Page 93 of One Wicked Secret
He agreed. Allowing Clara to stay at The Grange these last two years had been another mistake. Guilt gnawed at him, the scar on her face a constant reminder of that night herlife took a harrowing turn. Earning her forgiveness would take more than a lifetime.
“I owe the countess a debt of gratitude,” he said. “She’s been a true friend to Clara while we’ve been running about town, chasing answers to a puzzle we can’t seem to solve.”
“While there may be confusion surrounding Mr Carver’s fate,” she replied, her fingers gently tracing his pectoral muscle, sending a silent message that she wanted to do more than talk in bed, “at least we’ve solved one small puzzle—we admitted we’re in love.”
“Deeply in love,” he breathed, a profound tenderness tightening his chest. With rising urgency, he rolled on top of her, settling between her soft thighs, the weight of his words and his body a quiet promise he intended to keep.
They kissed, his lips melding with hers. He knew the taste of her like he knew his own heartbeat. For years, he lived with the knowledge she would never be his. Even now, as he entered her slowly and they both moaned in ecstasy, he feared fate had other plans.
St Mary’s Church,
Upper Street, Islington
They arrived in Islington at noon. St Mary’s Church, a structure of grey stone with a towering spire, dominated the landscape. Beyond the iron railings, the graveyard stretched in solemn stillness—a sea of headstones, some epitaphs softened by time and covered in creeping moss.
“Hopefully, the vicar is inside the church.” Elsa scanned the road. Cynthia Wright’s home was only a minute’s walk away. “If not, we’ll try the vicarage. And if that fails, we’llknock on doors along Upper Street and ask about the Wright family.”
It was her first time in Islington, yet everything felt strangely familiar, as though she had walked these streets before. Indeed, its quiet charm and quaint streets reminded Elsa of how her grandmother once described Oxford.
“The church door is open,” Daniel remarked, escorting her through the iron gate. “Is that not an invitation to enter?”
Inside, the vicar stood bent over the lectern, his fingers tracing the passages of the Bible in the quiet space filled with old oak pews. Sunlight filtered through the stained-glass window, casting a soft glow on the stone floor.
Hearing the echo of their footsteps, he looked up. “Good afternoon. What brings you to St Mary’s?”
“We seek the Lord’s help in solving a problem,” she said, coming to stand before the pulpit. “I hope you can spare the time to offer some insight.”
“Admitting to a problem is the first step on the path to redemption.” The creases around the older man’s eyes deepened as he smiled. “Let me climb down and we can find somewhere comfortable to talk.”
The vicar invited them to sit in a pew and joined them there, listening intently as they recounted their incredulous tale. Nevertheless, she only mentioned the shooting and not Mr Carver’s murder.
“And so you see, we have exhausted every avenue except for exploring the cryptic clues hidden within my mother’s ex-libris. I hope they’ll explain why someone desperately wants to hurt me.”
The vicar fell silent as if waiting for the Lord to whisper words of guidance. “Hmm. And you think you might find the answers in the church register?”
“Why would my mother list both dates if they were not important? Why mention the church, Miss Wright, and an address on Upper Street?” There was a reason the clues centred around Islington.
“Indeed. Though I recall no parishioner with that name.”
“Do you have the register to hand?” Daniel asked.
“Well, yes. They’re in a stone vault below ground. If you give me a few minutes, I can locate the records for 1778.”
She released the breath she had held since her father said she had to marry Lord Denby. The day her heart broke in two. “We would be most grateful if you could.”
The vicar left them alone.
They sat in quiet reverence, the stillness a contrast to the chaos of their recent lives. Elsa’s mind drifted back to their wedding day. A ceremony with no guests, just two people bound by circumstance and a secret love in their hearts.
“This is the first time I’ve been to church since we married,” Daniel said, staring at the stained-glass window as if contemplating the meaning of life. “The Lord gave me the world in one hand, then snatched it from the other.”
She reached for him, twining her fingers with his. “Surely we have a reason to celebrate. I’m yours, Daniel. As it was always meant to be. And if it comes to it, perhaps we can offer Lord Denby restitution. A financial settlement to avoid further scandal.”
He hung his head. “Something tells me it won’t be that simple. What if your brother is to blame for our troubles? I’ll struggle to forgive his betrayal.”
She refused to believe Magnus was the villain. But he had to be involved somehow. At best, he was a dreadful coward.
“I have something for you.” She reached into her reticule and removed the gift she had put there two days earlier—when she had secretly eaten the chocolate truffles. Turning over his hand, she placed two shillings in his palm. “These are tokens: one for loyalty, one for trust. In giving these, I agree to stand beside you no matter what you decide.”
