Olivia watched her brother throw another pile of papers confiscated from the blackmailer’s house onto the towering flames of the bonfire they’d built.
She and Will stood close together, watching the flames consume the hateful files that had caused so much misery to so many people.The magistrate had ordered the victims mentioned in the huge collection be the ones to benefit from the enormous estate the odious baron had left.He’d been childless with no other relatives.
Lady Camilla the day before had finally managed to get Olivia to meet with the woman who had given birth to her.Even though she now knew Miss Constantia Villeneuve had believed she was doing the right thing for her daughter all those years ago, she still had occasional twinges of resentment, but decided forgiveness would be as peace-giving for herself as for her mother.
Miss Villeneuve had immediately embraced her when she’d first entered Lady Camilla’s drawing room, but Olivia sensed there was still an inevitable distance between them.When she’d screwed up her courage and asked who her father had been, a horrible look of sadness had crossed her mother’s face.He was a boy she’d loved when she was very young, but was the son of a noble family and could not marry her.He’d died at Waterloo, bravely, she told her daughter, and then Miss Villeneuve had become silent on the subject.
Olivia now had a tough decision of her own to make.She was still trying to decide what to do with the declaration her heart had been wanting for so long.Will had asked her to marry him after he and her brother had been hired by Archer Colwyn to be part of his new firm of investigators.She loved Will with a blazing passion, but she still wanted to be practical.“How will we survive on what you earn as a detective?”
“We don’t have to…”
“What?We don’t have to survive?”
“No.Remember my drover business?”
“Yes.You gave it up to become a Peeler.We assumed you weren’t making enough money and abandoned the venture.”
“Not exactly.I turned it over to a savvy group of brothers in Covent Garden to manage, and actually, while I’m still not a wealthy man, I’m comfortably well off.”
“Wait—.Why did you take on a job with the Peelers if you don’t really have to work?”
“It was the only way I could think of to stay close to you.I missed you on all those long days away on trips into the countryside.I can do whatever I like as long as you’re by my side.Now, will you, for the love of Zeus, be my wife?”
“That depends.”
“On What?”
“On whether you take me to bed right now or insist on doing the noble thing and risk losing me.”
He scooped her up into his arms and marched her back toward the hunting lodge they’d passed on their way to the river.
* * *
Many steps behind them,after Dickie had poured buckets of water on the fire, he plodded along, his boots making sucking noises in the mud.He shook his head at the lovers ahead of him, oblivious to anything around them.
He laughed out loud and wondered if they even realized he was still following them.“Mind she doesn’t strain your back from all those chocolate biscuits she’s been eating,” he shouted out.He was right.They ignored him.
THE END
EPILOGUE
MAY 1838
Pulteney Hotel
Piccadilly Street, London
Will Beckford, alias Horace Greenborough, the wealthy railroad investor, and his spoiled, bejeweled wife, Sybelle, played by Olivia Beckford, were arguing with the sommelier at the Pulteney about the proper way to present, and pour, a vintage bottle of wine worth a hundred pounds.
Their dining partner, who puffed arrogantly on an expensive cigar, was one Abe Bratten, posing as the owner of rich lands in Brazil he claimed he was willing to sacrifice for pennies on the dollar because the Greenboroughs had become such good friends of his.
The Greenboroughs were ready to buy, but they said they had someone they wanted Abe to meet before they finalized the deal.Mister Owens-Kline, their trusted financial adviser, was going to join them and perhaps would also like to invest a few thousand pounds in the overseas venture.
Their adviser, when he arrived, took an inordinate amount of time crossing the hotel dining room after entering through a side door, stopping every few tables to chat or slap a friend on the back.The dark-haired man did not seem exactly handsome, but he had what Bratten would consider an interesting, compelling face.However, the financier did seem to have a huge following amongst the wealthy denizens of London.
Bratten’s overall assessment of the man was that he was more of a boxer than a financial wizard.His compact, wiry body gave the impression of a lethal spring capable of loosening the fires of hell on anyone crazy enough to oppose his will.
He went out of his way to visit the musicians who’d been playing softly in the background ever since Bratten had arrived.Did he just slip them a huge stack of blunt?That was a surprise.Most men of his acquaintance who were wealthy weren’t prone to sharing it so publicly.
