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“Your mother misses you,” he said gruffly. Ajay leaned back to look worriedly at him.
“The baby’s okay?”
“The baby’s fine,” Dhruv said, “but we need to get you home.”
Ajay’s eyes widened when he saw Jess. “They get you too?” he asked.
Jess smirked. “Nope. I ‘ad a secret weapon.”
“What’s that?” Ajay scowled at her, and her smile got bigger.
“Someone to watch my back.”
Just before I doused the kitchen fire for the night, a messenger arrived.
Dear Olivia,
Ajay is home with his mother and baby sister, and they’ve received a letter from his father. The family will be reunited within a week’s time, and my duties as unofficial watchdog will be done. Richardson and Desmond await a hearing, though in classic British tradition, they’ve been released from gaol on their gentleman’s honor. I’m sure the charges will be dropped as well because the victims are lascars’ children, not even second-class citizens.
The good news is that the chief of Desmond’s division is not a bigot, and he has suspended Desmond from the Met. I’m hoping that perhaps I could persuade Jess to provide witness testimony to Desmond’s kidnapping of Ajay? I would ask her myself, but I feel certain it is the type of request that should be run past her guardians.
I can finally respond to your last letter now. I’ve re-read your words so often that I nearly have them memorized.
Your actions in helping to find a missing child could firmly place you as the heroine of a mystery, a crime novel, or an adventure story. I don’t think your story is a comedy, or at least I certainly found nothing funny about the danger you and Jess were in, and it’s definitely not a tragedy, because this chapter had a very happy ending. I believe there may be an element of drama to your story, and your character may have had a difficult history. I am hopeful about the romance, however, and I’ve always been a fan of happily ever after, so perhaps a fairy tale isn’t so far out of line. Whatever your story, it’s bound to be full of intelligence, kindness, and heart.
You are one of the very bravest people I’ve ever known, telling the truth when it could be so much less painful to lie, and perhaps like you said, I am able to admit to you on paper what I’ve only just admitted to myself. I have, in truth, begun to fall in love with you.
I have no plan beyond spending as much time with you as you’ll allow. I’d like to continue writing to you, even if some day we share more than our words, because as brave as you are in person, your courage on paper inspires me.
You inspire me.
I look forward to the next time I can hold your hand, kiss your fingers, hear your voice, and feel the softness of your skin. But more than that, I look forward to learning you, knowing your heart, and understanding the stories that made you.
Your,
Dhruv
The next morning I sent my own messenger.
Dearest Dhruv,
Come for cake. 7pm tonight?
Your,
Olivia
My Olivia,
Yes, please.
Your Dhruv.
Charlotte took all the children plus both dogs upstairs for baths and bedtime stories, with a promise that no one, not even Jess, would venture downstairs.
The kitchen table was set with candles and the good tea set, and I’d made a chocolate cake so moist it didn’t even need the cream I’d whipped to top it. I’d washed my hair and dried it by the fire before pinning it carefully, with a loose tendril draped over one shoulder. I’d changed into my best cornflower blue wool gown which I’d embroidered with sprigs of lilac, and with a bit of lace at my throat I felt … pretty. Yet I couldn’t sit still or calm the beating of my heart.
At seven o’clock on the dot there was a light tap at the door. I smoothed my dress one last time and crossed the room to open it.
