Chapter 28
The first light of morning had begun to spread across the sky by the time they turned toward Ravenscourt.
Sophie slept between Eleanor and Gabriel, wrapped in Eleanor’s cloak and leaning heavily against her mother’s side. The child had cried until exhaustion overtook her, and now her breathing was slow and peaceful, one small hand still curled into the fabric of Eleanor’s gown.
Gabriel looked at her often. Each time he did, the same fierce relief moved through him. She was safe.
He turned his attention toward Eleanor, who was sitting behind him. She looked exhausted. Her hair had come loose during the night, several dark strands escaping around her face, and there were shadows beneath her eyes, yet she held Sophie with a tenderness that made his chest tighten.
“You should rest,” he said quietly.
“I am resting.”
“You have not taken your eyes off her.”
“I do not think I can.”
Gabriel understood. He reached across and gently adjusted the cloak around Sophie’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” Eleanor whispered.
“I was so frightened. When I saw her behind that window, I thought my heart would stop.”
“I thought the same of myself.”
She looked at him.
“You did not show it.”
“I was trying to think, and trying not to make you feel worse.”
“You always do that. For what it is worth, it helps tremendously.”
The road stretched ahead beneath the pale morning sky. Their horses moved at an easy pace now, no longer driven by the desperate urgency of the night.
Sophie stirred. Eleanor immediately looked down.
“She is all right.” He chuckled.
“I know.”
Gabriel watched Eleanor’s expression soften as she brushed a curl from Sophie’s forehead.
“She loves you.” He smiled.
“I know, and she loves you.”
Something warm moved through him.
“I love her too.”
Eleanor lowered her voice. “I think she has already decided that you belong to us.”
Gabriel’s heart gave a painful little pull. “Do I?”
“I think you have for some time.”
He squeezed her hand.
“I do not want to lose either of you again,” he said in a gentle but firm voice. “And I will not. I will make certain of it.”
She leaned slightly closer. “You cannot control everything.”
“No, but I can choose you, and I will do so for the rest of my life.”
“Gabriel—”
“I mean it. I chose you when I married you, even when I was too frightened to understand what I was doing. I chose you when you were certain I simply pitied you. I choose you now.”
Her eyes shone.
“I chose you too. I lost you once, and I will never lose you again.”
Gabriel’s throat tightened. He wanted to kiss her. The desire was sudden and overwhelming, but Sophie slept between them, and the road remained open around them. He forced himself to remain where he was.
Eleanor seemed to understand. She leaned closer until her shoulder rested against his. They rode that way beneath the growing light, their hands joined around the sleeping child between them.
There would be time for the rest. There would be time for the words they had been carrying for years, for the explanations and promises and all the things neither had yet dared to say aloud.
For now, Gabriel was content to feel Eleanor behind him and Sophie’s quiet breathing between them. Home was ahead, and this time, they were going there together.
By the time they reached Ravenscourt, the sun had climbed above the trees. Gabriel saw the house before Eleanor did, its pale stone walls bright beneath the morning light. For the first time since Sophie had vanished, the sight of it brought him peace.
The gates opened at once. Beatrice was waiting in the drive. The moment she saw Sophie asleep between them, she ran forward.
“Oh, thank God.”
Her voice broke, and tears immediately filled her eyes. Eleanor dismounted first, gathering Sophie carefully into her arms. Beatrice reached them and wrapped both arms around Eleanor before pressing a trembling kiss against Sophie’s hair.
“I was so frightened.”
“So was I.”
Beatrice drew back enough to look at Sophie.
“Is she safe?”
“She is.”
That seemed to undo what little composure Beatrice had managed to keep. She covered her mouth, laughing and crying at once. Gabriel dismounted and stood beside them, watching as Beatrice fussed over Eleanor and Sophie without the slightest concern for propriety or appearances.
His mother came down the steps more slowly, though her relief was written plainly across her face.
“Give her to me.”
Eleanor smiled through her tears. “She is asleep.”
“Then she may sleep in my arms.”
Eleanor hesitated only long enough to adjust the child before passing Sophie over. The older woman gathered her close with surprising tenderness and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“My poor little darling.”
Sophie stirred. “Grandmama?”
“Yes, my love. You are home.”
Gabriel watched Eleanor’s face as she looked at them. Something inside him eased. There had been a time when Eleanor had stood outside the family, uncertain whether she belonged anywhere.
She had believed herself a burden, a woman who needed to earn every kindness given to her, but now his mother was carrying her daughter as though Sophie had always belonged in her arms, and the servants were gathering nearby with unmistakable relief.
Eleanor belonged there.
“You must both be exhausted,” Beatrice noted as she came to stand beside Eleanor.
Gabriel looked at Eleanor. “We are.”
“Then you must rest. Immediately.”
Eleanor laughed softly. “I believe I am being ordered.”
“You are,” Beatrice said, slipping an arm around Eleanor’s shoulders. “Come inside.”
Gabriel remained in the drive for a moment, watching the three women disappear through the doorway with Sophie between them, and he smiled.
After everything that had happened, after all the fear and uncertainty, there was something profoundly comforting in seeing Eleanor surrounded by people who loved her.
Then he followed them inside.
Gabriel returned to the library once they had slept.
The investigator was already waiting beside the desk, the leather satchel open before him, while Carter stood near the window looking deeply uncomfortable beneath the attention of the men gathered to hear his account.
Gabriel closed the door behind him and crossed toward the desk.
“Let us see what Julian was carrying.”
The investigator laid the letters across the polished surface.
“There are twelve in all. Four concern Lord Marbury directly, while several others contain references that may prove relevant.”
Gabriel picked up the first letter and studied Julian’s unmistakable handwriting. The paper had been folded several times, and the ink had faded slightly along the creases.
“What does it say?” Carter asked.
Gabriel read the passage again before answering.
“Someone was told that the matter at the hunt would be settled before the end of the week.”
“That is what I heard him say.”
The investigator reached for another letter and opened it carefully.
“This one is more specific. There is a payment to a saddler.”
Gabriel read the passage himself, his expression becoming increasingly grim.
“Why would Julian be paying a saddler?”
“Because the saddle was altered,” Carter said.
Silence settled over the room.
Gabriel looked directly at him. “Are you certain?”
“I saw the saddle before the hunt, I saw it afterward, and the girth had been changed.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
Carter looked toward the floor. “No. I was frightened of what Julian would do.”
Gabriel placed the letter down and leaned both hands against the desk. “Then tell us exactly what happened that day.”
Carter drew a slow breath.
“Lord Marbury rode out with the others. Julian had spoken to me earlier and told me there was something I was to do, although I did not understand what it was at first. He told me to make certain Lord Marbury took the bay.”
“Why?”
“I did not ask. I knew enough to know I ought not to.”
The investigator stepped closer. “What happened after the accident?”
“Julian told me to leave.”
“Why?”
“He said matters would be taken care of.”
Gabriel’s gaze dropped to the letters again.
The phrase seemed to echo through the room.
The pieces were beginning to fit together with terrible clarity: the altered saddle-girth, the payment to the saddler, the instruction concerning Lord Marbury’s horse, and Julian’s assurance that the matter would be settled.
Set beside Julian’s debts and his interest in Sophie’s inheritance, the old accident began to look less like misfortune and more like a carefully arranged murder.
Gabriel’s hand tightened around the edge of the desk.
“How much was the saddler paid?”
The investigator showed him the letter. “A substantial amount. Enough to purchase silence.”
Gabriel turned toward Carter. “You will give this account formally. You will tell the magistrate exactly what you have told us, without leaving anything out.”
Carter hesitated before nodding. “I will.”
“And the saddler?”
“The investigator has already located him,” the man replied. “He is willing to come forward.”
“Send for him. I want his statement taken separately, and I want the payment traced if we can manage it.”
The investigator gathered the letters into a neat stack. “I shall have both statements prepared today.”
Gabriel looked down at the papers. “These must go to the magistrate with Carter’s testimony.”
The investigator studied him for a moment.
“Do you believe this is enough to prove Julian arranged the accident?”
“It is enough to establish the pattern, perhaps, though I want more than a pattern. I want enough evidence that Julian cannot explain any of it away.”
Carter moved toward the door, then stopped with his hand on the latch.
“I… I should have spoken sooner. I am sorry.”
Gabriel looked at him. “Yes, you should have, but you can tell the truth now. That is what matters.”
“I will.”
Carter left with the investigator, and Gabriel remained alone in the library. The room had fallen quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock and the distant sounds of the household beginning its day.
He looked once more at Julian’s letters.
For so long, Lord Marbury’s death had been surrounded by uncertainty and accusations.
Eleanor had carried the consequences while Julian had hidden behind the appearance of a grieving relative, but the truth was beginning to emerge from the very papers he had believed would protect him.
Gabriel gathered the evidence carefully and placed it inside the satchel, then he turned toward the door, determined to put it before the magistrate before Julian had another opportunity to bury the truth.
Gabriel found Eleanor in the morning room after leaving the library. Sophie had been settled with Beatrice, who had insisted that the child needed food, warmth, and several hours of uninterrupted sleep, leaving Eleanor briefly alone with her husband.
She was standing beside the window when he entered, looking out over the gardens. The morning sun had begun to warm the glass, but the sight of her there still brought back the memory of finding her in the darkness before dawn, riding beside him with fear written across her face.
“Eleanor?”
She turned.
“Have you spoken with the magistrate?” she asked.
“Not yet. I wanted to speak with you first.”
“Is it about the letters?”
“Partly.”
He crossed the room and stopped before her. He did not know how to begin, which was unusual enough to make her smile faintly.
“You look as though you are about to deliver a speech.”
He smiled, but it faded quickly. Gabriel reached for her hands and drew them gently into his own.
“I have spent too much of my life waiting to say things until the moment seemed perfect. I do not intend to make that mistake again.”
Eleanor’s breath caught.
“What things?” she asked.
“The things I should have told you years ago, and the things I have tried to tell you since you came back into my life.
I love you. I loved you when we were young, I loved you when you left, and I loved you when I believed you had chosen someone else.
I know we have been through more than either of us should have had to endure, and I know there are still matters we must settle.
I know there are things you deserve to ask me and things I need to explain, but I cannot keep waiting for some safer moment.”
Eleanor looked up at him, her eyes shining. He lifted one of her hands and pressed it against his chest.
“I want you here, Eleanor. Not because Sophie needs protecting, not because I once promised myself I would do right by you, and not because I feel responsible for what happened eight years ago. I want you because you are the woman I love.”
Her lips parted, but before she could answer, three sharp knocks sounded at the door. They broke apart instinctively. Gabriel closed his eyes for a brief moment before looking toward the entrance.
“Come in.”
A magistrate’s man entered, still wearing his traveling coat. Gabriel straightened.
“What has happened?” he asked.
“The magistrate has received the preliminary statements. He requests that you come at once.”
“Why?”
The man hesitated. “There is further information concerning the letters and Lord Marbury’s death.”
Eleanor stepped closer. “What information?”
“The magistrate would prefer to explain it himself, my lady.”
Gabriel exchanged a look with Eleanor. The moment between them had vanished, leaving the words he had wanted to hear from her suspended in the air. He took her hand once more.
“We will finish this.”
She nodded. The messenger stepped aside, and Gabriel followed him from the room. Eleanor remained close behind.
By the time they reached the library, the investigator was already there with Carter and the saddler. Several documents had been spread across the desk, and the investigator had lost the guarded uncertainty he had carried earlier.
Gabriel approached. “What have you found?”
The investigator placed one final paper beside the others.
“The saddler remembers Julian’s instructions. Carter confirmed the timing, the payment corresponds to the alteration, and Julian’s letters establish that he knew exactly what was meant to happen at the hunt.”
Gabriel looked down at the evidence. The pieces no longer sat separately.
They formed a single, terrible picture. Julian had arranged the horse.
He had paid for the alteration. He had ensured that Lord Marbury would ride it.
He had known the result was coming, and afterward he had paid others to keep silent.
Eleanor stood beside Gabriel, reading the same papers. Her face had gone pale. Gabriel felt the weight of the truth settle over him. They had had their thoughts and theories, but this was proof.
“This was not an accident.”
The room fell silent. He looked toward Eleanor, then back at the evidence.
“Julian did not merely scheme against you. He murdered his own uncle.”