Chapter 31 #2
“Did the bracelet help bring about her conviction?”
“Yes. Well—” She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not on its own. But it did corroborate the rest. It wasn’t the linchpin, but it helped unravel the lie.”
She bit her lip. “Wait a moment …” Her eyes narrowed on him. “You found it, did you not? You buried it. And you sent me that cryptic note as well. I might have known!”
A sly smile half curved his lips. “Generally, I despise riddles, but sometimes they are the only way to speak the truth without shouting.”
“Why did you not simply go to Mr. Russell?”
“I do not trust men in power, Miss Finch. Nor the law.” He paused, the toe of his boot kicking at the dirt. Then he looked up. “I do not expect you to understand my reluctance.”
There was something familiar in his words, something that resonated deep in her soul.
She knew what it was like to have a hefty mistrust of others, especially those in higher society, and how it felt to be overlooked, to be told she did not belong.
Perhaps Mr. Dankworth had experienced the same, for reasons she could only guess.
She met his gaze, her voice softening. “And yet, perhaps, I do. At least somewhat. You know what it is to be an outsider, as do I.”
He swiped a podgy hand over his brow, nodding. How a man could sweat on a blustery day like this was beyond her.
“And Miss Russell?” He cocked his head, glancing up at the courtroom entrance, almost as if the mentioning of her name might make her appear. “How does she fare now?”
“Very well. I have no doubt she will soon put all this behind her.”
Mr. Dankworth slowly nodded, saying nothing, his shoulders bowed from some unspoken misery. She had assumed his interest in Charity stemmed from a peculiar quirk of his solitary ways, but maybe it was something that ran deeper.
She stepped closer. “I am curious, sir, why do you take such an interest in her?”
He looked away, staring into the boxwoods. For a long while, he said nothing. Eventually he murmured, “My daughter would have been her age, had she lived. Same honey-spun hair. Same eyes … so blue you could see eternity in them.”
Sorrow lay heavy in his words, a weight from which no mortal could crawl out from beneath. So. This was why he holed up in that house of his, living in memories, wallowing in grief. Likely he grasped at the past because the future held nothing for him.
Juliet’s heart broke for the lonely man. “I am sorry for your loss.”
“So am I.” He heaved a great sigh.
Juliet reached for him but pulled back before touching his sleeve. She sensed that he needed his sadness, for without it, he wouldn’t know what to do. Who to be. And to be cut adrift without any identity was a quick way to lose the will to breathe.
She forced a small smile. “And what will you do now?”
“Disappear, as I always do. A man can hide quite well when no one is looking.” He retreated into the boxwood, his voice barely a whisper. “But should you require a friend in the shadows, Miss Finch, you need only call.”
The courtroom, though emptying, still buzzed with low murmurs and the scrape of boots against the wooden floor.
Benches creaked as spectators filed out.
Henry stood in the aisle with his father and sister and, for the briefest of moments, gave in to the pity rising from his gut for the broken woman who’d so disrupted their lives.
Clara was gone now, led away by two hulking guards, but her cries still remained …
and would haunt him for many nights to come.
How could a mind become so shattered, seemingly without warning?
Had there been signs he’d missed? Would to God he’d noticed them sooner—would to God any of them had—and all this could have been avoided.
With a final look at the side door out which Clara had been led, he tucked away those thoughts and turned to his sister and father.
“So.” Relief curved his lips. “It is finished.”
Charity let out a long breath, her head bobbing slightly. “It is, and I am glad for it.”
Father, ever stalwart, nodded solemnly. “At last justice is served.”
Henry’s gaze traveled past his sister to a white-haired woman, shoulders stooped, face folded in mourning.
Mrs. Whitmore. Beside her stood a woman in a dark blue pelisse, her hand supporting the grieving mother’s elbow.
A short distance behind her stood a man in black with the bearing of a sentry.
Her solicitor, likely, hovering close for any last-minute legal needs.
Henry’s chest squeezed uncomfortably, making it hard to breathe. What a horrid day for her.
Catching his father’s eye, he tipped his head towards the sight, and with a confirming nod, he collected Charity’s arm, and they approached the woman as a family.
His father bowed formally, his voice deep but gentle. “You have my—our”—he swept his hand towards Henry and Charity—“condolences, madam. We can only imagine the sorrow this day has brought you.”
She lifted her face with a hint of Clara’s defiance, yet the red in her eyes spoke an entirely different story. “Thank you. As a parent, I am sure you understand this is an impossible sorrow to bear.”
Henry swallowed the knot in his throat. “And yet, Mrs. Whitmore, even in such sorrow you are not abandoned, not by God or by the Russells. I hope you know you can call upon us should you have need.”
“Indeed.” Charity hesitated a moment before reaching out, offering a gentle touch to the woman’s sleeve. “If there is anything we may do to ease your burden, please send word.”
Mrs. Whitmore’s eyes filled with a glassy sheen. Her mouth worked, but it took several tries before a papery-thin voice whispered, “Thank you.”
“Come now, Mrs. Whitmore. It is time I see you home.” The lady next to her dipped her head at them before leading the woman away.
Clara’s mother seemed so small, so … breakable as she shuffled next to the blue-coated woman, her steps unsteady. Clara was her only child, her sole comfort in old age.
And now that was gone.
Beside him, his father sighed. “How I hate to see her that way.”
Charity pressed her fingers to her lips, drawing in a shaky breath. “So do I.”
Footsteps scuffed the floorboards nearby, the measured but uneven gait drawing their attention. Parker pulled up before them, an odd gleam in his dark eyes. “Well, Russells, it seems the last page of this tragedy has been written.”
His father inclined his head. “For which we have God—and you—to thank.”
Parker smirked at Henry. “As it turns out, I wasn’t half the rogue you thought me to be, hmm?”
A dry chuckle escaped him. “Surely you cannot expect me to admit to such in a court of law.”
Charity batted his arm. “Behave yourself, Brother.”
Parker’s amusement faded, his expression changing to something more serious as he tugged at his cravat.
“I …” He exhaled sharply. “I realize this is not the time or place, and yet after witnessing the tragic turn of Miss Whitmore’s life, I think we all may appreciate how suddenly the unexpected can happen.
That being said”—he turned to Charity—“I should like the honour of courting you again, if you are at all agreeable, Miss Russell.”
Henry’s brows lifted as he stared at his sister. After her history with this man, would she cut him off as she’d done once before?
Or had she—and Parker—changed so thoroughly that she’d give him another chance?
A smile ghosted her lips, faint but there all the same.
Those blue eyes of hers swam with all sorts of emotions—surprise, hesitation, amusement—and finally settled into twin pools of admiration.
“I—” She cleared her throat before letting out a little laugh.
“I agree, sir, your timing is rather odd, but my answer is yes.”
Parker’s whole face smiled, but still his lips pressed tight. Joy suppressed, for now. Gripping his cane in both hands, he pivoted to their father. “Have I your permission as well, sir?”
His father stroked his chin, no doubt weighing what had recently happened.
Through it all, Parker had proved himself a man of integrity.
And after what Charity had endured these past months, did she not deserve the joy now shining in her eyes?
Apparently Father thought as much, for after a brief moment of further silence, he nodded.
“I hope, sir”—Henry directed a pointed stare at his sister—“that this go-around results in a better ending than the first time.”
Parker flashed an impish smile. “So do I.” He turned to Charity with a crook of his arm. “Shall I see you to the door, Miss Russell?”
Her smile bloomed like a flower facing the sun, radiant and beautiful. “I can think of nothing better, Mr. Parker.”
As they strolled away, Henry’s father eyed him. “Well?”
Henry frowned. “Well, what?”
His father shook his head with a knowing smile.
“Parker’s right. You never know when the unexpected will happen.
I think we have all learned that clinging so fiercely to control cannot prevent tragedy.
Life is not a matter of careful planning but of faith.
And yet you stand here, waiting as if for a signed decree granting you permission to be happy. ”
“But I am happy.” His brow scrunched. “All has turned out well for Charity. Better, in fact, than I imagined.”
“I was not speaking of your sister.” His father clapped him on the shoulder, lips twisted into a wry smile.
“Son, it is time you loosen your stranglehold on responsibilities and instead pursue a certain woman who appears to be your match in every way. Go.” He nudged him with a little shove.
“Track this poacher of yours before she decides you are not worth the trouble and flies away.”
His father’s words sank deep. Glorious. Taking root.
And he needn’t be told twice.
“Sage advice.” With a wink, he strode off, urgency propelling him past the clusters of lingering court attenders. This had been a long time in coming—too long.
He burst through the courthouse doors, a crisp gust of November air slapping his skin. He welcomed it, drinking deep, clearing his mind.
Juliet stood near the boxwoods, her figure framed against the stark November day.
Windblown hair escaped her bonnet, flying like a banner in the breeze, much like the first night he’d caught her in the woods.
Wild and unapologetic. He’d never tire of such a sight.
She belonged here, in the open, part of the brisk air and boundless sky, as untamed as the elements around her.
But more than that, she belonged with him.
His steps quickened, confidence a fire in his belly as he closed the distance between them.
She turned towards him, eyes bright with curiosity, lips already parting to speak.
He didn’t let her.
He caught Juliet around the waist, pulling her flush against him, and kissed her. No words. No explanations. Just a physical statement of how things were.
And what was to come.
She melted against him, grabbing handfuls of his coat and pressing ever closer.
When he finally pulled away, they were both breathing hard.
One of her brows rose, amusement quirking her very red lips. “What was that for?”
“You.” He grinned. “And us.”
“Us?” Her nose wrinkled, her confusion so adorable it slipped past every defense he’d ever built.
“Yes, us.” He dropped to a knee, tugging off one of her gloves and guiding her hand to press against his chest. “Though I admit I’m taking a bit of a risk here. Last time I kissed you without warning, I got slapped.”
A laugh burst out of her.
“This time, however,” he went on, “I thought I would try following it up with a proposal, because I’m not just asking for a future. I’m asking for you. All of you. Forever.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Just a little puff of air that misted in the cold. Then, slowly, delight dawned on her face, her mouth curving into that familiar smile that undid him every time.
“Are you proposing marriage to a poacher, sir?”
“I am.” He grinned. “To the woman who trespassed onto my land and made off with my heart.”
“Then my answer,” she said, voice light with joy, “is yes.”