Page 20 of The Duke of Swords (The Highwaymen #4)

SHE LEFT FROM the ball that night.

She had to wait, because, at first, Hyacinth was watching her like a hawk, every second, saying that she would not allow Rae to do anything to sabotage herself.

So, she had to wait.

But eventually, Hyacinth was distracted and Rae simply walked out the front door.

She had a bit of money in her reticule, and she sort of realized she was stealing it, but she had been about to accept much more money from these people.

She had been about to allow them to give her some entirely new life, with enough money to run her own household.

She had been about to accept that, so this small amount of coin couldn’t be too bad, not if she left the rest of it behind.

She hadn’t quite known where the money for all of that was to come from. Both of the duchesses had estates in their own name, and they had access to the rent money from these estates. The women also managed their own investments, and some of the money would have come from there.

But at least some of it would have been stolen.

The dukes were highwaymen. She had gathered this, and she understood it was all quite complicated.

They’d been forced into thievery to pay off Champeraigne at first, but now their thieving was done voluntarily, a kind of Robin Hood story of righting wrongs and redistribution of wealth away from people who deserved punishment.

She wasn’t sure what she thought of that sort of thing.

Stealing was wrong. Could it ever be right, really?

Anyway, it was best that she wasn’t taking that money, she decided. It was best that she wasn’t allowing these people to indulge in their bad behavior for her . In a way, she became an excuse, some way that they could allow themselves to think they were noble when they really weren’t.

It was terrifying to leave, terrifying to go through town and purchase a ticket for a post coach out of London.

But, deep down, it felt good in a way that nothing had felt good, not in years.

She’d been pushed and pulled, this way and that, badly used by her father and then Fateux and then Rutchester and now these duchesses and their men.

But for the first time, she was in charge of herself.

She went home, to her father’s keep.

She arrived in the early morning, dawn stretching its rosy fingers over the horizon, and she walked inside the keep, tired but feeling free and alive in a way she hadn’t in some time.

Her father was sprawled out over a table, a cup overturned, spilling ale all over the table.

He stirred at the sound of the door opening.

He looked up and saw her, coming in the door, the light of the rising sun behind her head. He let out a sob.

He came for her, falling to his knees at her feet, sobbing. He hugged her ankles like he was a sad, small boy.

She patted his head as if she was the parent and he the child.

“My little girl,” he said, his voice cracking. “My sweet girl. You’ve come back somehow.”

“I am back,” she said, sighing, looking around the mess of the keep. What was she going to do?

“I don’t deserve to be your father,” he said, looking up at her, tears streaming down his face. “God entrusted you to me, and I still remember how I felt the first time I held you in my arms. My tiny sweet darling. I failed you.”

She regarded him. “You did,” she said, with a nod.

“Let me make amends,” he said.

“All right,” she said. “You’ll have to stop drinking, I think.”

He grimaced. But he bowed his head and nodded. “Yes.”

“I’d like to have a look at the books,” she said.

“My study,” he said, still sobbing. “Oh, Rae, my little Rae, you’ve come home.”

“I’ve come home,” she said with a nod. “Things are going to be different around here.”