Page 98 of One Wicked Secret
“If you would prefer to read them in private, I can make myself scarce,” he said, placing the drink on the side table beside her.
Her eyes widened. “No, I want you here with me.”
He nodded, poured himself a brandy and came to sit beside her. “Well? Are you going to open it?”
She ran her hand over the polished wood and exhaled slowly. “My mother went to great lengths to hide this. The responsibility to keep it safe falls on me.”
“On us?” he corrected.
She met his gaze and smiled. “Yes, on us.”
After taking a sip of sherry, she turned the silver key andraised the lid. A whisper of mildew and dried lavender escaped from the velvet-lined box.
Elsa stared at the neatly stacked letters tied with ribbon as if afraid to touch them. The ink had faded, but Miss Cynthia Wright’s name could be read clearly.
“These are addressed to Cynthia,” she said, mustering the courage to untie the ribbon. She read one, then another, her hand flying to her chest. “They’re from Clarence. Their love shines through every foxed page.”
He reached into the box and took the pile addressed to Clarence. While Cynthia’s love was also apparent, so was her fear of his family.
They read each letter, discussing how something so beautiful had ended in tragedy. How easy it was to lose everything? Yet here was the proof nothing could silence the love in one’s heart.
“Do you know how precious these are?” she said, hugging the heavily creased paper to her chest. “Josephine and Terence will always be my grandparents, but now Clarence and Cynthia are too. It hurt to think I would never know them. Yet I feel like I’m stepping into their world, sharing their love and losses.”
Her eyes dimmed when she noticed the last letter in the box.
“I can read it to you,” he said. “If it makes it any easier.”
“Please do.”
His heart sank as he read the account of what had happened in Port Noir. Josephine described how Cynthia had pressed the child into her arms, urging her to run and uphold her oath. Terence had returned later to find the couple dead and had hidden when men arrived to load the bodies into a boat.
“The men hunted for the child before agreeing to save their own necks and pretend she’d fallen overboard,” he said solemnly. “Witnesses came forward, claiming they’d seen the family on the lake, and the authorities discovered the capsized boat the next day.”
“They must have paid the witnesses to lie.” Elsa wiped tears from her eyes. “But why? Why would a father kill his own son? What sort of monster destroyed a loving family?”
“Disappointment is a strong motive for murder among the aristocracy. They think they’re above the law.” And he knew that weak men often used anger as a crutch.
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Lord Denby must have discovered there were witnesses to the crime and feared the truth might come to light. If you married him, your family would have a reason to keep the secret buried.”
Elsa shook her head. “It sounds plausible, but why not explain it to Magnus? Why keep him in the dark?”
Yes, something seemed off.
Had Magnus accepted a bribe? Had he been paid for his silence?
Lord Grafton’s warning echoed in Daniel’s mind.
Save Elsa Tyler!
Was he supposed to save her from Magnus or Denby?
He was still contemplating the question when a loud thud echoed on the front door, and fate arrived in the guise of Rothley, bearing an unexpected boon.
“Forgive the interruption,” Rothley said, bursting into the study and dragging Magnus Tyler behind him by the scruff of his coat. “I found the stray skulking in the street near Denby’s club. I considered tying him in a sack and tossing him in the Thames but thought you’d like to speak to him first.”
“Magnus!” Elsa shoved the letters in the box and hid it behind the chair. “I thought you were in Geneva.”
