Page 67 of Becoming Lady Dalton
Inside sparkled a large square sapphire flanked by two diamonds in a gold setting. She had seen it each time he asked before. There was no reason for her eyes to well up until they shone like liquid jewels, but they did.
“Yes,” she whispered, not looking at the ring, but at him. Piers’ heart was so full he thought it might burst.
“Mum! I thought you’d never accept him!” burst out Matthew as she slipped it onto the third finger of her left hand.
“You’re not hurt?” she asked her son questioningly.
“No, not at all. I’ll visit Papa’s grave when we visit Aunt Harpy. Tell him all about it.” Matthew, who was set to attend Oxbridge in the fall, was all gangly limbs and boyish energy. Once a year, he and Viola made a pilgrimage to Briarcliff where Samuel Cartwright had been buried in the family plot on Boxing Day ten years ago. The man who’d spent his life scheming to enjoy a degree of luxury he’d never come close to attaining was spending his hereafter in the family burial grounds at Briarcliff. Was it forgiveness? Piers could never be certain. Viola’s sense of family obligation hadn’t ended with her marriage.
She had just taken all that devotion and, with great consideration, bestowed it upon him. Piers’ heart swelled.
“Are you happy, brother?” a quiet voice beside him asked.
“Yes, Gwen. Very much. I cannot think of a better Christmas gift than Viola’s hand.”
His sister nodded. Her cough had been better of late. Gwen had survived longer than any doctor had predicted. Good care had seen to that.
The fire burned down in the hearth. Viola clasped his hand as they curled together on the settee after the youngsters had left to play cards in another room. Judging from the sounds of outrage, Matthew was whipping Cameron, Gwen, and Emily again.
Inside, Piers glowed the certainty that no matter what changes came to his little family, Viola would be at his side—his Lady Dalton, ever after.
EPILOGUE
The secret compartmentin her writing set opened with a twist and a click. Out popped a velvet-lined tray. Within the narrow tray lay a gold filigree necklace of exquisite detail.
The thief stared at it.
Wordless, reverent, she lifted it with long fingers. It hung between them like a spider’s web, a half-moon pendant the size of her palm weighing down the center.
She placed the ornament around her neck, where it hung between her breasts. The crossed bodice of her wrapper was worth a fraction of the sumptuous necklace.
At the knock on her door, the thief tucked it beneath her clothes.
“Lady Margaret?” she asked, cracking the door.
“We’ve received an invitation.” The girl’s brown eyes shone like saucers. “Can you imagine?”
“Yes, I can easily imagine,” the thief replied indulgently. This simple girl was her ticket to freedom. She could afford to be tolerant, though at times Lady Margaret tried her patience.
“This is from aduke.What’s more, it’s addressed to you.” Lady Margaret waved a cream cotton rag envelope with gilt edging through the crack. “Don’t leave me standing in the hallway. Let me in and we’ll read it together.”
The necklace burned a hole against her skin. Yet, she was the guest. She had no hold on this unsuspecting young woman.
“Let me read it first, my lady. I promise I’ll share the news.”
Margaret’s face fell. Nonetheless, the thief slipped it out of her hand and closed the door in her hosts’ face.
Dear Miss Lowry,
I believe you have something that belongs to me.
You are invited to supper tomorrow at eight to discuss the details of its return.
Cordially,
The Duke of Havencrest
Her swindler’s heart thumped. With anticipation? Or with fear?
