“Yes?”
I fidgeted with the corner of my desk. “Do you recall my gambling habits?”
Mr. Briggs shifted uncomfortably. “Yes.”
“I—” Before I could finish, the door opened, and Mr. Barnes stuck his head inside. “Forgive me for interrupting. Two letters have been delivered for you, your lordship.”
I stood, wondering if one might be from Mr. Thornbeck, and circled my desk to the door. Barnes handed me both letters, and I looked them over. One was in a male hand and the other—a fatter letter—was decidedly female. “Thank you, Barnes. I will find you if I need to post a response.” He left me and I stared at the top envelope—the one in a female’s hand. It had better not be from Mary Anne. I did not want to hear about how she was engaged, but her attention was still wandering to other men.
I covered it with the second letter so I did not have to see it—the one in the male’s hand—the one I hoped to be from Mr. Thornbeck. I had great respect for him and his service to me. I was certain he would have something important to say to me that I would need to hear.
My curiosity about his response suddenly overwhelmed my urgency to unburden myself from Mr. Briggs. I had forgotten how awkward Briggs could be about—well, everything. I would speak to him, but a few more minutes would not hurt.
“Briggs, pour yourself a cup of tea, and excuse me for a brief moment.” Before he could respond, I stepped outside my office and shut the door. Shoving the thicker letter from the unknown female’s hand in my waistcoat pocket, I opened the other letter.
It was as I had hoped. Mr. Thornbeck had responded. The message filled an entire page, and I quickly devoured every word. He congratulated me on my successful investigation. He had begun to think that we had all dreamed up my rescuer—that she had been some heavenly apparition. He was pleased to know that good people still existed in the world.
The second paragraph addressed my confession and my reading slowed.
Before I was a vicar, I too had fallen into the follies of youth and made a series of poor decisions. I was the third son of my parents, and my mother desired for me to go into the church. Not on my own merit, but on the generosity of family friends, a living was purchased for me. Unfortunately, I wasted my income and neglected my parishioners.
After staying out late many nights in a row, frequenting irreputable places, I caught an illness. I have never been so ill in my life, before nor since. Death sat at my side, ready to take me out of this world. As you can imagine, I was quite afraid.
Like you, I took the opportunity to review my life and did not like what I saw. In time, I miraculously recovered. It took more time and more mistakes, but the changes I made brought peace into my life. Of all the people I have met on this earth, not one of them has beenperfect—I certainly am not. Every one of us needs the grace of God. Remember, a good man is defined by the path he chooses and the decisions he makes next. He progresses not in spite of his mistakes but because of the lessons they taught him.
The words resonated with me, giving me hope like I had not thought possible. Mr. Thornbeck had not let his weaknesses hold him back but had become stronger because of them. I would do the same. Knowing Briggs was waiting for me, I quickly folded the letter and put it in my waistcoat pocket. It jammed and would not fit.
I had forgotten the second letter already. I pulled it out. Part of me wanted to burn it without reading it. How many pages had she written for it to bulge so?
On a whim, I tore it open, not intending to read a word. A button fell to the ground. I bent over and retrieved it—gold and perfectly round—the reason for the letter’s thick appearance. I lifted the letter to see why someone would send me a button of all things. The writing was actually quite short.
Lord Camden,
I have no doubt that you are confused by my sudden departure from Rosemont Court. Let me assure you it has nothing to do with you. I wanted to speak to you about my own troubled past, but my brother came to collect me before the opportunity arose.
My eyes dropped to the bottom of the letter, refusing to believe it was from Estelle. Seeing her name at the bottom was impossible. She was gone? My breathing became stilted and pain lanced through my gut.
Forgetting Briggs, I raced down the corridor. “Barnes! Barnes, where are you?”
Barnes rounded the corner as soon as I reached the front door.
I clutched his arm. “Barnes, when did she leave? Miss Lewis, I mean. When did she leave, and where did she go?”
“She left over an hour ago, your lordship.”
My eyes flew to the long, narrow windows on either side of the double doors. They were streaked with rain, marring my view. Dash it all! Even with the weather slowing the carriage down, she could be on a train by now.
“Her brother came for her,” Barnes continued. “Your mother was happy to see her go, I daresay.”
“I cannot believe this.” I shook my head. I feared what my mother had said and done and sorely wished I knew more about this brother of Estelle’s. “Did they say where they were headed?”
“Home, I assume. Though, I cannot say either of them mentioned the location. Miss Wilde was with Miss Lewis until her departure. She might know.”
“My sister, yes.” I started moving toward the library. Would she even be there? My hand crumpled the edge of the letter, and I suddenly halted in my tracks. I brought the letter back to my line of vision and continued to read through it to the end.
There is so much I wish to say, but my brother is anxious for me to hurry. I only have time to send you this button with a warning. It is from Mr. Briggs’s coat. Don’t ask me how I have it, but please believe me when I say that Mr. Briggs is dangerous. The button is evidence that he is one of the men who attacked you. I will explain more when I have the chance.
Please, be careful!
