Page 88 of The Boxing Baroness

“I don’t remember the reasoning,” he said, sounding utterly unconvincing.

“Why would you do such a thing?”

His eyes slid away and then back slowly. “Sandrine’s letter promised money.”

She laughed. “Ah, now that is motivation I believe.”

He flinched at her bitterness.

“This is a bizarre story—you realize that, don’t you?”

“I know. But it is the truth.”

“And so you took me in for money?”

He nodded miserably.

“How much?”

“Five hundred pounds.”

“Five hundred pounds!”

He winced, and then nodded again.

“That is a fortune! But, having seen your bills recently, I’m sure you went through that quickly enough. Why didn’t you just drop me off at an orphanage once you had the money?”

“I can’t believe you’d think me capable of that!”

She raised a hand. “Don’t. Please. I’m not a fool and I’m tired of being taken for one.” Before he could reply, she said, “What about this locket? Where did you find it?”

“It was inside the enamel box. Sandrine was very sick the last time she wrote to Sonia. She worried she’d be dead before one of us could come collect you. So, she buried the box and locket and told us where to find it. As things turned out, she was unconscious by the time I came to get you and was being nursed by a neighbor woman.”

Marianne turned the locket over in her hand. “So, this must be the locket Dominic wants. What letter does he mean—the one from my mother—er, Sandrine?”

“I don’t know which letter he wants.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No! I don’t know what—”

“Where is the last letter from Sandrine?”

He swallowed. “I don’t have it.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I swear to you, Marianne! I’m telling the truth this time.”

“Oh, this time.” Marianne was stunned by the fury that surged in her belly as she stared at this stranger—this lying stranger. “And how does Dominic even know about this locket?”

“He went through my things. You know how I always keep this bag on me, but if anyone could have found their way into it, that bastard Strickland was the man to do it.”

“You’ve kept all this in your bag all these years?” she asked, openly skeptical.

“No, of course not. But until we had the house, I didn’t feel that there was anywhere safe enough, so—”

“You’re lying to me, Barnabas! There is something you’re not telling me about all this.” There were probably dozens of things.