Chapter 21
It was well past midday when Dominic finally emerged from his bedchamber, the heavy door clicking softly behind him.
He moved quietly, not wishing to wake Dorothea, who was still asleep in their bed.
They had returned late from Vauxhall Gardens the night before, staying up until the earliest blush of dawn to admire the fireworks that painted the sky in bursts of silver and scarlet.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. He had never imagined that marriage could feel like this—like companionship rather than obligation.
Dorothea had surprised him at every turn.
She was kind, intelligent, unyielding in spirit, and wholly unlike any woman he had ever known.
She didn’t just hold his affection—she commanded his admiration.
And perhaps, if he were brave enough to admit it, she had begun to restore a part of him he thought long dead.
As he descended the staircase, the quiet hush of the household was broken by a sharp knock that echoed across the marble floors of the entry hall. Wright emerged from the corridor and made his way to the door. He pulled it open to reveal Constable Prentice, his face grave.
“Constable Prentice,” Dominic greeted as he stepped off the last stair, his boots clicking against the floor.
“My lord,” the constable said with a respectful incline of his head. “I was hoping to have a word with you, if you’ve a moment.”
“Certainly,” Dominic replied. “We can speak in my study.”
He led the constable down the corridor and into the richly paneled study. Once inside, Prentice closed the door with a decisive click.
“I suggest we keep this conversation confidential,” Prentice said. “Some matters are best not overheard.”
Dominic’s interest was piqued. “Is everything quite all right?”
“In a manner of speaking,” the constable replied. “Lady Sarah has signed a full confession.”
“That is a good thing, is it not?”
“It is, but in doing so, she implicated Mr. Haverleigh.” Prentice’s voice was grim. “She claims he was the one who supplied her with the poison.”
Dominic’s heart dropped. “Are you saying he was involved in poisoning Dorothea?”
The constable nodded slowly. “I am afraid so, my lord. Lady Sarah overheard a conversation regarding the second will and confronted Mr. Haverleigh. He threatened her—said he would do to her what he had done to Mr. Poole if she didn’t comply.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened. “I always suspected Poole’s death came far too conveniently.”
“It did,” Prentice agreed. “Mr. Haverleigh acquired the poison from an apothecary in the rookeries and passed it along to Lady Sarah, instructing her to use it on Lady Warwicke.”
Dominic’s hands clenched into fists. He strode towards the sideboard and poured a measure of brandy into a glass. “Have you arrested him?”
“We have,” Prentice confirmed. “He’s denying everything, of course, but Lady Sarah’s confession should be sufficient for a conviction.”
Dominic took a slow sip as he tried to steady his thoughts. “How am I to tell Dorothea that her own brother orchestrated her murder?”
Prentice didn’t respond at once. He seemed to consider his words before saying, “Lady Sarah’s age may spare her from being transported, but not the misery of prison. Regardless, it will likely be a death sentence.”
“I feel no pity for her. She chose her side.”
“As you should. I only mention it as fact.”
Dominic let out a quiet breath, then asked, “And Mr. Wells? Have you spoken to him?”
“I have,” Prentice replied. “Turns out he’s not much more than a pawn. Haverleigh threatened his family to ensure he pushed for the lesser settlement. That’s the only reason he acted on his behalf.”
Dominic’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “That is... oddly reassuring. At least his betrayal had a motive beyond greed.”
Prentice adjusted the lapels of his worn brown jacket. “One last thing. If Haverleigh’s case goes to trial, Lady Warwicke will likely be called to testify against him. I fear the scandal could be considerable.”
“I understand.”
“If I can be of any further service, don’t hesitate to send for me.” With that, Prentice moved to the door and let himself out.
Left alone in the silence, Dominic walked slowly to his desk, the brandy glass still in his hand.
He set it down with care, then sank into the chair behind the desk, his thoughts reeling.
It was nothing short of a miracle that Dorothea had managed to survive not only her brother’s cruelty but his murderous intentions.
Wright stepped into the study and cleared his throat. “Lord Wilton requests a moment of your time, my lord.”
Dominic looked up from his desk. Frankly, he could use the interruption—anything to stave off the storm of thoughts swirling in his head since the constable’s visit. “Show him in.”
Moments later, Wilton entered, his stride deliberate, and his expression unusually solemn. He paused just inside the room, his eyes shadowed with something that felt heavier than mere formality. “I saw you at Vauxhall Gardens last night,” he began.
Dominic’s brow arched with surprise. “You did? Why didn’t you join us?”
Wilton offered a tight smile as he settled into the chair across from the desk. “Because I caught the look on your face when you gazed at your wife. You wore the expression of a man utterly smitten.”
Dominic chuckled faintly but didn’t deny it.
Wilton leaned back slightly and asked, “May I presume that your absurd talk of pursuing an annulment has been thoroughly discarded?”
“It has,” Dominic replied.
“And what changed your mind?”
A slow smile formed on Dominic’s lips. “I realized I couldn’t live without Dorothea. It was that simple—and that impossible.”
Wilton let out a bark of laughter. “Alcott would call you a sentimental fool. He’s firmly convinced that love is a weakness.”
Dominic shrugged. “Then he’s never truly been in love. And frankly, I care very little for Alcott’s views on anything involving the heart.”
The mirth faded from Wilton’s face, replaced by something more somber. “The reason I’ve come, aside from witnessing your transformation into a lovesick poet, is to inform you that I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Dominic straightened. “Leaving?”
Wilton nodded. “I intend to track down the man who married my sister—Mr. Smith, if that is even his real name.”
Dominic’s brow furrowed. “And how exactly do you plan to find him?”
Wilton sighed and ran a weary hand down his face. “That’s the rub. My sister claims he hails from a small village—she gave me the name—but I’ve my doubts. Now that her dowry has been released, he could be anywhere in England, enjoying the spoils of his deceit.”
Dominic didn’t hesitate. “Do you want me to accompany you?”
Wilton shook his head. “No. You’ve been through enough, and your place is here—with your wife. This is something I must do myself.”
“How is your sister managing?”
“Olivia is heartbroken. She thought she’d found her future, only to be abandoned like a fool. And truth be told, she is partially to blame. She eloped to Gretna Green with a man she scarcely knew, swept away by romantic nonsense.”
Dominic’s lips quirked. “Sometimes the heart is a reckless creature.”
Wilton gave him a long look, one brow lifting. “Who are you, and what have you done with my pragmatic friend?”
“I’m still here. Just… changed. I’m still adjusting to the whole being-in-love thing.”
Wilton stood, brushing an invisible wrinkle from his coat. “Well, wish me luck. I’ve a feeling I’ll need it.”
Dominic rose as well. “If I may offer one piece of advice—trust no one. Verify everything, especially the things you think you know to be true.”
“That’s the plan. I don’t know if I’ll succeed, but I have to try for her sake.”
“Yes… that I understand all too well.”
Wilton’s eyes held compassion. “I know you do.” He turned and made his way towards the door, his steps slow, as if weighed down by the burden of what lay ahead.
Just before reaching it, he paused with his hand resting on the knob.
Without looking back, he said, “I’m glad you found love, Dominic. Truly. You, of all people, deserve it.”
“As do you, Wilton.”
His friend gave a dry, humorless huff. “No. That’s not meant for me. I know my duty.”
“It only takes one person, Wilton. One unexpected soul to walk into your life and change everything.”
Wilton looked over his shoulder then, his face shadowed with wistfulness and something like longing. But he didn’t respond. Instead, he gave a faint nod and stepped out into the corridor.
Tristan’s face suddenly appeared in the open window, his cheeks flushed with excitement and the inflated pig’s bladder clutched proudly in both hands. “Do you want to kick the bladder with me?” he asked, bouncing slightly on his toes.
Dominic found himself smiling. He couldn't bring himself to dampen the boy’s enthusiasm. “I’ll meet you in the gardens.”
Dorothea stood at the window, her hands lightly resting on the sill as her gaze swept over the gardens below.
The sunlight bathed the lawn in a warm glow, and there—beneath the swaying branches of the old oak—Dominic and Tristan were gleefully kicking the inflated pig bladder back and forth.
Laughter rang through the air, bright and unrestrained.
How could she not love this man? Watching Dominic with the boy, the gentle patience he showed, the ready laughter he so rarely allowed himself, confirmed what she already believed in the quiet recesses of her heart: he would make a wonderful father.
Some would call her foolish for staying.
For loving a man who had once sought to cast her aside.
But she knew better. She knew the man she'd fallen in love with still lived beneath the shadows of regret and duty.
And in moments like this, when his walls dropped, she caught a glimpse of the future she dared to hope for.
A knock interrupted her thoughts, followed quickly by the soft creak of the door. Tabitha stepped in with a tray balanced in her hands.