He inclined his head. It was not forgiveness—not entirely. But it was an acknowledgment that they were on the same side, fighting the same fight, and that some sins were committed not out of malice but out of love.
Estella took Philippa's hands and squeezed them. "Thank you," she said. "For everything. Not just today. For all of it."
Philippa squeezed back. "Take care of each other."
They left together, Sebastian's hand at the small of Estella's back.
Philippa stood in the empty drawing room and listened to the front door close. She went to the window and watched them walk to the carriage. Sebastian handed Estella up, and she saw Estella turn and say something that made him shake his head, and then she saw the smile again. That extraordinary, devastating smile that she hadn't known the man was capable of.
Philippa pressed her fingers to the glass.
She thought of Lydia, in her cottage in the country. She thought of the little boy with Andrew's name and his mother's dark eyes. She thought of Barrington, wherever he was, believing his wife was dead and his crimes buried in the ashes.
There was work to do. But for the first time in two years, Philippa wasn't doing it alone.
She turned from the window and poured herself a fresh cup of tea. Then she sat down at her writing desk, and she began to plan. There would be a wedding to arrange, a villain to ruin, and a sister to protect. She picked up her pen.
Dear Mr. Hartwell,
There has been a development…
26
The Pemberton's ball was considered by all to be a great success. And Estella Hale stood at the center of the room, surrounded by newfound friends.
"The lobster patties are a travesty," a baroness declared. "An absolute travesty. But the champagne is tolerable, so one mustn't complain."
Estella smiled and sipped her champagne as one of the other matrons responded. Her gaze drifted across the room to the far wall, where Sebastian stood.
He was watching her. As always. But there was no tension in his shoulders. No white-knuckled grip on his glass. No careful blankness hiding what lay beneath. He was simply watching her, and when her eyes found his, he didn't look away.
He smiled.
It was still new enough to make her giddy. That smile occurred more often these days, but it still felt like witnessing something precious. It softened every hard line, and though the scar remained, it was merely a part of the landscape of a face she loved beyond all reason.
She smiled back, and his eyes warmed in a way that made her skin flush, and the viscountess said something else about the evening’s menu that Estella entirely missed.
"You're glowing again." Thea arrived next to her with a slim volume tucked under her arm. Because of course Thea had brought a book to a ball. "It's been weeks. Shouldn't the glowing have subsided by now?"
"Apparently not," Estella said.
Thea lifted a shoulder. "It's physiologically improbable, is all I'm saying."
"And yet, it appears possible." Estella linked her arm through Thea's and steered them both toward a raised alcove where the duchess sat, looking out over the revelry.
"Your Grace." Estella settled into the chair beside her. "You look as though you're assessing a battlefield."
"I'm always assessing the field, Miss Hale." The duchess's eyes moved over the crowd. "It's one of the few pleasures of age."
Estella laughed. "You are hardly old, Your Grace."
The duchess sniffed. "I'm old enough to have earned the right to sit in a comfortable chair and judge people."
Estella and Thea both laughed, and Thea took a seat on the duchess’s other side.
The duchess's gaze settled on Estella, and there was genuine warmth there. Pride, even. "You've done remarkably well, my dear. When I think of the girl who walked into that first ballroom alone in a dress two Seasons out of fashion…" She shook her head. "And look at you now."
"That girl had help." Estella held the duchess's gaze. "Help she couldn't have managed without."
