Hockey’s and Edgerton’s expressions darkened. They bit their lips and looked away, unwilling to swear in front of Melissa.
She wouldn’t have blamed them.
But others, loosely grouped behind them, had heard, and the mutters grew deeper and darker.
After a moment, Edgerton drew in a long breath. “You’d better get up to the castle—they’ll have started to fret over what’s happened and where you are. Leave this”—he nodded at the blackened ruin—“to Hockey and me. We’ll see all made safe.”
Knowing he could trust them and accepting that he had to, Julian nodded and turned away, dislodging Ulysses, who happily followed as Julian urged Melissa around, then took her hand and started toward the castle. Felix came up on his other side.
Julian glanced at his brother, then at his wife and murmured, “Evidently, we have another pawn of X’s to unmask.”
Both simply nodded, too tired to do more.
Weary to the bone, Julian tightened his hold on Melissa’s hand and walked slowly toward the castle.
Chapter 14
More worn out—literally exhausted—than she’d ever felt, Melissa retired to her bedchamber earlier than usual that evening. After insisting that the others, still talking in the drawing room, did not need to escort her up, she climbed the stairs alone.
The events of the day had left her shaken, more than she’d initially realized; the need to act and help put out the fire had forced her to focus on that and nothing else. But later, when, over a subdued dinner, she, Julian, and Felix had related to Veronica, Frederick, and Damian—who had been out riding and had missed the excitement entirely—all that had happened, the reality of what had almost occurred had come crashing down upon her.
On returning to the house, the three of them, plus Ulysses, who had refused to allow her out of his sight, had gone straight upstairs to change out of their ruined clothes and bathe. Their hair had stunk of smoke, and fine ash had got everywhere.
Even after they were clean and had donned fresh clothes, the scent of smoke lingered.
Ulysses, of course, had followed her to her room. He’d watched with interest while she’d bathed, and once she’d stepped from the tub, she’d had Jolene dunk the puppy and wash him, too, which he’d decided was a great game. His antics had left them laughing, which had brought some small relief.
We survived. None of us are even hurt.
She’d kept repeating that mantra throughout the evening.
It hadn’t really helped.
None of the previous attacks had been so frightening. So real. All those previous attempts, while variously shocking, frustrating, or irritating, had somehow seemed more like a badly designed game, albeit one in poor taste. Although each incident had been potentially dangerous, in the aftermath, all those previous attacks had seemed almost clownish.
This time, the knowledge that she could very easily have died a horrible death remained front and center in her mind. Even more distressing and disquieting was the realization of just how close she’d come to losing Julian. Yes, she would have died with him, and some part of her fully comprehended that, but it was the prospect of his death that most exercised her emotions. That tied them into painful knots and left her confronting a reality she hadn’t seen until then.
He is my future.
But not just in the simple, obvious way.
Through the hours she’d spent with him in London, all those enforced hours strolling among the social and political elite of the ton, bolstered by what she’d learned of him here, at the castle—all she’d seen of how central he was to the well-being of such a wide swath of people and how well he filled all his various roles—had opened her eyes to how important he was to so many people and how critically important he might become on a far wider stage.
She hadn’t forgotten just how many senior politicians had come to their wedding.
She was coming to understand that Fate had cast her as his helpmate for a reason. She was, after all, her parents’ daughter, her grandparents’ granddaughter. Few young ladies—possibly no other lady—could claim to be better groomed to be the wife of a lord of such great social and political potential.
He was a good man with a good heart, a man with the status to make political and social changes, with the ability to pull that off and the determination and stubbornness to do it.
Losing him to the fire—to any of these senseless attacks—would have been a shattering blow, not just to her and his family but to the future of the country itself.
Her higher role in life—her duty to the wider good—was increasingly clear.
He might be protective of her, but she would move the heavens to ensure he lived and prospered.
The day had definitely taken a toll, and on reaching her bedchamber, she sighed feelingly, opened the door, and walked in.
The lamps were lit, and a welcoming glow spread through the room.
