Mother issued a sigh. “I’m only glad no one discovered that John had been at the Northcott estate on the night of that terrible fire. I shall never forget seeing him covered in all that soot and ash, stumbling in here and sobbing at your feet. Quite alarming, indeed.”
Jane startled. “My uncle was there the night of the fire?”
“Yes, yes, muttering on and on about a murderous Frenchman and a woman named Hortense or Heloise or—”
“Helene?”
Mother flitted a graceful hand in the air. “None of it matters now, I’m sure. All water under the bridge. And, perhaps, in time it will be the same for your scandal, dearest. You will write to us, won’t you?”
Jane blinked numbly, trying to process this new information. But it was impossible to focus, given that her life was falling apart around her.
Yes, she’d known about the risks and, had she been caught, this would have been the likely outcome. But it was all hypothetical then. It hadn’t happened. It hadn’t yet exploded in her face.
Now it was all too real. “What about the children? I can’t leave them. It’s almost Christmas.”
Her parents looked to each other in confusion. Then her father spoke. “I don’t see what that matters. It’s obvious that you’ll have to be gone before the January freeze. I’ll make all the arrangements and, in the meantime, have your maid begin to pack your things.”
“Good night, dear,” Mother said and walked beside Father out the door.
Jane was losing everything—her home, her family, and her future. And it was all happening in the course of one night.
It was just like Prue. Her friend had suffered this same fate, and was now living letter to letter.
Perhaps it was that realization that jolted Jane out of bed.
When this had happened to Prue, all her friends had rallied together to do everything they could. So, first, Jane sent a letter to Ellie, begging for her counsel.
Second, she sent a messenger with the black lacquered casket full of letters to Raven’s house, in the fervent hope that, if she provided him with all the facts, he would see that she’d been telling the truth. That he could still trust her. Then, perhaps, they could heal the wounds between them. Perhaps . . .
And third, she needed to learn why her uncle was at the Northcott house the night of the fire, and what he knew about it. Unfortunately, she didn’t know how she could get past the prison gates to find the answers.
Then a thought occurred to her. If she couldn’t get into the prison, she just might know someone who could. Someone whose title could open any door.
The following morning, Ellie arrived.
But shortly thereafter, so did the black casket.
The letters were still inside, along with a gallipot of salve, an empty jar that once contained damson jam, and a black glove. There was no note addressed to her. No words telling her to stop and desist. Only silence, as if he’d already managed to forget her.
In that moment, she learned that unbearable, heart-twisting agony wasn’t the worst pain imaginable. There was another ache that hurt even worse—the cold desolation left behind of a love wrenched from the very center of her soul.
* * *
Much to Bess’s dislike and lamentation, Raven demolished room after room of his house.
He started with the main floor, taking a sledgehammer to the walls from dawn to dusk without much break in between. Then from dusk to dawn, when all was quiet, he’d spread fresh plaster on the bare lath.
He moved from room to room, stopping occasionally to grab a new bottle of whisky and take a piss. Sometimes he’d find himself lost in a slow blink with his shoulder propped up against the wall. But then he’d rouse himself and get back to work.
The first day, Bess left out a tray and told him whenever he had a visitor. But after being barked at for her efforts, she stayed belowstairs from that point on. She turned everyone away, too, just like he asked. Not that there was anyone who stopped by after the first day.
Warrister sent several missives, but they were all in a pile on the table by the door.
And Raven had to stay away from his bedchamber because Jane was everywhere within it, her scent on his bedclothes, her memory in his chair, and her letters still tucked in his drawer.
But after a week of tearing his house apart, Raven needed something else to distract him.
When he walked into Sterling’s office and asked to return to his post, Reed’s brow furrowed in confusion. “You want to continue working for me? What, have you just given up after the debacle at Aversleigh’s ball?”
Raven shrugged. “I just need to know where my next step will land. I need some certainty.”
“Isn’t Miss Pickerington your certainty? I had the impression the last time we talked that she was a big part of your decision to claim your birthright.”
“I’m sure you heard what happened. Because she duped me, I lost everything. I can’t forgive that.”
Sterling scrubbed a hand over his face. “Can’t you?”
Raven just looked at him, stony-eyed.
“How did she do it, then?”
“She uncovered vital information that could have stopped this entire nightmare, but she kept it from me. She’d made a choice to deceive me.”
“Did you ever think she might have had a good reason?”
Raven was already exhausted by this conversation. “There is no good reason for that. In my experience, there are only bad reasons.”
“Very well. I have something to tell you,” Sterling said. “I’ve been keeping something from you and from everyone here. And it’s something I’ve known for quite a while, in fact.”
Raven waited for it, crossing his arms, jaw tight.
“I’ve decided that Sterling’s isn’t going to be a gaming hell any longer, but a proper gentleman’s club. And the reason is because I’m going to be a father,” he added with a smug nod. “Is that a good enough reason to keep a secret?”
Raven relaxed. Somehow, his mouth remembered how to curve into a smile and his hand reached out to slap Reed good-naturedly on the shoulder. “Well, look at you, all puffed up and proud. Congratulations, old man.”
“I’m glad you forgave me for that,” Sterling said with a wink.
“Come on, now. It isn’t the same at all.”
Raven expelled a breath. He’d had enough. And he was tired of thinking about Jane constantly, so he certainly didn’t want to keep talking about her.
“Perhaps Miss Pickerington just wanted you to have what she thought you deserved. Perhaps she feared you would give up if something stood in your way.”
He growled and threw up his hands, stalking to the door. “And perhaps I’m tired of always having to fight to survive. I just want my old life back. I just want to wake up in the morning and know who I am, who I’ve always been. Come to work. Go home to my house. That’s all. So, can I have my position or not?”
“Of course,” he said. Then, before Raven could leave, Sterling halted him with one final comment. “Word of advice from someone who understands a bit about fighting. Don’t do it unless it matters to you. But when it does, you’ve got to fight like hell for it.”
* * *
Bill-Jack Rollins never had an earl in the gatehouse before and he didn’t know quite what to do with one.