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They would all instinctively understand why she would never tolerate a father who didn’t love his child.

Chapter Fourteen

Asquith entered the back garden of Asquith House with anticipation pulsing through. Soon, he and Lenora would reunite.

He strode purposefully toward the stables, relief threading through each breath. In the past two days, he’d accomplished his every aim.

He’d spent the previous morning finalizing marriage settlements that were both generous to Millie and agreeable to Neville. Then, in the afternoon, he had met with Preston.

Instead of attempting to reintegrate into Willard’s coterie as they’d originally planned, Preston had cleverly identified Willard's most brutish, and most aggrieved, hireling and plied him with everything Willard had withheld—coin, drink, and a generous dose of flattery.

By midnight, Preston had the answer they’d been seeking. The forged bond was hidden beneath the mattress at Willard’s hunting lodge near Brighton.

The lodge had come to Willard through his maternal uncle. The rambling, isolated placehad since acquired a rather different reputation than its original purpose. Preston had argued he should be the one to travel to Brighton and retrieve the bond. With only one porter on permanent staff, he could easily gain entry, while Asquith, who had never met Porter, would face resistance.

Provided Willard was not in residence, the plan should come off without a hitch.

Hampton, meanwhile, was presently meeting with Eltenham.

Asquith wondered if Willard felt the net closing in.

A rare feeling, this eager optimism. His calm, methodical approach to Willard’s destruction proved he was no longer the same desperate lad who had lost his mind in rage. He could properly ask for Lenora’s hand secure in the knowledge he was not a man of violence, but a man of honor, strategy, and sense.

He entered his stable and closed the door. Moving from stall to stall, he greeted each of his long-maned friends. Calder proudly tossed his head. Asquith smoothed his hand down the stallion’s neck, murmuring soft words of praise.

He extracted his damaged hand from Calder’s mane and massaged his scarred little finger over his under glove.

Once, at Tattersalls, he’d met a Scottish physician who had encouraged him to meet with a surgeon to break and reset the finger. Asquith had stiffly refused. He hadn’t wanted to lose the reminder of his past violence.

But now...

He’d have to discuss the matter with the lady he hoped would soon be his wife.

“Asquith?” Her voice sounded from above.

Was she already up in Barker’s room?

He had feared winning her back would require careful execution. But she’d gone upstairs rather than meeting him by the stalls, so perhaps he’d been wrong?

His spirits lifted.

He bounded up the stairs, turned the corner, and froze.

Though Lenora was not currently weeping, her face was awash with recent tears.

His chill deepened. Had she lost the child?

He stepped forward, reaching out. “What’s happened?”

She shrank away from his touch. “What’s happened? I will tell you what’s happened. Everything is ruined—the whole of my life and of Millie’s—and it’s all your fault.”

Ruined her life? And Millie’s? Had he heard her correctly?

“First, you force Millie to marry someone she despises.”

Force!? “I most certainly did not—”

“Then,” she talked over him, “you buy a horse even though you know...” A shiver coursed through her. “You know such an extravagance is likely to make the Lord Chancellor withdraw his permission.”