Page 79 of Redemption for the Baron

Bridget stared. The elegant woman was now trembling with fury and desperation.

Barrington’s tone remained level. “You murdered him, and tried to recover the weapon.”

Lady Worthington’s gaze darted between them. “This isn’t over.”

Townsend stepped in. “Oh, I think it is.”

Lady Worthington trembled, realizing she had no escape.

Blackwood turned away from her, silent.

Bridget let out a long breath. It was done. The accusation, the confession, the arrest, yet none of it felt like resolution. Only exhaustion.

The door creaked open.

Professor Tresham entered, his scholarly air strikingly out of place amid the remnants of tension still thick in the room. He carried a folio in his hands and approached the library table with quiet purpose.

Barrington gestured toward the folio. “You have something for us, Tresham?”

“Yes. And I’d like to show it to you.” Professor Tresham carefully smoothed out the worn parchment on the large library table. The edges were curled slightly with age. He adjusted his spectacles.

“This document has been altered multiple times,” he began, running a careful fingertip over the layered script. “It was common practice to scrape ink from parchment and reuse it. I suspected as much the moment I examined the texture.”

Bridget leaned in to see the document. “And what was beneath it?”

Tresham lifted his gaze. “Something far more concerning.”

He reached for a small scraping tool and brushed away the faintest layer of ink. Beneath the writing, a symbol began to emerge. It was faded, but unmistakable, a raven, its wings spread wide over a diamond.

Bridget gasped.

Grenville cursed.

Barrington’s jaw tightened. “The Order of Shadows.”

Tresham nodded. “The mark was hidden beneath more recent entries.”

“What is this parchment?” Bridget asked.

Tresham angled the candlelight, revealing the faint remnants of a title at the top.

“Registry. A Record of Members,” Barrington read aloud.”

Tresham traced his finger down the faded list. “These are the names Alastair was trying to uncover.”

“There are dates next to these names.” Thomas looked up at Tresham.

“Entry dates into the Order.”

“Kerrington,” Blackwood said, tapping one of the names. “It’s dated 1785.” He glanced at Lady Worthington. “That’s your father.”

Lady Worthington’s breath hitched. “My father was a historian… he advised powerful men, but he never spoke of such things.”

Tresham read aloud. “The notation next to his name reads ‘Senior Advisor.’”

Thomas’s voice was cold. “Your family has served the Order for generations.”

She met his gaze, something proud in her eyes. “It was never a choice. It was my duty.”

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