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Chapter

Thirty-Four

REVELATIONS AND RESOLUTIONS

I n the days that followed, events unfolded swiftly. Edwin Heller was located, arrested, and formally charged with the murders of both Julia’s husband and Charles Walsh. When Dodson had searched Heller’s house, he’d discovered a foxglove plant he’d been cultivating. So it wasn’t difficult to deduce what had occurred.

Once Charles moved into Walsh House, Heller made a point of visiting his cousin. That’s why he was there when Julia’s tea packet was delivered. At that point, all he had to do was tuck a few foxglove leaves into the packet before leaving it in the morning room with the note he’d written. Of course, he didn’t confess he’d done such a thing. But the testimony of both Steele’s informant and O’Donnell damned him. The trial was scheduled in the next week. Given the preponderance of the evidence, he would soon meet justice at the end of a rope.

The entire scheme made perfect sense. First he eliminated Lord Walsh, then Charles. Julia would not have survived long afterward. Heller likely intended her death to appear accidental —a fall down the stairs, perhaps—ensuring both she and her unborn child perished.

Lucretia, who was not increasing, would more than likely have been spared. For the time being, she planned to remain at Walsh House, at least until Julia gave birth. But it Julia’s babe was a boy, he would inherit the title and the estate. At that point, Lucretia would have to pack her things and move out. She wouldn’t be destitute by any means. Unlike his father, Charles had left her provided for. Given his precarious state of health, he’d arranged a quite comfortable fortune she could live on for many years.

But the greatest surprise of all came from Walsh himself. He had not squandered the investors’ money as we all feared. Rather, he’d invested the funds in an American railway venture he’d heard about during a game of cards. The account he’d opened specifically for this venture was at Barings Bank, which had underwritten bonds in the expanding Chicago & North Western Railway. The yields were generous as the American frontier offered the kind of opportunity the English countryside no longer could.

Why he’d chosen to disguise the endeavor as an investment in a silver mine, no one knew. All we could do was guess. Maybe a silver mine sounded like it could provide greater profit, maybe he meant to keep the money for himself. We would never know the reason behind his lies.

What we did know was that the venture was extremely successful. Once the facts became known, the investors were given the opportunity to keep their investments or cash out with interest. Amazingly, most chose to remain in the venture, after confirming that it was indeed a profitable investment.

Though Walsh had made no provision for Julia in his will, the possibility she carried the heir to the Walsh fortune changed everything. She was granted a generous allowance, enough to establish herself in her dower house and live in comfort. But she chose to remain with us at Rosehaven House until her child was born. It was here she felt safe and dearly loved.

As for Mr. Bellamy, there was no recourse for recovering his gambling losses. Lord Walsh had won the money over a game of cards. Whether it was fair and square or Walsh had cheated him did not come into it.

Though his prospects had seemed grim, fortune had seen fit to smile upon him as he’d managed to win the affection of a wealthy heiress. Her father, wisely cautious, insisted on securing her dowry with legal protections Bellamy could not breach. In the end, he would live in comfort, even if his path to it had been riddled with missteps. One could only hope he’d learned from his mistakes.

Life at Rosehaven House soon returned to its familiar rhythm. The scent of fresh bread wafted from the kitchens each morning, petitions for charitable support once more filled my study desk, and the younger girls as well as Fox continued their lessons with their usual mix of mischief and complaint. On the surface, everything was as it had always been.

And yet … it wasn’t.

Where once I had found comfort in these routines, now they felt oddly hollow. I moved through each day with the same diligence, the same sense of duty. But there was a quiet ache I could not name. A space within me that had not existed before, or perhaps one I had never noticed until it was stirred awake.

The truth was, I missed Steele.

Not just his brooding silences and sudden flashes of sardonic wit, but the way he had made the world seem sharper, more alive. He had stirred something within me I could not easily dismiss. And now, with the case resolved, with justice served and Julia safe beneath my roof, he was gone.

I told myself it was inevitable.

But the question that haunted me now was far more unsettling. Could I truly go on as before, knowing what it felt like to live in the light of his presence?

I had no answer. Only the silence of the morning room and the soft ticking of the mantel clock to keep me company.

Until the door burst open.

“Rosie!” Chrissie cried, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “She’s here—the modiste! And you must come at once. The gown for the Duchess of Comingford’s ball has arrived, and it’s even lovelier than we imagined!”

She flew across the room like a spring breeze, her energy scattering my melancholy like so many leaves. “Shall I fetch Julia?” she asked, barely pausing for breath. “She might enjoy a bit of distraction. And I daresay she could use a glimpse of something beautiful.”

I rose, smoothing my skirts with a practiced hand. “Yes,” I said, grateful for something—anything—that would keep the shadows at bay. “Ask if she feels up to it.”

Chrissie beamed. “Oh, she will. She needs this as much as you do.”

And with that, she was gone again, her footsteps pattering down the corridor, leaving the door swinging behind her like a punctuation mark on a sentence I hadn’t realized was ending.

Life carried on, ready or not.

Soon, Rosehaven was abuzz with preparations for the ball. Gowns were pressed, gloves sorted, and jewels laid out with care. It was to be the event of the season, a night of elegance and spectacle.

And I, like it or not, would be at the very center of it.

Not because I craved attention—far from it. But in the wake of the scandal surrounding Lord Walsh’s murder, and my all-too-visible role in the investigation alongside the Duke of Steele, I could hardly expect to pass unnoticed. Society would be watching, their whispers sharp as hatpins. I would be observed, dissected, judged.

I would have gladly missed the entire affair.

But there was no help for it. Chrissie had been looking forward to the ball for weeks, and she deserved her moment in the sun—unshadowed by murder, scandal, or grief.

For her sake, I would go. And I would smile.

No matter what the night might bring.