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But that was all he felt now. Cold bitter hate.
Seven years he’d had to polish that bitterness into a smooth, sharp point, ready to aim directly at Laney. Ready to let loose at her.
Years ago, that he’d ever consider hurting her was unthinkable.
But he wasn’t the man he was those many years ago. He’d never be that man again. Proud. Confident. Compassionate. All of those things were lost to him now.
Only cold, only hate left in his chest.
Laney had ruined his life and everything in it years ago and now it was his turn.
Minute by minute, comment by comment, it was time to break her.
Just as he’d once been broken.
{ Chapter 3 }
They’d buried her brother the next day in the family plot. The last Earl of Gruggin in the ground.
Under grey skies, the thick air moored between spring and summer.
Quickly, quietly, without fuss. Laney, the clergyman, the staff, and Wes at the gravesite. That was it.
Laney had no fortitude for anything more.
Several hours later, she sat in the study at Gruggin Manor, watching the solicitor next to her that had arrived well after her brother’s body had been delivered to the earth.
Should she have waited for him to attend the burial as well? The man had known her brother, been the family solicitor for years, though this was only her second time meeting him. Rude or not, what was done was done.
A lean man, Mr. Filmore teetered on the edge of his chair, shuffling about the papers strewn out on the desk before them, his ink-smudged finger moving from line to line. His monotone voice checked off all the things he customarily told families of the dead. Not insensitive—merely detached.
He probably appreciated arriving later in the day and missing the burial. Most likely planned his arrival for just that purpose.
“Lady Helena?”
Laney blinked, her focus shifting to his face.
“Do you understand thus far?” Mr. Filmore asked.
As if she could follow his words, the fuzzy numbers shifting about in front of her.
She nodded. She had managed to grasp the main points.
For how irresponsible Morton was, her brother had handled the affairs of his death with detail. He’d even bought his own casket, storing it at their London townhouse.
As if he’d known full well death was coming for him.
Morton had never been a paranoid person—he’d always been far too carefree. But that was also what had made her love him so. He’d always point out sunrays shimmering on the water, flowers budding, or lambs frolicking. All things to make her happy. Always the bright side.
He’d always said she had the best smile. That it made his heart light to see it.
Tears started to build and she gave a slight shake of her head. Crying in front of the Gruggin solicitor would not do.
Swiveling a thick ledger book to face her, Mr. Filmore tapped his finger along a line. “You can see here the ship—theElanora—that had been presumed lost in a storm off the Gold Coast just brought his investment back twenty fold. It has been a remarkable turn of events.”
Laney’s eyebrows scrunched together as she leaned over the ledger. “That ship—theElanora—that was the investment that had emptied our coffers a year ago?”
“It had been a gamble, yes, for how much stock Lord Gruggin put into it. Possibly a foolish one at that. But one that has restored much of the wealth your father left in the estate.”
