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Wes went to the fireplace, stoking the coals of the fire and then turned to her. “There’s something you should see, Laney.”
The tone of his voice, the low rumble of it—warning—set her shoulders tight, instant unease sinking into her bones. “What is it?”
He moved to her, stopping in front of her, and she couldn’t quite read the look in his dark hazel eyes.
He wasn’t angry. Wasn’t scared. But there was unrest in his gaze.
Her eyebrows lifted. “What?”
“I have something from your brother.”
Her head snapped back. “You have something from Morty? What would you have?”
“A letter to you from him. I found it in the papers that we went through at your townhouse.”
She jumped a step backward, her eyes narrowing at him. “You found a letter from him and you didn’t give it to me? What were you thinking? Why would you do something like that—keep it from me? I don’t have anything of him and you stole away a letter from him?”
Wes sighed, reaching into the inner pocket of his coat and holding it out to her. “It was in the haversack on my horse, lucky that it didn’t go into the river with me.”
“Lucky?” The word croaked from her mouth.
He waved the letter in front of her. “Just read it, Laney.”
Glaring at him, she snatched it from his hand. “Of all the odious actions, keeping this from me.”
He shrugged. “I know what it says and the time never seemed right to show it to you. Certainly not at the townhouse. Not until now, until this moment. Not until we could breathe with ease into our chests again.”
She spun away from him, walking across the room to stand next to the fireplace as her fingers unfolded the smooth vellum.
Morton’s handwriting—a scrawl, as he never took the time to write properly. Always rushed. Always seconds away from the next thing to steal his attention away. Yet still, it looked to be one of the longest notes he’d ever written her.
My Dearest Laney,
You are reading this, so that will mean I have departed this earth. But there are things unfinished, things that I hope you will find a way to right—for me, for yourself.
I have pondered it a thousand times, my flitting dove, and this—my death—is how I am going to make it up to you—make up for all of the past seven years and what it has wrought.
What I have wrought.
But this is my chance. The box gave me that. Gave me a way to lead you and Wes back together. This—setting you two onto the correct course—the course you always should have been on, will be the crowning achievement in my weak life. Separating you two was the one thing—out of so many—that I truly regret. The one thing that I did so terribly wrong that it is worth forfeiture of my life to right.
I know you will question it, why I put Weston in control of everything with the estate. Simply, it was to lead you two back together. To make you whole again, for I knew I could never do it. It was the one thing Papa made me promise him before he died—he knew how addled I could be—and that was to protect you. At all costs. Protect you, protect your heart, your spirit.
I’ve done a sham job of it thus far, but when Weston appeared back in my life, I finally had purpose. Bringing the two of you together again. For all the barriers you will put up—for all that the both of you will fight it. You were led back together for a purpose—for fate. Don’t ignore that. Don’t dismiss it.
This is the world you both belong in. A world with each other.
Make merry, my merry girl.
Forever yours,
Morton
Her breath held in her chest, her legs gave out and she sank to the edge of the chair by the fire, the letter clutched, the edges crinkling in her fingers.
Morton. The man that couldn’t scrape himself out of debt, out of every hole he’d ever been in, had designed all of this.
Designed a way for her to find Wes again.
