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“So, if you’re not stealing the jewels and selling them, then how do we afford everything?”
“I found out what Sir Godfrey’s da had done. The old bastard tried to kill me. He missed and your parents paid the price…”
“Sir Godfrey’s father killed my parents? Why didn’t you have them arrested?” she asked as she steeped the tea before pouring him a mug.
“What good would it do? The old man was dying. Besides, it wasn’t going to bring your parents back, and I had my granddaughter to raise. So, I made a deal with the old man and Sir Godfrey. In exchange for my silence, I would be allowed to live and work here on the estate. I would be paid a good wage, would get to live here rent free, and you would be afforded every privilege Sir Godfrey’s own daughter was. After a while that seemed selfish and unfair to those they had robbed; so, I started stealing from those with the ill-gotten goods and returning them to where they belonged.”
“No one ever guessed?”
Poppi shrugged. “Godfrey may have guessed, but he couldn’t prove anything, and he was more concerned with preserving the family name than getting rid of me or getting his friends’ things back to them.”
Pouring a mug of her own, she sat down in the chair next to him and put her free hand over his. “You’re too old for this kind of thing, Poppi. Teach me and let me carry on your legacy.”
They had argued the rest of the night, but in the end, Claire had made him see sense, and made him understand that his legacy living on was important enough to allow Claire to risk herself… and so she had.
Outside, a car door slammed right before the bell over the entry into her studio jingled.
“Claire? It’s me! I’m coming up.”
Claire shook her head. Who the hell else would it be? After all, Mia was the only one with a key and the security code.
“Come on up. I’ll brew us some tea,” Claire said, exiting her bedroom and stretching—her midriff showing between the roomy boy shorts and the ribbed tank top.
Mia smiled. “Whenever I see you all dolled up, I wonder if those boys drooling all over themselves have any idea what a slob you are at heart. If my mother had ever seen you dressed like that, she’d have had a case of the vapors.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “It’s a well-documented fact that the ‘vapors’ were caused by women having their corsets cinched too tight. They literally couldn’t breathe.”
“You just made that up,” Mia accused.
“Did I?” Claire teased.
“You’re terrible. I don’t know why I put up with being your friend.”
“Because if it wasn’t for me and my Triumph Spitfire, you’d be married to Reginald Walker.”
“God, wouldn’t that have just been awful?”
Claire had grumbled all the way to the beautiful gothic cathedral in the north. Poppi had insisted that she go, reminding her that Mia was her best friend and that regardless of what Claire thought of her fiancé, Claire should be there to support her. Claire had argued that it would be disingenuous at best.
They had finally agreed to a compromise—Claire would take a wedding gift to Mia and wish her nothing but happiness in her future. So now she was driving her restored vintage Triumph Spitfire up to York to deliver something Poppi had picked out from one of the bridal registries Mia had signed up for.
The cathedral’s parking lot was filled to the brim, and valets were parking people’s cars in the field next door. If it rained, that was going to be a huge mess. Instead, Claire parked in the small alley between the cathedral and one of its administrative buildings. She was only going to be there for a few minutes.
As soon as she arrived, Mia shooed everyone out, saying she wanted a few minutes alone with Claire. Everyone who knew she and Mia had made mention of the fact that Claire had been absent not only from the wedding party but from every pre-wedding activity.
Claire walked into the room and Mia spun around, closing the door so she could lock and lean against it.
“Mia? Are you okay?”
Mia said nothing.
“Mia?”
Nothing.
“Mia? Just tell me you love him.”
Nothing.
