Page 80 of Redemption for the Baron

Barrington’s voice dropped. “Your duty? Was it your duty to murder Mark Alastair?”

Lady Worthington smiled. “He lost his conviction. That made him a liability. I did what had to be done.”

Bridget inhaled sharply. There was no remorse. No doubt. Only certainty.

Lady Worthington glanced at the bodkin. “It’s rather poetic, isn’t it? An instrument of creation… and death.”

Thomas said quietly, “You poisoned him.”

Lady Worthington didn’t answer. But she didn’t deny it, either.

Barrington turned to Townsend. “Lock her in the east guest room. Post a guard. Search her belongings. Remove anything that looks suspicious.”

Townsend inclined his head. “Consider it done.”

Lady Worthington lifted her chin. “I did what was necessary.”

“So will we,” Bridget said softly.

Townsend led Lady Worthington away, and the door clicked shut behind them.

Tresham returned his attention to the document. “I saved one name for last.” He took the torn corner that Bridget had found in Alastair’s hand and carefully aligned it with the torn edge of the parchment.

Bridget froze.

“Baron Lucius Ellington.”

“Ellington?” Blackwood took a slow step forward. “That’s Marjory’s maiden name.”

Bridget’s pulse roared in her ears.

Barrington muttered a curse. “Alastair must have suspected his wife’s family had ties to the Order.”

Blackwood laughed bitterly. “That sounds familiar.”

Grenville asked the professor. “Did Alastair ask you to research the Ellington line?”

Tresham exhaled. “Yes. But I never delivered my full findings. This Lucius Ellington is not part of Marjory’s family line.”

Bridget’s fingers gripped the edge of the desk. “Then who is he?”

Tresham met her gaze. “That is the question we must answer.”

*

The library hadfallen into a hush. Grenville stood near the edge of the table, watching Blackwood.

Blackwood’s gaze lingered on the parchment. Once. Twice. A third time.

Grenville watched him closely, waiting for a true reaction, not the man’s usual charm. What he saw was a flicker of disbelief.

“Something wrong, Blackwood?” Barrington’s voice was smooth, but Grenville recognized the deliberate probe.

“I was given a name, a false one, it seems.” He let out a bitter laugh. “All this time, I thought I was chasing truth.”

His mouth curled into a smile, but Grenville saw the pain. “Turns out I was just like Alastair. Another fool, discarded.”

“They used you.” Bridget’s voice was quiet, but firm.

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