Page 38 of A Murder in Trinity Lane (Rosalynd and Steele Mysteries #2)

Chapter

Thirty-Six

AN ENDING AND A BEGINNING

O nce we’d wrapped Vale’s wound—with strips of my petticoat, mind you—and tied him up with ropes Finch had found, Steele led me to the hackney waiting outside.

“Go home,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Wash. Dress. Breathe.”

“Chrissie and I were meant to attend Lady Findley’s ball. But now?—”

It was fully dark. Somewhere, church bells rang out the hour. Eight chimes.

“She and Grandmother will have left by now,” I murmured.

“You must go,” Steele said. “Show the world that nothing is amiss.”

“But—”

“As soon as Vale’s arrest becomes known, the whispers will start.

People saw you with him at Kew Gardens. They’ll remember that.

They’ll talk. They’ll wonder what part you played.

And if your name is tied to his in any way .

. .” He exhaled. “It will ruin you, Rosalynd. You must not be connected to this. Not a whisper. Not a hint.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to be there when they hauled him away in chains. To see justice begin.

But then I thought of Chrissie. Of her flushed cheeks when she spoke of Lord Sefton. Of how excited she’d been. A single stain on my reputation would spread to hers. And the wolves of society would tear us both apart.

So I nodded. Just once. And offered no further protest. Not for myself. For her.

Steele moved to the hackney and pulled open the door. As he reached to help me in, I turned to him.

“You will tell me what I missed?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “I will make it my mission to keep you informed.”

I held his gaze a moment longer, then allowed him to help me into the carriage. I did not look back.

The hackney rocked gently through the streets, its wheels hissing over damp stone.

My cloak was stiff with dried blood, its hem dark and sodden where it had brushed the floor.

Though my gown had been spared the worst, it still bore smudges and a tear from where I’d fallen.

I sat rigid, hands clasped in my lap, the echo of the gunshot still ringing in my ears.

Some time later, the carriage rolled to a stop before Rosehaven House.

Before the driver could dismount, I opened the door and stepped down into the gaslit hush of the square. The night air was cool against my skin, the lamplight flickering across the cobblestones like ghosts reluctant to leave.

The front door opened before I could knock.

Honeycutt stood in the entryway, dressed in his evening livery, his composure cracking for perhaps the first time in recorded history.

“Milady!” The word burst from him, a mixture of relief and horror. His eyes swept over me—from the bloodied cloak to the tear in my hem and the dirt smudged across my cheek. “Merciful heavens. We feared—” He caught himself. Straightened. “We were concerned.”

“I’m well, Honeycutt,” I said softly. “Just . . . a trying day.”

I stepped past him into the quiet warmth of the house, then paused. “I suppose Lady Chrysanthemum has already left for the ball?”

Honeycutt gave the faintest incline of his head. “With the dowager countess, precisely on schedule.”

“Then I’d better make haste.”

“Shall I have a tray brought up, milady?”

Only then did I realize how hollow my stomach felt. “Yes, please. And a glass of wine.”

“It shall be as you wish, milady.” He allowed himself a rare, small smile. “If I may, Lady Rosalynd . . . I’m so very glad you’re home.”

I returned his smile. He was a dear, truly. “So am I, Honeycutt.”

I turned toward the stairs, my boots echoing softly on marble as I went to make myself presentable—or at least, less alarming.

Two hours later, I found myself at the entrance to Lady Findley’s ballroom, dutifully apologizing for my late arrival.

“The dowager mentioned you’d been called away for an emergency. I hope everything is all right?” Lady Findley asked, her tone polite but her curiosity unmistakable.

“Yes, thank you. The crisis has been averted.”

“Wonderful.” She clearly wanted details, but of course, I had none I could share.

As I descended the grand staircase into the ballroom, I scanned the crowd for a familiar face. Grandmother was safely ensconced with her Battalion of Dowagers, no doubt engaged in their usual sport—character assassination. No one was ever safe from their tongues.

She caught my eye and raised a single, critical brow, but smiled nonetheless.

To my surprise, I spotted Claire mid-waltz.

With Cosmos.

The very brother who’d steadfastly refused to escort us to a single ball all Season.

Yet there he was, dancing with Claire as if he’d been born to the task.

They were so attuned to one another, they didn’t notice me watching.

Perhaps they were discussing her ‘patch.’ Surely, he must have attended to it by now.

I scanned the crowd for Chrissie, momentarily alarmed when I didn’t see her. But then I spotted her near the refreshment table, laughing among a circle of young ladies and gentlemen, Lord Sefton among them.

The ballroom, as always, was too warm, so I made my way toward the open doors that led to the terrace, my gaze drawn to the garden beyond. The storm had scrubbed the city clean. The hedges gleamed, and the boxwoods were cool and sweet with the scent of damp roses.

I had just reached them when I heard footsteps behind me . . . and caught the unmistakable scent of bergamot.

I didn’t turn.

I knew exactly who it was.

Steele stepped to my side, dressed in black evening clothes with crisp white linen and a ruby pin glinting at his throat. The cut of his coat was immaculate. No one would have guessed he’d spent the afternoon in a warehouse of blood and broken glass.

“Your Grace,” I said.

“You missed all the fun,” he replied.

I lifted my fan, hiding a smile. “Do tell.”

He glanced around, eyes flicking toward the terrace doors. Though no one stood within earshot, we were far from alone. And the gazes turned our way made that clear.

“Not here,” he said quietly. “Lady Findley has a quiet library. We can speak there without interruption.” He offered his arm, a subtle invitation laced with intent.

I didn’t hesitate.

When we arrived, Steele locked the door behind him after ensuring the library was empty. I made my way to the farthest window. It was such a beautiful night, filled with twinkling stars, I didn’t want to miss it.

“Tell me everything,” I said once he joined me, “and don’t leave out a single detail.”

“After you left, Finch took Marie back to St. Agnes. She was shaken but steady. Sister Margaret was relieved to have her home.”

“I hope this ordeal hasn’t harmed Marie or the baby.”

“Finch said she seemed well enough when they arrived,” he said. “But it’s too soon to know for certain. I imagine you’ll want to check on her tomorrow.”

“Of course.” I drew a breath. “And Vale?”

“As luck would have it, Constable Collins was at St. Agnes. Finch filled him in, and they returned to the warehouse together. Collins took one look at Vale and put him in custody. We brought him to the station, where the police surgeon tended to his leg.”

“He didn’t resist?”

“Not much he could do with a bullet in him and his blood soaked into your petticoat.” His voice was dry.

I arched a brow.

“Don’t worry. We told Collins it was Marie’s.

” He took a sip of champagne. “Between Finch and me, we laid out a story that should hold. Said we’d been investigating Elsie’s murder, which Collins already knew.

I’d hired Finch to dig into the Vale family.

When Marie disappeared, we feared the worst and guessed Vale would have taken her to the warehouse. ”

“Did Collins believe you?”

“Enough to clap irons on Vale. The rest will be sorted by the magistrate.”

“How did you explain the gunshot?”

“I took credit for it,” he said easily. “It’s my pistol, after all. I told Collins I fired when I saw Vale’s hands around Marie’s throat. I hope you don’t mind—me taking the credit, that is.”

“Of course not. As you said, my name shouldn’t come up in connection with any of this.” I hesitated. “But Vale will talk. He’ll claim I was there.”

“Which Finch and I—and Marie as well—will firmly refute.”

He adjusted his cufflink, as if his next words were merely an afterthought. “By the way, after she gives birth, I intend to send Marie to one of my properties in Kent. It’s quiet. Secure. She and her child can live there as long as they like, free from interference.”

I blinked. “Is that what she wants?”

“Before she left for St. Agnes, she mentioned being from the south,” he said, tone even. “Said she wanted to live somewhere warm. Somewhere safe after her baby was born.”

“Where exactly would she reside?”

He exhaled, his gaze drifting toward the hearth.

“It used to be a girls’ boarding school.

Closed long before I bought it—left to rot, really.

I had it restored after . . . well, after.

” A pause. “It’s meant as a refuge. For women with nowhere else to go.

There’s a midwife nearby. A roof. Good food.

Medical care. About twenty women stay there at any given time.

Some with children; others without. Quietly.

Without interference. No names. No questions. ”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You built a rescue home for women.”

“Yes,” he said simply.

There was no elaboration. No justification. But something had clearly driven him to do it—something in his past, perhaps something painful. I could have asked. But I didn’t.

Some things are offered in silence.

I exhaled slowly. “So it’s done.”

“It’s done.”

I turned to the window and stared out into the starlit sky. “He was going to kill her. And then more than likely, me.”

Steele’s hand came up, warm against my cheek. “I know.”

For a long moment, we stood in silence, breathing the same air. Close. Quiet. Changed.

Then softly—carefully—he said, “So what happens now?”

Still lost in thought, I answered, “Hopefully the Crown will charge Vale and?—”

“I meant us.”

I looked at him. “Oh.”

“I’m not giving you up.”

“Steele—”

“Don’t tell me,” he said, dryly. “They’re talking about us.”

“Well . . . they are. I was seen leaving Steele House last night. More than likely, it’s already made the rounds in the ballroom.”

“Do you care?”

“Not for myself.” I hesitated. “But I do have Chrissie to consider.”

He didn’t flinch. “Your sister is the belle of the ball. Surrounded by suitors. She won’t suffer—not while I have breath in my body.”

“So speaks the mighty Duke of Steele,” I said with a wry smile. “But even with all your power, you can’t silence society’s tongues.” I paused. “But?—”

“But?” he prompted.

“I hate giving them all that power. Letting their strictures rule over me. When all we’ve done is share a kiss?—”

Grinning, he held up two fingers.

“One—” I insisted “—in a dark stairwell.”

“And another in a stinking alley,” he reminded me.

I laughed. As if I could ever forget. “Very well. Two, then.”

“Would you like to go for three?”

“In Lady Findley’s library? I’m shocked!” I somehow managed to sound outraged.

“We could always adjourn to mine.”

My gaze warmed as I looked at him. “I love this side of you.”

“What side is that? The proud, arrogant Duke of Steele?”

I shook my head. “The man.”

His expression softened. “Then be with me.”

“How? Neither of us wishes to marry.”

“There’s an entire world between this—” he gestured between us “—and marriage.”

“We can’t cross that line, Steele.”

His brows lifted slightly. “What line is that?”

“The improper one.” As if he didn’t know.

“Ah. I see. So anything up to that line would be acceptable?”

I gave a half-shrug. “I suppose.”

He leaned in, voice a low tease. “I’m going to need a bit more assurance than that, Lady Rosalynd. After all, my reputation might suffer.”

I laughed. “I doubt it. No one would dare besmirch the proud, arrogant?—”

“—Duke of Steele.” He brought my hand to his lips as his gaze locked on mine. “Say yes, Rosalynd.”

How could I ever deny him? He made the world brighter, sharper, more alive.

“Yes.”

He crooked a finger beneath my chin, his smile deepening. “My sweet Rosalynd, what splendid times we’re going to have.”

And then, to prove his point, he kissed me.

It wasn’t the first time. Nor, dare I say, would it be the last.

The mystery was over. The danger passed. But as his arms slipped around me and the hush of the library wrapped around us like a held breath, this wasn’t a farewell.

It was only a beginning.