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“I know you’re disappointed—”
“My concern isn’t what you did, but who was with you. Has he given up his efforts to destroy your grandmother’s name?”
“He hasn’t said so.” She swallowed around the lump threatening to choke her. “But he wouldn’t. He’s a good man, and he cares about me.”
She heard how ridiculous, how juvenile and fanciful her words sounded. He might care about her on some level, at least enough to bed her and save her from a collapsing ceiling. But men like him didn’t turn their backs on Parliament for a girl like her.
Mrs. Keenan tilted her head to the side and took Bridget’s hand. “You’re too young to be so lonely. Maybe you could stay in the village with us, or join your grandmother in London for a spell.”
Madame Sandrine likely had no desire or time to see her granddaughter, not when Bridget had placed their livelihood at risk.
“Your grandfather,” Mrs. Keenan went on, “he wouldn’t want you wasting away in this house. He’d want you to find love, start your own household.”
She huffed and grabbed the plate from the table, dumped the remainder of the meal she shared with Valebrook into the rubbish bin. “But what about the manor? Grandmother isn’t in any rush to come back.”
“Then the manor should shut its doors.”
Bridget’s heart ceased beating. “That’s—I couldn’t.”
“You could. We’re barely covering our expenses with you working yourself to the bone. This building is tossing itself into the sea as we speak, and I worry about your safety.” Mrs. Keenan gave Bridget a fond, motherly smile. “I worry about you.”
Bridget swallowed thickly. “I can’t leave Ashveil. All my memories are here.”
“Memories don’t disappear when you leave a place. Besides…” Her gaze darted to the side, and Bridget’s insides tightened. “Mr. Keenan and I are considering retirement.”
Were she not gripping the edge of the table, she would have tumbled to the floor. Several moments passed before she found the breath to form words. “You’re—you’re leaving.”
Mrs. Keenan’s expression was broken. “We know you need us here, but we’re getting older, and this work isn’t getting any easier. And with the grandbabes coming along…” Bridget’s devastation must have been plain as day, because Mrs. Keenan rushed to say, “We’ll stay if you need, though.”
Despite the bile rising in her throat, Bridget shook her head. “I can’t keep you away from a family that needs you.”
“You’re family, too, my dear.”
“Not in the same way.” She’d laced more fire into the words than she’d intended, and Mrs. Keenan recoiled. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
Wouldn’t it be lovely to have a family who needed her? One that at least acknowledged her willingness to throw herself in front of the parliamentary ax that threatened to dismember her grandparents’ reputation?
She had nothing, no one. All she had was this manor and the memories she’d developed within its walls.
What about Valebrook?
On another day, she might have luxuriated in her thoughts of the earl, the pleasure he’d given her. The joyful part of herself that he’d unearthed. But his letter reminded her of the truth—Valebrook’s intentions towards her would never be more than destruction. He, too, would need to remain a memory.
“I’m staying here.” She set her jaw. “I’m not leaving.”
Mrs. Keenan held out a hand. “Bridget—”
“This is my home.” Her voice wavered. “This is my legacy. And I’m not giving it up just because it’s inconvenient.”
“That’s not—”
“If you’ll excuse me.” She backed away from the table, blinking back the moisture gathering on her lashes.
“Bridget, wait,” Mrs. Keenan called, and she paused at the threshold. “If you’re not careful, this home might become your tomb.”
CHAPTER 23
The evidence you find will be crucial to advancing my motion into law…
