Chapter Thirty

Finish the Game

Wycliff stood on the grand staircase of Blaren House’s hall. He looked out at the sea of marble. It was quiet, and he was calm, truly calm, inside and out. Ruth loved him again. All the loose tendrils needed to be wrapped up, like a glorious chignon.

Lawden marched to the bottom of the steps, coming from the hall. “All your guests have accepted and will be here be at Blaren House shortly.

“Good. This is almost over.”

Wycliff pondered going back upstairs and convincing Ruth to reconsider witnessing Nicholas’s downfall. If everything played out according to his plans, the man would be jailed, never to trouble them again.

Oh, Ruthy.

No matter how much he wanted to protect her, she had to do things her way. Wycliff loved that woman so much it was hard to think, but he had to trust her judgement, he needed to prove to her he trusted her. Today was her proof.

“You all right, my lord? You look a little giddy.”

“I can say yes. Most definitely.”

A knock sounded upon the outer door. Like clockwork, the games were afoot. That sealed his decision to let Ruth go about her plans.

Sjambok in hand, he signaled for Lawden to open the door.

Nicholas stomped inside, his boots tracking mud across the white floor. “Sorry I’m late. I had to watch the runners cart off my father.”

Wycliff couldn’t help smiling. The man would be in irons before nightfall. A much kinder judgement than he deserved.

“I’m glad, Nicholas, that you’ve taken my offer. With both our fathers gone, we can strike up a peace.”

“Your note talked of financing this peace. That’s why I’ve come. It’s the only reason.”

Wycliff met him in the middle of the hall. “But you can trust me, Nickie. Not like you would be waylaid along the way.”

Nicholas grunted and laughed. “No, not here in the crowded city.”

This man was as evil as Uncle Soulden. Actually worse, for he pretended to be a friend.

Wycliff opened the door to his study and showed his cousin inside.

Mr. Marks rose from his chair. Wrinkled hair, wrinkled coat, but bright eyed and ready to exact justice.

“I thought we were going to be alone, Wycliff?”

“No, that can prove deadly with Wilkinsons. Besides, Mr. Marks can do the legal paperwork on the transaction. I want every jot in place. No misunderstandings between us.”

Nickie slammed into the empty chair. He put his hand on the bride sculpture. “Misunderstandings have been the capstone of our relationship.”

Rage churned in Wycliff as he glanced at Nicholas’s hands on that bride, but the composure he’d developed serving on the HMS Liverpool steadied him.

“I was surprised, Cousin, by your generous offer,” Nickie said. “You have my father rotting in debtors’ prison. Do you know how humiliating it was to see him carted off like that?”

“No, but feel free to describe it in every way. Make me feel like I was there watching.”

“Wycliff. Must you be crude?”

“Yes. I should, and I should be mad at you for sending fools to attack me whilst I was out of town.”

“Well, you are here. Must not have been good fools. This is nothing to me.”

“You never had the stomach for the dirty work. You were the obedient bookkeeper.”

“I should’ve told them to kill you, you know. Father was right about that.”

“But he was right about you not measuring up. You didn’t have the stomach for that or for fair fights. Even picking on girls, I hear. That’s what Madame Talease says.”

Nickie grunted. “I was pushed. The fellows my father hired taunted me. You really don’t think I wanted something you’d had. Your companion is dead now, anyway. Replaceable, remember?”

That gutted.

Wycliff could swing his sjambok and slay the man for that comment, but it was meant to goad and throw him off his game. “Though doth protest too much. But let’s talk about the money. Did you bring the original ledgers?”

“Yes. You have the ten thousand pounds?”

“Of course, but you must prove to Mr. Marks that these markings are legitimate. They could be forgeries or copies like I had, but Uncle Soulden and Mr. Johnson may not have included you in their dealings. You may just be the lapdog.”

Nicholas tossed the books to the desk. He stood and flipped to a page. “See the markings. The authorizations for the transfers from account to account. There’s my father’s mark, SAW, Soulden Arthur Wilkinson. This is Loftus Johnson’s, LJ. And this one, ANW.”

“That was to indict my father, Algernon Nathaniel Wilkinson.”

“No, you dolt. Those were my transfers, Aylmer Nicholas Wilkinson. I became so good at them, they let me take over. Built up quite a nest, until a little birdie moved the funds.”

Marks stood and examined the books. “Wilkinson, you authorized these transfers? ANW is your mark, you did this embezzlement?”

“I did the bulk of these, and my father and Johnson lived off the fat, but with his scheming, Wycliff has put them in jail. There’s some poetry in that.”

Marks rubbed his chin. “It’s a crime to embezzle. Isn’t it, Lord Mayor?”

The door opened, and there stood Lord Thorpe, the magistrate. The older man, with silver streaks in his hair, came into the room. “It is a crime. And these books are the proof. Do you know what you’ve done, Wilkinson?”

Nicholas backed up to the door. “I was bragging. It’s not true. You set me up. You’ll pay.”

He grasped the door and opened it.

He stopped and stepped back.

Ruth was there with Nicholas’s son in her arms.

Wilkinson cursed and pointed. “You? You have my son.”

“Yes. Miss Smith, this boy’s mother, is my guest in my husband’s parlor.”

Wycliff jerked Nicholas backward. “Yes, my wife is such a good hostess. Smart girl, too. She figured out the initials. She knows guilt when she sees it.”

Ruth stared at Nicholas, tweaked her lenses. “I needed to see you pay for your embezzlement. It’s a pity you can’t pay for all that you’ve done.”

She stood, resplendent and courageous, facing her attacker.

Sweat broke upon Nicholas’s brow.

Wycliff twisted Nickie’s arm a little more. For what he’d done to Ruth, his cousin needed to fear what Wycliff would do to him.

Mr. Marks pulled a ribbon-wrapped document from his pocket. “So, are you taking back your confession, Mr. Wilkinson, and staying here with your cousin, or are you going to sign this confession and take your risk in court?”

Wycliff handed him the paper. “In my travels, I learned a great deal about torture and the ways other civilizations dealt with infidels.”

Nickie took the paper. “Yes, just as I told Marks. I did it.” He bent at the desk and signed the confession.

Marks took it and the ledgers and handed them to the Lord Mayor.

The Lord Mayor headed to the door. “Go with Marks, Wilkinson. It will look better for you. Or I’ll send the runners for you. Marks, let me know.”

Ruth followed behind the man, and Wycliff took pride in how well she withstood.

“Cousin, have mercy on my son. You don’t need the runners. I’ll go with Marks.”

Marks pulled out a knife much bigger than Ruth had. “My grooms outside have guns. I can deliver him to the magistrate.”

He led Nicholas from the room.

It was over.

Wycliff needed to get to Ruth.

He went to the parlor, borrowed her from Miss Smith and her son, and led Ruth back to his study.

Wycliff spun her around then embraced her. “It’s over. You were—”

The door burst open.

Nicholas charged at Wycliff with a knife in his hand. “You can’t win, not like this.”

Wycliff’s sjambok was on the desk.

He and Nicholas fought hand-to-hand. He elbowed him, and the knife flew to the floor.

They wrestled for control. Both stretched and claimed the knife’s handle at the same time.

Nickie elbowed him in the throat.

Wycliff couldn’t breathe.

Ruth tossed books. Each hit Nicholas on the head.

The distraction wasn’t enough. Nicholas was wild. He was crazed.

He made the blade slash Wycliff’s cravat. “I need to finish off that gloating voice.”

Wham.

Ruth broke the bride sculpture over Nicholas’s head. It split in two.

Nicholas fell back. “You witch.”

That was enough for Wycliff to catch a full breath. He overpowered his cousin and drove the knife deep into Nicholas’s gut.

He twisted it for good measure. “That’s for Ruth.”

Lawden came running. “My lord, is all well? Wilkinson stabbed Marks.”

“A little late, Lawden, but my wife, my dear wife, was on time.

Lawden helped him up. “I have Marks. The bleeding is under control.”

Ruth was silent and pale, but her spectacles were on her face. She’d seen it all.

Wycliff took off his tailcoat and dropped it onto Nickie. “Ruth, it is truly over.”

She clasped Wycliff’s hand. “I’m going to check on my guests for tea. I’ll keep them occupied until Blaren House is clean.”

Mr. Marks came back inside. “Ruth. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for so much.”

She nodded, glanced down one more time, then left.

The barrister dropped into a chair. “Lord Wycliff, I’m sorry, too. He grabbed my knife.”

“Lawden’s good at patching things up, but we’ll send for a physician.”

“And I’ll stay for the coroner’s inquest. It’s the least I can do for you, clearing up these crimes. Consider it a wedding present for Mrs. Wilky.”

Wycliff nodded and sat on top of his desk. He put his boot on the broken statue. “Thank you. You need a brandy, Marks?”

“No, but I wish you and Ruth every happiness. She’s a special woman.”

The barrister kicked out his feet while holding the bandage on his arm. “Go to her. Your man and I will finish up here.”

“No. I will wait until everything is done. Mr. Marks, I hope you find what you are chasing, so you can settle down with a woman who makes you dream.”

“If there is such a woman, my lord.”

There was such a woman for Chatsworth Adoniram Wilkinson, the Baron of Wycliff, and he was blessed every day for having found her—both times.

…

I sat in the front parlor of Blaren House. I’d never been in here. The walls were freshly painted white. Every outer wall had large, wide windows. The furnishings were almost identical to Nineteen Fournier. My husband’s joke, but it would make it possible for me to have my own Knitting Tuesdays.

Miss Smith, Nicholas’s mistress, sat quietly drinking the tea I’d served her. The brunette was stoic, but the boy, his father’s death hurt him deeply. He sobbed a long time.

I closed the parlor curtains when I knew my attacker’s body would be carted away.

It was over.

The ones I knew that had touched me were dead. The ones I didn’t, they were dead to me. I had survived their worst, and I was whole. I was gold, the best kind, the kind that held diamonds.

“Lady Wycliff, thank you for your hospitality,” Miss Smith said as she held her son. “Mr. Wilkinson, we hadn’t seen him in months. He stopped sending money. It’s been desperate. Now we know he wasn’t himself. He was ill.”

I didn’t know what to say, and with Nicholas dead, I didn’t feel I needed to tell my truth. For a moment, I thought I saw something in her eyes that told me Miss Smith would believe me. But she needed hope, especially with her son listening. “My husband will help. He’ll make sure you two are provided for.”

The poor boy was four or five, not much different from my Chris and definitely not old enough to understand all the evil his father had done.

I was sad for boys with no papa.

I had a good papa. I hoped that somehow Miss Smith would raise her son to be good. I’d make sure the boy wasn’t forgotten.

I walked them to the door. Mr. Marks and the coroner passed us.

“Lady Wycliff.” The barrister tipped his hat.

I didn’t know if he had ever read my letter, but he seemed unbothered. I waved at him and wished him happiness. I knew his career would give him all that he needed.

Blurs that looked like my Wycliff and Lawden were at the cart.

I assumed they were talking with the coroner.

My blur turned and headed to me. I watched him walk. I loved his swagger.

Wycliff swept me into the grand hall.

“My heart, are you facing charges for Nicholas’s death?”

“No. My cousin’s admission in front of Thorpe and his attack of Mr. Marks, one of the Crown’s top barristers, made the inquest quite simple. This is over.”

Lawden disappeared down the hall.

It was just us.

This was over, truly over.

And my husband lived. And I lived.

“You don’t look happy, Wycliff.”

“I promised my father that I’d not use my hand directly.”

I put my palms about his waist, snuggled in his Bay Rum, and tried not to notice the ferrous scent on his sleeve. “It was you or him. You did what you had to do. Your father never begrudged you anything. He definitely wanted you to live.”

“I did want Nickie dead for what he’d done to you, but everyone who hurt you—”

I kissed him. I didn’t want Wycliff to say more. No more power to the nightmares. “It’s done. No one is going to hurt us anymore. That’s my revenge—to live with love, your love and mine.”

He led me to the grand stairs. We flopped down, shoulder to shoulder, on the bottom step. “We need furniture, my dear.”

I leaned into him more, and we sat there perfectly in tune, he with me, me with him. “I like it simple. Less things to bump into. More places for Chris to run.”

Taking both my hands in his, he wove our fingers together. “I’m grateful, Ruth. I’m so grateful you’re strong.”

He tried to kiss my cheek, but I didn’t want a furry dimple. I kissed him on the lips.

Our love made us strong. For this, I was forever grateful.

He tugged me into a tighter embrace. “We need to go retrieve my son from Fournier, Lady Wycliff.”

“Not before a proper wedding. Everyone thinks I’m married to a dead man. You must make me a proper wife again.”

“Well, I have a proper license. I will find a proper minister. How soon do you think your mother will have a proper cake made?”

“Since I didn’t come home last night, I’m sure it’s baking right now. Tomorrow morning for sure. I’ll send a note.”

“You do that, Ruth.”

Wycliff knelt before me and took from his pocket a ring. It was entwined in gold, not silver like our first. This had a shiny diamond, the strongest gem. “Ruth Croome Wilky, marry me again. Love me as I have always loved you. You make my heart warm with comfort, red with desire. I’m made perfect in your love.”

“I love you, too, Adoniram, my Lord Wycliff. I like your name.”

“Someone should. Might as well be you.”

I kissed him before he kissed me, warming to the silk of his face. My arms wrapped about him, and we sank against the steps.

“Ruth, I need a nap. I didn’t get much sleep last night. A real nap with my best pillow.” His grin was wicked, my wicked Wycliff.

Before I could blink, I was up in his arms. I caught my spectacles before they fell. I laughed hard and yawned and then placed my hands gently about his neck.

The front entry doors flew open.

My heart stopped.

But the blur was small and had a trail of portmanteaus.

“Brother…I’m home.”

“Cicely?” With a groan, Wycliff lowered me to my feet.

He ran and embraced the young woman. “You scamp.”

As I came to his side, Wycliff spun the lithe young woman.

He set her down. “Sister, where have you been? How could you make me so crazed?”

“France, silly. I was with a large party of friends. We traveled for a wedding. It was so exciting. Brother, why are you looking at me like this? You are angry? Did I forget to leave you a note?”

She put her hands to her golden rosy cheeks. “I hope I haven’t made you fret?”

Wycliff rubbed his brow. “Just a little, Cicely.”

“I needed to be away. I was grieving Papa hard, and I needed some adventure like Mama’s poems or your Odyssey.”

“Go settle into a room upstairs. Don’t come down until my wedding tomorrow. This is Ruth. She’s my wife, and I’m marrying her again.”

His sister pointed at me. “Wait. You look like.”

“I am.” I was proud to be the woman Wycliff had first loved and would love forever.

She hugged me. “Ruth, Adam, there have been miracles while I’ve been gone. It’s good to know love doesn’t die.”

Cicely tossed her head and danced up the grand stairs. “Well, now you know, Brother, what it feels like keeping secrets. Being dead for four years should equal my two months away.”

She hummed all the way to the top landing.

Lawden came from the long hall, shaking his redheaded bob. He gathered up her trunks and followed behind Cicely. “You will be hiring more staff, Lord Wycliff, posthaste.”

Wycliff put his hands to his head. “Headache. I have a headache. She needs to be chastised, Ruth, for making this trouble.”

I put my arms about him to comfort him. I had more expertise in dealing with little sisters. “No. You need to be grateful that she has returned unharmed.”

He led me up the stairs. “Come, my dear. Help me find something.”

“What are you missing now?”

“Another moment alone with you. I’m spent.”

I leaped into his embrace, and he carried me up the stairs to heaven.