Page 54 of Becoming Lady Dalton
“Oof, Edward, you mustn’t, I’m utterly filthy,” she mumbled into his chest jacket.
“I know what that feels like, Viola, and we’ll get you out of here. Things are moving quickly, but I can’t say more than that.”
“Where is Harper?” Viola pried herself out of her brother-in-law’s embrace and peered up at him. Comfort washed over her. Edward, alone of everyone in her life except Sam, knew precisely what imprisonment felt like, for he had been dragged back to London in an actual cage.
“She isn’t able to come, for reasons that are her own to discuss with you. Harper is frantic to see you freed. I arrived yesterday noon and have been staying with Lord Dalton, trying to work through this.”
“Lord Dalton?” she asked. “Did I hear you right?”
“Yes. He’s worked himself to the bone looking for a way to free you.”
“I don’t believe it.”
Edward’s brow furrowed. His habitual state of dishevelment made it hard to discern how out of sorts he was, but Viola had the impression he hadn’t changed or slept in days. Someone cared enough about her to come and visit, thus far, without disowning her.
“Why not?” Edward demanded, holding her by the upper arms.
“Because I thought everyone had abandoned me.” Embarrassingly, a sob welled up. Viola dashed away a tear. “My grandmother was here several days ago. The baroness did not mince words in telling me I was”—sniff—“disowned.”
“Listen to me. She has come to regret her decision and reversed course, partly in thanks to your sister’s intervention. Has Thomas Belden been to see you yet?”
“He was here yesterday.”
“Good. He and Reed are working closely to uncover the thief’s name. You’re to go before the magistrate tomorrow morning. I’ve arranged for your cell to be cleaned. You may stay in here to wash and change clothing. There’s food in the basket.”
Viola glanced at the table. Sure enough, a large hamper waited for her to discover its delights. She almost moaned. The earl chuckled.
“There’s a skin of water and a bowl for washing and another for water.”
But Viola had already discovered them and much more.
“Tomorrow morning, Viola, we are going to clear your name.”
She paused in unpacking. “Does that mean you’ve discovered the true thief?”
“No. But we’re trying to. We’ve one final idea to try, but if it doesn’t work, we’ll have to work with what we have.” Edward’s jaw tightened, and he looked grim. “The Woolrytes are determined to see you hang. Your sister is equally determined to see you freed. Our best chance is to find the real thief, but if we can’t, we won’t give up.”
He kissed her forehead. Viola leaned into her brother-in-law’s embrace. She’d trusted the person she loved best in the world—possibly excepting her son, but who would force a choice between sister and son—to this man. Hope rose in her throat, choking off words with an onslaught of tears.
“Clean up. Present yourself as calmly as you can tomorrow. You’ll find you have more allies than you ever thought possible, dear sister.”
And then, he was gone.
Leaving Viola with a lot of cold water, a meat pie, and scant time to wash and change. It required a contortionist’s skill to unfasten her gown and stays, but with effort, she fought her way out of the wrinkled velvet gown she’d worn since the night of her arrest. She retreated to the corner to wash her body with a wet chemise, then shimmied into the fresh one her brother-in-law had brought.
She was not alone.
Viola laced her stays as best she could and tied clean stockings into the tapes. Then she pulled up the clean dress provided by Lord Briarcliff. Her sister had chosen well. It was a subdued grey with a hint of ornament around the neckline. The garment whispered money. It spoke contrition. It looked like power.
In it, Viola felt invincible.
With a full belly, after she ate the pie and wrapped a warm shawl about her shoulders, a beam of optimism filter through the barriers in her heart. She could not know what the morrow would bring. But she would face it knowing she was loved.
She could die, knowing that.
27
If one could designa courtroom for maximal intimidation, this was well thought out. Comfortless, Viola took her place on the stand. No chair was offered. She folded her hands and stood as erect as she could facing the magistrate, in his white wig, as he pounded a gavel.
