Yours, Estelle
I stared at the words for several moments. Briggs? Attack me? I lifted the button closer, examining it. My eyes squeezed shut. I traced my memories of the attack. I had reached for someone before I had been knocked unconscious. Had I retrieved this button? Had Estelle found it on me?
Of course I believed her, but did I believe it was connected to Briggs? No. It was not possible. Briggs was dependable—good. He had been one of the few constants I could rely on. My talk with Augusta would have to wait. I spun on my heels and retraced my steps to my study. I hastily refolded Estelle’s letter, which now fit with Mr. Thornbeck’s in my pocket. I kept the button in my fist as I slipped back inside the room.
“Forgive me, Briggs. My day has been wholly unexpected. I must thank you for your patience after you have traveled all this way.”
I sank into my chair and noticed the tea things still in their place. I glanced up to see Briggs watching me, unmoving and rigid.
A wave of fear passed through me. It was gone as fast as it had arrived, for I was not worried about Briggs attacking me in my study. My fear was because I might have been wrong. I wanted to believe Briggs was innocent with every part in my being. But what if he were not?
My eyes searched for his overcoat and the matching gold buttons, but of course, he did not have it on. Barnes had likely taken it and hung it by a fire to dry. I tried to act casually, while my mind raced. “Let’s see. Where were we?”
“You had brought up your gambling, your lordship.”
“Oh, yes. If you recall, I have not gambled since the night of my attack.”
His eye twitched again.
A knot formed in my gut, heavy as a stone. My plan took a slight detour. “I have been reflecting on the happenings of that night." I pauseda beat before continuing. "I cannot tell you of the pain I endured, Briggs, nor the terror of being left to die in the dirty streets of London. I figured one of my friends had betrayed me out of jealousy—since they did not simply rob me—or someone I had won money from sought revenge. What reason would anyone else have to commit such a horrific crime?”
Briggs did not answer. His face was an impassive stone.
I persisted in my tale. “Thankfully, God had mercy on me. I was given a second chance. I do not gamble any longer, but neither do I trust anyone. I am careful where I travel and who I am with. I have guards watching my property, and I pay two investigators to help me search for not just my rescuer but my attacker. There was only one person I allowed myself to confide in, and that was you. You are my only friend, Briggs. Orweremy only friend. Until I fell in love recently with the woman who rescued me.”
“What?” Briggs broke his stony countenance, his forehead wrinkling under his persistent lock of hair. “You found her?”
“I did. And she found in my hand evidence that belonged to my attacker.”
Briggs paled.
I wish to heaven that he had not.
I knew then that I sat across from the man who had tried to destroy my life. The man I had called my friend.
“What evidence?” he asked. His hands crawled upward to his waist. Did he have a knife?
“Evidence that points to you, Briggs.”
He shot out of his chair to his feet, his eyes wild with fear.
My hands lifted in a defensive position. “Sit down, Briggs.”
He did not move.
Tension coursed through me, woven with sorrow. “Don’t bother denying it. Your actions are proof enough for me.” My voice was calm. Heavy. “Can you at least tell me why?”
I don’t know what I expected—for him to scream at me, to attack me, or to bolt from the room. Whatever it was, I did not expect for him to slowly round the corner of my desk and fall to his knees.
“Kill me, please.” His words bore his hopeless surrender and a furtive plea. “I deserve to die.”
Die? I had been the one to almost die. Every nightmare and memory of physical pain from the attack assailed me, as if I were reliving it in that moment. Then there was the worry for my family. The constant concern for their lives. And he . . . my only confidante and friend. After all he did to me—to my mind—maybe he did deserve to die. My temper flared. “Dash it all, Briggs. How could you do this to me?" I stood with such haste that my chair crashed to the ground behind me. "Tell me why! Why did you try to kill me?”
His eyes lifted, so empty they scared me. “I, too, love the thrill of the game of cards. I needed the money.”
The rock in my stomach sunk ever further.
He was like me.
