Helen gave a small shrug, as though time itself were irrelevant. “Yes. Until I grew bored.”
That, more than anything, seemed to carry weight in her tone.
She set her glass down and leaned forward slightly, eyes brightening. “I was at a party in Cornwall,” she continued, “when I heard gossip about the Duke of Anderton… and a governess. That’s when I realized that you had taken the children on as wards after Benedict’s death. And since they are my children…”
Her lips curled faintly. “Well, that snapped me out of my boredom.”
Gabriel felt something cold settle in his chest.
“I realized,” she said, almost proudly, “that I had made a mistake. I should return. I should reclaim what is mine. I should be Duchess of Anderton. Not some governess pretending she belongs in my place.”
Silence tightened around the table like a held breath.
Gabriel finally leaned back slightly in his chair, studying her with quiet detachment. “You understand,” he said evenly, “that I now have enough evidence to have you imprisoned. Or sentenced for the crime of faking your death.”
Helen blinked once. “What?” she asked.
The word cracked slightly at the edges. Before Gabriel could respond, the magistrate stepped forward.
“Helen Warring,” he said formally, his voice cutting cleanly through the tavern air, “you are under arrest for crimes committed and for fraudulent deception surrounding your supposed death.”
Helen pushed back her chair abruptly and rose to her feet, color rising sharply in her face. “This is absurd,” she snapped. “I did not fake my death.”
Mr. Carson stepped forward without hesitation and placed a document in the magistrate’s hand. “The death certificate,” he said calmly, “signed under duress and later verified as falsified.”
Helen’s eyes darted to it, then to Gabriel.
Hatley, the investigator, followed immediately. “We have located three witnesses,” he said, voice steady, “who confirm you blackmailed individuals into producing that document.”
Helen’s breath hitched sharply. “This is a lie,” she said, pointing at Gabriel. “You tricked me.”
Gabriel met her gaze without flinching. “No,” he said quietly. “You are simply experiencing the consequences of your own actions.”
Her expression twisted. “My children will never forgive you,” she said sharply.
Gabriel’s voice lowered but did not soften. “Your children are safer with you in prison. Dr. John Hunt can attest to what you did to them.”
At that, John stepped forward into view.
Helen’s eyes widened as recognition struck her like a blow. “You…” she whispered.
John gave a grim nod. “I remember everything,” he said simply.
The magistrate straightened. “You will be taken into custody,” he said. “You will stand trial. The court will determine your sentence: prison or worse.”
Helen stared at them all, breathing hard. For a moment, something like panic broke through her composure. “Mercy,” she said suddenly. “I choose prison. Not death.”
The admission hung in the air like something unwanted but necessary.
The magistrate nodded once. “So be it.”
Hatley moved first, stepping to her side. Carson followed. Together with the magistrate, they guided Helen away from the table. She did not resist at first, only glancing back at Gabriel with burning fury.
“This isn’t over,” she said sharply. “You have not won.”
Gabriel watched her without expression. “It ended the moment you chose to return,” he replied.
Her glare lingered on him, full of venom. Then she was escorted toward the door, the sound of her heels striking the floor growing fainter with each step.
