Page 64 of One Waltz with the Viscount

‘No one wants to hear this,’ Lord Burwell said, waving a dismissive hand. ‘Take her to bed, Mrs French, and in the morning pack your bags and get out of my house. Do not expect a good reference.’

‘I overheard a lot of stuff too,’ Sophia said.

‘What did you overhear?’ Lord Burwell demanded.

‘The last time I was in London, two years ago, there were a lot of comings and goings,’ Sophia said, her gaze fixed on her father. To Henry’s surprise, the old man shifted uncomfortably. He had never seen his father looking as he did now. ‘I remember it was late, and a strange man came into the house. He was covered in soot and smelled like smoke. You took him straight into your study. The man was shaking and crying and you told him to pull himself together.’

Lord Burwell shook his head and glanced at Henry.

‘Two years ago...’ Henry began, but Sophia continued speaking.

‘The man said there had been a terrible tragedy, that he had not known that the woman was going to still be in the house, and that there was no way she could have survived a blaze like that.’

Henry felt his blood run cold as the awful realisation hit him.

‘You killed her.’

‘No.’ Lord Burwell shook his head.

‘You told the man what was done was done, and perhaps it was for the best, and then you paid him handsomely.’

‘You sent someone to set the house on fire.’

Lord Burwell looked at him long and hard, then barked an order to Mrs French. ‘Get out of here. I wish to talk to my children alone.’

The governess looked from one face to another and then scuttled away, deciding it was not worth defying Lord Burwell when she was likely out of a job anyway.

‘You paid a man to burn down my house,’ Henry said, feeling sick to his core. ‘And in doing so you sanctioned the murder of my wife.’

Lord Burwell looked from Sophia to Henry and back again, trying to work out how he could twist his daughter’s words. And failing.

Henry felt an icy calm descend on him. ‘You’re a murderer.’

‘No one will believe the word of a child. She has an overactive imagination.’

‘People will believe her.’

Lord Burwell cleared his throat.

‘Here is what is going to happen,’ Henry said, not allowing his father time to speak. ‘I will take Sophia away with me. There will be no more talk of her marrying some unsuitable gentleman. She will be allowed to enjoy the rest of her childhood without your interference. You will stay away from both of us. I do not want to see or hear from you again, and I certainly do not want your thoughts on who I choose to marry.’

‘And in return?’

‘In return we will not tell the world what you did.’ Henry shrugged. ‘Even without any proof whatsoever, some people will believe us. I expect with a little hard work I could track down the man you paid to set the fire.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Your animosity towards me and Anne was well known.’ Henry paused, shaking his head. All this time he had believed that his late wife had been so miserable she had taken her own life. He’d thought the little improvement he had seen in her before the fire hadn’t been real, and he’d doubted everything that he had believed. He sent a silent apology to his wife. One day, once Sophia was safely well away from Lord Burwell’s influence and reach, settled happily somewhere, he would break his word and expose what his father had done. It would be a difficult task, but he owed it to Anne to show the world who had been responsible for her death. ‘Why did you do it?’

Even as the question left his lips he worked out the answer for himself. In the months before the fire, he had just started to make a decent profit from the rooms he rented out. He had been considering expanding his business, purchasing another property to renovate and rent out, as he had the first two. It would mean his independence from his father could be guaranteed, as little by little his income grew.

‘You hated that I had made my way in the world despite you refusing to support me. You wanted me penniless, forced to return to you and back within your web of influence,’ he answered for his father, shaking his head.

After the fire he had sold the second of his properties, the undamaged one, to allow him to cover his immediate expenses and to compensate the people who had lost everything alongside him. If the Shrewsburys had not come and swept him up, showing him such kindness, he would have had to go begging back to his father straight away.

Lord Burwell set his lips hard and jabbed a finger in Henry’s direction.

‘Cross me at your peril, boy. I can make your life very difficult.’