Chapter 10 #2
A part of him—a quiet, desperate part—wanted to be the man she saw. But that part had been buried beneath the weight of all he had endured. What he had endured on the battlefield had taken so much from him.
They stood so close. Just one step, one motion, and she would be in his arms. Would she welcome his touch?
He couldn’t chance it. Not for her sake. And not for his.
It was safer to walk away, to maintain the distance he had so carefully preserved between them. Because if he let that wall fall, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to rebuild it. And once Dorothea was let in—truly in—he feared there would be no turning back.
But still… he looked at her. Held her gaze and felt himself unraveling, bit by bit. He got lost in her eyes, and he found himself wishing, irrationally, that he could remain there forever.
A small furrow formed between her brows. “Dominic,” she murmured.
The sound of his name on her lips—so soft, so filled with care—cracked something open inside him. He realized, then, that his feelings for her were no longer fleeting or fragile. They had taken hold deep in his chest.
And that terrified him more than anything else.
He took a step back, severing the space between them. “I should go.”
He didn’t miss the flash of disappointment that passed over her face, nor the way her posture subtly wilted. “Please don’t,” she said, her voice scarcely more than a whisper.
“I must,” he replied, struggling to keep his voice even. “Besides, you need rest. I’ll have the cook send up more biscuits for you.”
“Thank you.”
He glanced towards the adjoining door between their chambers. “Wright mentioned your room has been thoroughly cleaned and aired out. It’s safe for you to return now.”
“I shall do so at once,” she said, her gaze dropping to the floorboards.
He lingered for a moment longer, torn between guilt and restraint. Part of him longed to close the distance again, to apologize, to say anything that would wipe away the sadness in her voice. But what she needed from him, he wasn’t ready to give.
“I’ll be dining at the club again tonight,” he added.
“Very well.”
Her tone was polite, measured. But the sadness was unmistakable, and it hollowed him out to hear it, knowing he was the reason behind it.
“Good day, Dorothea.”
He turned to leave as she said, “Goodbye, Dominic.”
The word goodbye settled heavily on his shoulders. He didn’t stop walking. It wasn’t until he reached the entry hall that he saw Wright approaching from the far end.
“Mr. Wells is here to see you, my lord,” the butler informed him. “He’s waiting in your study.”
“Thank you.” Dominic moved to continue on, but paused. “Would you see that more biscuits are delivered to Lady Warwicke’s chamber? And… perhaps some flowers as well. Something bright. Cheerful.”
Wright inclined his head. “At once, my lord.”
With a nod of appreciation, Dominic turned and strode towards the study. The door was already ajar, and as he stepped inside, he found Mr. Wells standing at the center of the room, a well-worn satchel clutched in one hand.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Wells,” Dominic said, making his way to the desk.
The solicitor gave a respectful nod. “Good afternoon, my lord. I looked into the matter we discussed.”
Now, Mr. Wells had his full attention. “And what did you discover?”
Mr. Wells crossed the room and set the satchel down on the settee before removing a small stack of documents.
“The stipends you arranged for Lady Warwicke were never received by her directly. They were deposited into an account controlled by her brother. There is no record of your wife ever being made aware of the source of those funds.”
Dominic’s jaw clenched. “As I suspected. Her own brother was stealing from her.”
“It appears so,” Wells confirmed. “Moreover, I attempted to speak with Mr. Haverleigh regarding his sister’s dowry. He claims she was not given one.”
Dominic raised a brow. “Dorothea has no dowry?”
“I’m still attempting to verify the truth of that claim,” Wells said. “But Mr. Haverleigh has not been forthcoming, and complicating matters further—the late Lieutenant-Colonel Haverleigh’s will is not filed with the probate court.”
Dominic sat behind his desk, frowning. “That seems… unlikely. A man of his rank and discipline would not have left his affairs in disarray.”
“I thought the same thing so I made some inquiries,” Wells agreed. “He did, in fact, file a will years ago, but it was withdrawn from the probate court. Most likely in preparation for a new will to be filed. Which never was.”
Mr. Wells continued. “I decided to press further and contact the solicitor who once served both the lieutenant-colonel and his son, but unfortunately, Mr. Poole passed right after the late Mr. Haverleigh went off to war. Sudden illness, from what I was told.”
Dominic’s brow furrowed. “Was there any suspicion of foul play?”
“The coroner ruled it a natural death. A cold that progressed rapidly. The family said he worsened over the course of a week until he succumbed.”
Dominic exhaled slowly. “Unfortunate timing.”
“Indeed,” Wells replied. “Without a will or a surviving solicitor, it may be difficult to prove any claim or discrepancy regarding your wife’s inheritance.”
Dominic tapped his fingers restlessly against the desk’s edge. “Someone must know something. That man would not have left his daughter’s future to chance.”
“Agreed,” Wells said, taking a seat across from him. “Have you considered asking your wife? She may know if her father discussed the matter or left any indication.”
Dominic hesitated. “I could. But I do not want her to know I am investigating her brother—not until I have proof.”
“I do understand the need for discretion, my lord,” Mr. Wells said. “You have my word that I’ll continue looking into the matter. Rest assured, I will leave no stone unturned.”
“Thank you. I know I can rely on your thoroughness.”
The solicitor rose from his chair. “I’ll be in touch the moment I uncover anything of significance.”
With that, Mr. Wells offered a polite bow and exited the study, leaving Dominic alone. He had barely turned back to his desk when a voice carried in from the open window.
“Can I visit Lady Warwicke now?” Tristan asked.
Dominic turned towards the window. “No, she’s resting at the moment.”
A dramatic sigh echoed up from the boy. “Your house is boring without Lady Warwicke. She makes everything more fun.”
Dominic couldn’t suppress a smile. “My sincerest apologies that my household staff cannot amuse you.”
Tristan boosted himself through the open window. “They try, but it’s not the same. Lady Warwicke tells me jokes. Do you know any jokes?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Tristan gave him a hopeful look. “Could I at least have more biscuits? The maid said I’d ruin my supper, but I think she just wanted to keep them for herself.”
“I suspect the maid was exercising sound judgment.”
Tristan’s shoulders sagged. “I’m always hungry,” he muttered, clearly displeased with the ruling. “Will you fly my kite with me, then?”
Dominic’s gaze drifted to the ledger he’d just opened, the columns of numbers blurring slightly as guilt tugged at his conscience. “I have a great deal of work to finish, Tristan. Where is the maid I asked to watch over you?”
“We’re playing hide and seek,” the boy announced. “She’s not very good at finding me.”
Dominic gave him an amused look. “And are you making it easy on her?”
Tristan’s grin turned sly. “Not even a little,” he admitted with obvious pride. “Can we visit my mum today?”
Dominic looked at the eager little face turned up towards him, the boy’s eyes so open—so full of hope. A tightness seized in his chest. “Not today,” he said.
The light in Tristan’s expression dimmed. “Then maybe tomorrow?”
Dominic’s gaze shifted to the waiting stack of correspondence, the ledger still spread open, and the ever-growing list of responsibilities tied to his title. But none of it seemed to matter as much as the boy standing before him.
“Yes,” he said at last. “Tomorrow. I promise.”
Tristan’s smile returned in full force, wide and triumphant.
Just then, a voice called from outside—faint, but unmistakable. “Tristan!”
Tristan’s head jerked towards the sound, and he immediately dropped beneath the windowsill. Pressing a finger to his lips, he looked up at Dominic with wide eyes. “Shhh,” he whispered.
A shadow passed back and forth from just outside of the window. Finally, the voice grew much more distant.
“I think she finally gave up,” Tristan whispered, rising from his crouch.
Dominic leaned back in his chair and asked, “Why don’t you go find something to read in the library?”
Tristan let out a dramatic groan. “Do I have to?”
“I believe it’s a more productive use of your time than evading my household staff,” Dominic remarked. “And if you go now, I’ll see to it that you’re given an extra biscuit after supper.”
Tristan tilted his head, clearly intrigued. “Can you make it two extra biscuits?”
Dominic allowed the corner of his mouth to lift. “I believe I can arrange that.”
A broad smile spread across Tristan’s face. “Very well. I shall be in the library until supper,” he declared before skipping towards the door.
Just as he reached the threshold, a flustered voice rang out from the window. “Tristan! I see you!”
Dominic turned just in time to glimpse a young maid’s flushed face peering through the open window, her cheeks puffed in exasperation.
Tristan glanced over his shoulder and laughed, utterly unrepentant. “Too late!” he called back, disappearing into the corridor with a gleeful whoop.
The maid sighed. “That boy will be the death of me,” she muttered before withdrawing from view.
Dominic turned his attention towards his ledgers and figured it was as good a time as any to get some work done.