Chapter 28 #2
For all her vanities and cruelties, Grace had loved Sophia.
She might have abandoned Nicholas, but she would never have gone willingly without her daughter.
Nor would she have ruined Sophia’s future by openly deserting her marriage.
Nicholas had understood that, even then.
It was why he had never used force to stop her.
It was why she had always returned.
And if that was what Sherborne claimed, then he didn’t know her as well as he believed. Or perhaps he, too, was seduced by her sweet lies, because he wanted them to be the truth enough.
Either way, his certainty about Sophia had been built upon a lie.
Nicholas released Sherborne’s collar and straightened. The hard knot between his shoulders loosened.
Grace must have told the man that she had begged for years to take them all abroad, never guessing the embellishment would expose her. The affair had begun near the end of their marriage, exactly when Nicholas had suspected—not before Sophia’s birth.
Sophia was his.
She had always been his in every way that mattered. But now, at last, he knew the blood in her veins was his as well.
“Tell me why you came to me and tried to steal my daughter,” he growled.
“We both know it’s not true, so why? What did you have to gain?
You never wanted Sophia.” As soon as he said the words, he felt the truth of them.
This had never been about Sophia, had it?
If it was, he would have kicked up this fuss five years ago after Grace’s death—he wouldn’t have waited so long.
Sherborne’s mouth twisted and he spat in Nicholas’s direction, apparently abandoning the belief that Sophia could be his as swiftly as he’d picked it up. “Because I loved Grace, and you killed her!”
That first letter Nicholas had received on his wedding night flashed in his mind. A vindictive letter accusing him of murder—of all things.
“Ah. So now it becomes clear.” Nicholas sat back in his chair, surveying the other man. All the guilt he had been fighting for these years felt suddenly pointless. Isadora was right: Grace had made her choices. She was a grown woman; he could not be held responsible for her actions.
After all, he had fought with her—but she had fought with him, too.
And now he couldn’t even remember who had begun the fight that had ended with her storming out.
It had been one of their worst, and he was most certainly not free of blame—but he could not be held responsible for the ensuing carriage accident after the event.
“So this was about revenge…” Nicholas murmured. “You wanted to hurt me by taking away someone I loved.”
Sherborne strained against his restraints, face red to bursting. “You only loved Grace when it suited you!”
“I loved her all of the time,” Nicholas said evenly.
“And she loved me too… when it was convenient for her to do so.” Although she made plenty of mistakes, he knew she had loved him at least once.
“We were not happy together, but that is as much her fault as my own. And I did not seek solace elsewhere.”
“You—”
“I was faithful to my wife, and she brought her own demise upon herself,” Nicholas interrupted passionately.
“I did not force her to get into that carriage, and I certainly did not encourage her to leave to quite possibly go back to her secret lover. That was her choice. You cannot blame me for that. And even if you did, harming her daughter—the daughter of a woman you undoubtedly loved too—all for the sake of your petty revenge is too far.”
Sherborne ground his teeth menacingly. “Nothing else would have hurt you so much.”
“What did you intend to do with her once you had her? Surely you knew I would not let the matter rest. I would have chased you down to the ends of the earth to get Sophia back, and you knew that. You also knew you’d be hanged for your troubles. So why?”
“I have contacts,” Sherborne answered, his voice sulky. “I could have evaded capture.”
Nicholas doubted it; if he had all the connections he claimed, he would not have been caught so easily. Nor would he have started this entire blackmail ruse all on his own and come to Winchester Manor in broad daylight, by himself, to kidnap the daughter of a duke.
“You saw I was in York,” Nicholas murmured, remembering seeing Sherborne at the tavern while with Oliver, and the underground cellar after his last fight. “I presume that was to ensure I was out of the way. How did you know I was Will beyond the mask?”
“You think me some kind of amateur? I had you followed,” Sherborne growled like a cornered hound.
“And you had a routine. At first, I was happy enough with revealing your identity as Will—it was an evening away from the morning papers, but then I saw your marriage announcement and thought of a better plan.”
Nicholas could have struck him again. But now he was here, seeing the smallness of the man before him, the urge died before it even lit.
Sherborne wanted revenge because the woman he loved was dead. That was the long and short of it. He had tormented Nicholas because he wanted to cause pain, and Nicholas could have caused pain in return, but he found he didn’t have to.
The better victory was to live well and be happy.
Nicholas had found a new form of happiness.
Sophia was his, and he could finally let the past go.
Grace could sleep peacefully in her grave with all the rest of her secrets, and he could find a new way forward with Isadora and Sophia and the life they could build together.
For even having the audacity of touching Isadora, Nicholas could have had Sherborne killed and his body thrown elsewhere, but that was not how he wanted to begin his new life. Finally, he knew what he wanted, and it was not to drown in the ripples from Grace’s infidelity.
It was to love, wholeheartedly, the way he had been fighting ever since Grace’s death. Isadora might not forgive him immediately, but he would take the time to show her that he could change.
All he needed was for her to be well again.
“I am going to leave you for the magistrate,” he said, standing and tucking his chair aside again. “You will remain here, and then you will submit to the justice of the law, and there is nothing else you can do about it. My word will be against yours, and I am a peer of the realm.”
“I, too, am a gentleman.” Sherborne writhed against the ropes, his face a mask of rage. “The world will know that your wife loved me. And that Sophia is mine!”
There could be no proof that Nicholas could bring forward, but he knew in his own mind the truth: Sophia was his, and Grace had never claimed otherwise. And that was enough for him. Sherborne’s wild claims would get him nowhere; no one would believe him.
“And what will that achieve?” Nicholas demanded, leaning down and bracing his hands on the wooden arms of Sherborne’s chair.
“She saw you as an escape and as a rebellion. And perhaps she loved you, but it was never enough to elope. She was not the woman you believe her to be. She lied to you. If she ever claimed she would leave Sophia behind, then she was a liar. And you are not upholding her memory by attempting to hurt the people she loved.”
He stuffed the gag back in Sherborne’s mouth and left the cellars.
The entire way upstairs again, he thought about Isadora. He hadn’t been there to see her fall, but he’d seen the blood caked on the back of her head, and the way she staggered, clearly dazed, but so determined to get to Sophia.
He’d never truly appreciated her, never shown her how much it meant to him that she would embrace his life and his world so entirely—in spite of all his flaws, but he would.
He would do anything just to make sure she woke again.