“You wrote me that letter?” She shook her head. The jolly man with the pretty, welcoming wife had written her, not the monster from her past? “You wrote the letter with words like death and sins?”
The marquess frowned.
Eveline patted her husband’s hand. “I should really ban you from written correspondence.” She gestured to the tea set before them. “Would you like any refreshment, Gwendolyn? Mr. Cavendish?”
Gwendolyn shook her head. “I came only to find out the contents of the letter. It was ruined before I could read it. The second one, too, I’m afraid.”
Jackson patted her hand. “You really should take better care of your correspondence.”
She looked up at him. He seemed entirely at ease. But she could not be. Not yet.
“I must know the contents of the letters,” she said.
Evelina’s warm smile wrapped the whole room in comfort. She turned to her husband. “Perhaps you should tell her now.”
The marquess sighed, nodded, and sat up straighter. “What is the last you heard from Daniel?”
The name still felt like a punch to the gut, but Jackson, strong beside her, allowed her to survive the blow, to catch her breath quickly.
“I’ve heard nothing from him or of him since the trial six years ago. I admit I’ve avoided all mention of him. I know he escaped before meeting his sentence.”
“The blackguard.” The words tore from the marquess’s lips, raw and ragged. His eyes blazed disgust. The marquess… he seemed tohatehis brother possibly as much as he seemed to dislike his father.
The young girl still curled tight and scared deep inside her relaxed a bit, her muscles loosening as she lifted her head from her knees to see how differently the world took shape around her.
“You’ll scare her, John.” The marchioness spoke low and firm.
“My apologies,” the marquess said. “I do not mean to upset you. I have never claimed an affinity for my brother, and his actions in those years were insupportable. I have adopted the three innocent children he left behind him in his years of profligacy. Thankfully, the women he wed did not conceive, as far as I know.” A questioning look.
“No,” Gwendolyn said. “There was no babe.” Her hands trembled in her lap. Thank goodness she’d rejected the tea, or she’d have spilt it a thousand times over by now.
“The scoundrel escaped to the Continent and never, as far as I can tell, paid for his crimes.” The marquess huffed, crossed his arms over his chest. “Hopefully he’s paying with eternal hellfire now.”
Gwendolyn jumped. “Pardon?”
“John,” Evelina crooned, “you have just mucked it up.”
“Blast,” the marquess breathed. “I have, haven’t I? I wrote to you to tell you of my brother’s death and that I am hoping to make amends for his sins. He died last year. Somewhere in Russia. I feel as if I should offer my condolences, but considering his actions, I fear you would benefit more from an apology. I am sorry he preyed on you and your family. I am sorry he lied to everyone, and I hope the years you’ve lived since him have been happier than the ones before.”
Why was it so hard to breathe? Dead. Daniel was dead. She should be dancing, not sinking further into the floor. And this brother—he did not rant at her, accuse her of being a moral blight on his family as her father had done. He apologized… toher!
Unbelievable.
She blinked. She blinked again. She felt stuck. “I… I do not know what to say.”
“We can leave, Gwendolyn.” Jackson wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We can leave and come back later if you so desire.”
She shook her head. “I’m fine. I…” She faced the marquess. “Do you know how it happened?”
“No. I rather hope it was painful. Perhaps a wild boar sliced him through. Or a building collapsed on him.”
Jackson nodded in appreciation. “You have potential, Lord Preston. I like how your mind works.”
Gwendolyn shook away the distractions. “I have not thought on him with any affection since… since everything. Thank you for letting me know.” Daniel dead. His father too. A great evil in her life gone. And she’d been petrified the last several weeks of a letter from a kind man attempting to deliver the news. She wanted to bury her face in Jackson’s chest and laugh. Or cry. Perhaps both.
“Tell her of the other thing, John. Tell her the making amends part.” The marchioness leaned toward Jackson. “Would you like anything, Mr. Cavendish?”
“I’ll take tea,” he said. “With just a splash of lemon.” Exactly the way Gwendolyn liked it. Jackson liked his black, and when Evelina handed him the cup and saucer, he did not drink but held it.
