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Chapter Twenty-Five

T he door slammed open with a crack like thunder.

Evelyn leapt to her feet, her book tumbling to the carpet as her shawl slipped from her shoulders. The wind surged in with the storm, and with it came Robert, all drenched from head to toe, his dark coat heavy with rain, and his hair slicked back against his brow.

But he wasn’t alone. Clutched tightly against his side was a woman, who was half-collapsing into him with each uneven step. She had her hood pulled over her head entirely while her whole body trembled with cold.

Evelyn froze, feeling her breath catch in her throat, then the hood slipped back.

“Matilda?” Her voice sliced through the air like a blade.

Her sister’s face was pale and pinched while soaked strands of hair stuck to her cheeks. She looked like she’d run from death itself.

“Help her to the settee,” Evelyn said sharply, already moving. “Now.”

Robert didn’t hesitate. He guided Matilda down onto the cushions as Evelyn yanked the bell cord with a violent jerk. The storm outside beat at the windows, thunder rolling low through the sky like a growl.

Matilda was muttering apologies between gasps. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want to see me… Evelyn, I’m sorry—I had to come?—”

“Hush,” Evelyn said, kneeling beside her, grasping her ice-cold hands. “You’re here now.”

Matilda shivered violently. Robert stripped off his soaked coat and draped it over her shoulders just as the maid rushed in.

“Blankets. Now. And hot tea,” Evelyn ordered. “Quickly.”

The maid vanished. Evelyn turned back, tucking a limp strand of Matilda’s wet hair behind her ear. Her sister’s eyes darted between her and Robert, wild and pleading.

“What happened to you?” Evelyn whispered, but Matilda only shook her head, more tears spilling.

Robert stood nearby, silent, watchful, his jaw clenched.

Matilda’s lips were tinged blue, her fingers trembling so violently that Evelyn could feel the minute tremors through her own hands.

She hadn’t let go of her since the moment she’d grasped her, as though some part of Matilda feared she might vanish or be pulled away.

“I wanted to come sooner,” Matilda rasped. Her voice was hoarse, almost foreign. “I tried. Evelyn, I tried . But Laurence, he… he told me I couldn’t.”

Evelyn’s mouth opened, but she didn’t speak. The words clotted in her throat.

Matilda’s breath hitched. “At first, I didn’t understand.

I thought I was simply… being too emotional, too weak.

I’d write to you, and he’d promise to send them.

But weeks passed. Months. He said you never replied.

That you didn’t want to see me. That you’d said so.

That you had thrown me away for what I did. ”

“I did,” Evelyn whispered, ashamed. “I received some of your letters, Matilda, but I… I burned them. I didn’t even open the first one.

” Her voice cracked. “I was so angry. So hurt. I didn’t want to see your name or hear it.

I thought you’d chosen him. That you’d known who he truly was and still run off with him. ”

Matilda shook her head desperately while her eyes were brimming with tears. “No. No, I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything .”

The door opened, and the maid returned, her arms laden with thick woolen blankets, towels, and a silver tray bearing a steaming teapot and three delicate cups. She set it swiftly on the nearby table.

“Bring a fire to the guest chamber,” Evelyn instructed further. “And have dry clothes prepared. She’ll be staying here.”

The maid bobbed a curtsy and fled.

Evelyn rose, retrieved the thickest blanket, and gently wrapped it around her sister’s shoulders. Matilda’s eyes squeezed shut at the gesture, her lips trembling anew, but she said nothing. Evelyn poured tea with a measured hand, the faint clink of china filling the silence like nervous breath.

She handed Matilda the cup, steadying her hands when she nearly spilled it.

“Now,” Evelyn said, kneeling once again before her, voice low but firm, “tell me everything.”

Matilda stared into the tea for a long moment, as if searching for courage in the swirling steam.

Then, she spoke. “He is… not a good man, Evie.”

The words fell between them like a stone.

“I thought he was just… cruel, controlling. But it’s more than that. There are things… documents he hides, people who visit only at night, packages that arrive sealed and unmarked. And letters, always letters. Always written in someone else’s name.”

Evelyn’s skin prickled.

“I started copying them when he was away,” Matilda continued, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t understand half of what I was reading. But some of them, some mentioned your name. And Father’s. And… Robert’s.”

Evelyn’s eyes snapped to Robert, who stood just behind her, silent and still, but she felt the tension ripple through him like a pulled thread.

“What sort of letters?” she asked, her voice taut as a bowstring.

“I don’t know everything yet,” Matilda whispered. “But I think Laurence has been forging things. Names. Seals.”

Matilda’s eyes darted toward the flickering heart light, as if unsure how much more her mouth dared to speak.

Evelyn leaned in closer, still gripping her sister’s hands in hers. Her knuckles whitened beneath the weight of rising dread. Robert hadn’t moved from his place behind her. His presence was a constant wall of quiet strength. She could feel his tension as surely as if it were her own.

“There’s something else,” Matilda whispered, her voice thick with shame. “Mother told me.”

Evelyn frowned. “Told you what?”

“That you’d been in Father’s study.” Matilda looked up, her brows drawn tight. “She heard you. That night. She said she thought it might’ve been a servant, but something unsettled her, so she went to see for herself. She said nothing more, but her expression… Evelyn, she knew it was you.”

Evelyn blinked. A flicker of cold certainty spread through her chest. “So it was she,” she murmured.

Behind her, Robert gave a single nod.

Matilda clutched her blanket closer. “That’s when I… I decided to do the same. In his study. I’d never dared before. Laurence kept it locked, but that night, he left the key in the drawer. I—” Her voice cracked. “I needed to know. And I found it.”

Evelyn felt her breath catch.

“The seal,” Matilda said softly, eyes glistening. “Father’s old signet. Hidden beneath a false panel in his desk. Wrapped in a linen cloth like it was nothing.”

Evelyn’s stomach turned.

“And there were papers,” Matilda went on.

“Not just the ones with Father’s name. Letters—copies—written in your handwriting, Evelyn.

Or what looked like it. But I know you didn’t write them.

And there were others… contracts, correspondences addressed to someone I didn’t recognize.

Names crossed out. Dates rewritten. And one letter?—”

She swallowed hard.

“One that referenced the attack on Robert’s family carriage. In detail. Exact detail.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Evelyn stared, unblinking, heart pounding like the storm outside. She couldn’t look at Robert… not yet. Her gaze stayed fixed on her sister, who now looked small and exhausted, shivering in her blanket like a child who had wandered too far into the dark.

Matilda’s voice was down to a whisper now. “I don’t think he was just involved. I think… he arranged it himself.”

Robert staggered back a step.

The room swayed, the crackle of the fire distorted and distant, as though he were underwater. His vision narrowed, tunneling on Matilda’s pale face and the words she had spoken, the same words that ricocheted through his mind like musket fire.

The seal. The letters. The carriage.

He couldn’t breathe.

He turned away abruptly, unable to look at either woman as he paced to the other side of the drawing room, each step heavy, each heartbeat a roar in his ears. His hand clenched at the back of a velvet armchair, knuckles white with strain.

“Are you certain?” he asked. His voice was low, dangerously quiet. “You are certain about what you saw?”

Matilda nodded slowly, her eyes red-rimmed now.

“The wax seal bore your family’s crest, Robert.

It was mentioned in one of the letters… there was even a crude sketch of it in the margins.

I didn’t want to believe it at first. I thought perhaps someone had planted it, or…

” That was where her voice cracked. “…or that I was imagining things. But then I found the letter describing the carriage route. The timing. The slope in the road where it would be most vulnerable.”

Robert turned away, jaw tight. Rage. Grief. Vindication. They all tangled in his chest like fire and ice, and all he could do was breathe through it.

“Where are they?” he asked harshly. “The letters.”

“In Laurence’s study. I couldn’t take them; I feared he would notice.”

He turned to Evelyn, his gaze meeting hers and in it, he saw the mirrored fury, the disbelief, the flicker of something deeper…

fear, yes, but not for herself. He strode to the door, the decision made in a flash of clarity that cut through the haze of confusion and pain.

But before he could reach for the handle, a hand closed gently around his.

Evelyn.

He froze. Slowly, he turned to face her. He expected resistance. A plea. He expected the measured argument of someone who wanted to keep him safe, to pull him back from the edge.

Instead, she looked up at him with clear, unwavering eyes and said the words he secretly longed to hear. “Be careful.”

His breath caught.

“Do what your heart tells you,” she added, her voice barely above a whisper. “I trust it.”

Robert stared at her, undone by the quiet strength in her gaze, by the absence of fear, by the fullness of faith she had in him. No one had ever looked at him like that.

He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a reverent kiss to her knuckles, then leaned forward and brushed her forehead with a kiss so soft, it could only have been a promise.

“Always,” he murmured.

And then he left, with his cloak swirling behind him and the storm still howling in the dark beyond.