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“Oh my God,” she murmured. “You should have come to me as soon as you got that letter! I would have helped you.”
“I know. I know I should have.” Sylvia turned away from the hurt in Georgiana’s eyes. “But I thought I could take care of this. Iwantedto. I’ve had to rely on other people for so long. Ever since Bernard. I’ve felt so useless. And now…now everything I touch seems to go to ruin,” she said miserably.
She had deceived people she cared about because she was too ashamed to ask for help. Of course that hurt them. Why had she ever thought it would be otherwise?
A gentle hand gripped her shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Sylvia. If not for your own sake, then do it for mine. It pains me to see you like this. You’ve had so much to deal with. Let me help. Please.”
Sylvia’s throat tightened with emotion as she marveled at the viscountess. She had just confessed to lying to her for weeks. To keeping secrets that could bring irreparable harm to her family’s reputation, to say nothing of the personal cost to herself. And though Georgiana had every right to demand Sylvia leave this instant, she only asked to help.
She placed her hand over Georgiana’s and faced her. “Thank you.”
If only her conversation with Rafe had gone so easily, but they had caused each other different wounds, and both hid their hurt behind a stubborn desire to be right. She could not make him want to understand her any more than he could do the same with her, and her chest ached with this knowledge. That despite the many ways in which they seemed to find a unique kind of acceptance in the other, it still wasn’t enough in the end.
Georgiana’s eyes filled with relief. “Good. Now let’s discuss—”
But before she could continue, a footman came running over to them. “Lady Arlington! I’ve been searching all over for you,” the man panted. “An urgent message from London has come.” He held out the missive.
Georgiana shot Sylvia a bewildered look as she took the envelope. But a feeling of dread began to kindle in Sylvia’s belly. Had the viscount already learned of their deception?
“Odd,” Georgiana began as she unfolded the paper. “I can’t imagine what’s so important that—”
But the rest of the words remained unspoken as she gasped and brought a hand to her mouth.
Sylvia gripped her arm. “Georgiana? What is it?”
Instead of answering, the viscountess held out the telegram. Sylvia took it from her trembling hand.
It contained just three short lines announcing the viscount’s death.
“Oh, Georgiana.”
The words seemed to penetrate Georgiana’s shock, and she let out a cry as she crumpled to the floor. The footman, thinking she had given in to a swoon, called out for help. Sylvia knelt down and wrapped her arms around Georgiana, who pressed her head heavily to Sylvia’s shoulder and sobbed against the fabric of her dress. Rafe and Captain Harris came rushing out of the library and were joined by a few officers and guests. Sylvia caught the tormented look that briefly flashed across the captain’s face before his mouth settled in a grim line, as though he was disturbed by the scene before him, but she did not look at Rafe at all and returned her attention to Georgiana.
To anyone else it must have looked like she was in the throes of wrenching despair.
Only Sylvia knew the truth.
They were tears of relief.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rafe’s footsteps echoed off Whitehall’s spotless floors. He hated coming here. It was an unwelcome reminder of his minuscule place within the vast inner workings of the Empire. Though he had been born to a life of privilege, his personal power was worth very little within these walls. But today he was on a mission of justice. He gripped the leather folder he carried even closer to his chest. After weeks of delays, Rafe would finally have a chance to discuss all he had uncovered in Scotland. Representatives from the Home Office and the office of the prime minister would be present, along with his brother.
They hadn’t spoken since Rafe’s return to London. Once Gerard learned he was back in town and that Wardale was dead, he’d sent a note asking to meet so he could explain and had even attempted an apology, but Rafe had thrown it away before he’d finished reading it and had ignored the others that followed.
The assistant Rafe had been following led him to a large office. “Have a seat here, Mr. Davies. Someone will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you.”
The assistant then dipped his head and left. The office itself was remarkably devoid of personality. It contained the customary polished mahogany desk, a barely used leather chair, and shelves of reference books that likely had never been opened.
It could belong to anyone.
Rafe placed the folder on the desk and walked over to the room’s lone window, which looked out onto a small courtyard. Empty at midmorning. He had already submitted a report to the Home Office detailing everything he had uncovered and sent along the files from Wardale’s desk, save for the one on Sylvia. There was no question that the man had been involved in an elaborate blackmail scheme targeting prominent members of government and business. They didn’t need clippings of her old newspaper columns to prove that. And yet, instead of burning them on the spot like he should have, he had tucked the file safely away at the back of his desk drawer unopened.
As for now, Rafe planned to discuss his experience and answer any questions the panel had. Then the government would proceed with a formal investigation to ensure that any criminal wrongdoing was prosecuted. Justice would be served. And it would have been worth it.
All of it.
