Chapter 24 #2
“Don’t talk about that for now, we’ll talk later. What’s important is that you’re both safe.”
Now that it was safe, Meg stood, and made her way silently out of the room.
Roman then stood, lifting Liliana effortlessly in one arm, and reached his other hand down to Thelma. She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. He kept her hand locked in his as they walked out of the cell, leaving the yellow blanket on the dirty floor.
The descent through the house was a blur of shadows.
In the main room below, overturned chairs and shattered pottery littered the flagstones.
Silas and Cobb were sitting back-to-back against the hearth, their hands bound tightly behind them with thick leather straps, looking bruised, bloodied, and thoroughly defeated.
Lord Ashmore stood near the doorway, dusting off the sleeves of his coat with a look of mild distaste. When he saw Thelma, his expression softened into a look of profound relief.
"Miss Preston," Orson said, offering a small, respectful bow. "It is very good to see you in one piece."
"Thank you, Lord Ashmore," Thelma whispered, her voice still trembling.
"I will wait for the magistrate's men to arrive and hand over this rubbish," Lord Ashmore said, gesturing to the men on the floor. "Take the closed carriage, Roman. There are blankets inside. Get them home."
The carriage ride back to Langley Hall felt like a transition between two different worlds.
The interior of the coach was warm, the heavy velvet curtains drawn against the driving rain. Roman sat on the bench beside her, refusing to take the opposite seat.
He had stripped off his wet, ruined riding coat, wrapping Thelma in a thick, dry woolen blanket he had brought from the estate, and tucked another carefully around Liliana, who had fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep against Thelma’s breast.
A small carriage lantern swung from a brass hook on the wall, casting a warm, golden glow over the small space.
Thelma reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out her plain linen handkerchief. She uncorked the small leather canteen of water resting on the seat, dampening the cloth before turning to face Roman.
He watched her silently as she reached up, gently pressing the cool, wet linen against the fierce cut on his cheekbone. He winced slightly but did not pull away, his gray eyes locked onto her face, tracking every minute shift in her expression.
"Lady Daphne told me she was sending us to the coaching inn," Thelma said, her voice quiet, filling the rhythmic clatter of the wheels.
She carefully wiped a smear of dried blood from the corner of his split lip.
"She escorted us to the carriage herself.
She said it was a charity, to save me the embarrassment of the parish beadle. "
Roman’s jaw flexed beneath her fingers. "I know. Orson explained everything to me, and I rode to the inn, but the keeper said no carriage had passed. That was when I knew she was up to no good. I’d been searching for both of you, but the ransom letter surprisingly was quite helpful."
Thelma lowered the handkerchief, her hands resting in her lap.
"They stopped the carriage in the middle of the moors.
The men were waiting in oilskin coats. They dragged us out and shoved us into a closed coach.
They locked the doors from the outside. I thought...
" She swallowed hard, staring down at the damp linen.
"I thought we were going to die in that place. "
Roman reached out, his large hands wrapping completely around hers, pulling them into his lap.
"You are not going to die. And Daphne Vane will never set foot on Langley lands again.
Her father will receive a letter detailing exactly what his daughter orchestrated, and if she ever shows her face in the north again, I will ruin her family. "
The sheer, protective venom in his voice sent a shiver of warmth straight to Thelma's toes.
He believes me. He knows I am not the monster she claimed I was.
"How did you know?" Thelma asked softly, looking up into his bruised face. "The ransom letter only said that a lady hired them. How did you know the rest? Lady Daphne told you the baby was mine. She told you I threw her in the ditch for money."
Roman’s thumb traced the back of her hand. The anger bled out of his expression, replaced by a deep, aching sorrow that made him look suddenly older.
"Your father came to Langley," Roman said quietly.
Thelma’s breath hitched. She pulled back slightly, her eyes widening in panic. "My father? Roman, he didn't mean to hurt her, he only wanted to protect me—"
"I know," Roman interrupted gently, his grip tightening on her hands to keep her from retreating.
"He came bursting into my study, covered in mud, holding the same ransom letter I had received.
They sent one to Somerset. He rode for three days without stopping because he thought I was the one who had let you be taken. "
Thelma stared at him, trying to process the magnitude of what he was saying. Her father, the proud, stern magistrate who cared only for his reputation, had ridden himself into the ground and burst into a duke's home to save her.
"He told me everything, Thelma," Roman continued, his voice dropping into a rough, fragile whisper. "He told me why he left Liliana on the steps. He told me about the arrangement."
Thelma frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. "The arrangement? What do you mean?"
Roman let go of one of her hands, reaching into the inner pocket of his waistcoat. He pulled out a folded piece of heavy, cream-colored parchment. The wax seal had been broken. He placed it gently on the leather seat between them.