beckoned me to join her by the window. The room was quaint, but bright, with a small chandelier reflecting the sunlight like a thousand tiny stars.
“Thank you for seeing me, Lady Demsworth,” I said, sitting beside her. My hands were shaking. “Forgive me for interrupting your time with Mrs. Turnball.”
“I am so pleased to have a moment to visit with you privately. I’ll confess that I’ve thought of nothing else but how I can repay you for your determination in saving Winter.”
I adjusted my skirts nervously. “Actually, that is precisely why I’ve called for you. I need your help.”
Lady Demsworth clasped her hands in her lap. “Please do not be shy, Miss Moore. I am wholly at your disposal and will be the soul of discretion.”
Having known her for so short a time, could I trust Lady Demsworth with my secret? Would I be ruining Clara by admitting my need? Whether we were ruined now or later, we could not change our circumstance, and truth always found a path one way or another.
“Please,” I said, before I lost the nerve. “Do not feel in the least obligated toward me. My endeavor with Winter is unequal to a favor of this magnitude. All I ask is for your connections, and if none exist that prove of benefit, I am satisfied solely by you entertaining the thought.”
She smiled. “Go on, dear. You have my complete attention.”
I stole a glance at the closed door behind me and forced my hands to remain still. Whatever happened next was completely out of my control, but I had to ask.
“I think you know why Clara and I are here. We were so grateful for the invitation, especially Clara, and we’ve quite enjoyed our time with your company. But there are things that Clara does not know about our future, things that I have only just been told, and I fear we will find ourselves in greater need financially sooner than expected. And so I must ask—do you have any connections that could offer a living or—”
“My dear girl,” Lady Demsworth stopped me, grasping my arm with a motherly touch I hadn’t felt in years, “will Lord Gray leave you nothing?”