Page 74 of Why Do Earls Fall in Love?
“Your father’s sins are not yours,” she countered. “Or mine.”
“Of course, they are mine. I’ve lived off of their misfortune my entire life.”
“You didn’t even know of it!”
“It doesn’t change anything.” He rubbed his head where the ache had started to return. “William was shocked when he learned of it. The smuggling men described a great many of the things stolen. They whispered that Father still had a cache of the best pieces.”
“Oh. What better way to jab at your father?” she whispered.
“Yes. William started to search. He was methodical about it. It took him some time, but he found several new rooms we had not known about, in the cliffs below the house. It was tucked away in one of them. A great chest full of coins and jewels. With it, he found a list of what Father had taken and from whom.”
“Why? Why would he keep track?”
“Hubris, likely.” Whiddon snorted. “It’s the sort of thing he would be proud of. But perhaps he meant to sell them back, later? Or perhaps he wanted to be able to give details of their history when he went to auction them off? I don’t know. William made a copy. He brought it to me, here in London. He said there were more, treasures that Hurley and the men had kept. He wanted to keep listening, discover as many as he could. He wanted to complete the list and start to return all the pieces we could.”
“Restitution. It would have driven your father mad?”
“God’s teeth, yes. But I told him to wait. I had pledged to bring Tensford along to a house party. He was having trouble with his reputation at the time. But I promised I would return home straight after. We would work on it together.” He stopped.
“He didn’t wait?” she asked quietly.
“No. I should have known he wouldn’t. He had the bit in his teeth. He needed something to keep him from feeling useless. He needed a purpose and he wanted to get back at Father. He went back home and kept asking questions, I suppose. Only days later, I received the news. He’d been killed in a tavern fight in the village.”
“I’m so sorry.” Leaning forward, she reached for his hands and gripped them both tight.
“The worst part . . .” He stopped, swallowed. It was done. William was dead. “I don’t know that my father didn’t have a part in it.”
“What?” All of her color drained away. “Surely not?”
“I am not sure. That is just it. William apparently stole the chest of jewels. I arrived home for the funeral to discover my father furious and convinced that William had taken them and brought them here, to me, in London.”
“He hadn’t?”
“No. We had agreed to wait until we knew more about the people on the list before we disturbed the jewels and risked alerting Father. But sometime after William’s death and before my arrival at Broadscove, Father discovered the treasure was gone.”
“Good heavens.”
“I did find the list. We had a private spot, in a crumbling wall in the woods, the two of us. It was where we kept our small, private letters, our treasures and small things away from Father’s prying eyes. The original list was there, along with the second one that William had started, detailing the jewels that hadn’t gone to Father, the ones the men in the gang had kept or sold.”
“The jewels weren’t there? None of them?”
“No. Only the two lists.”
“You never found the jewels?”
“No. I thought them lost, still. I didn’t think anyone had found them.”
She frowned at him for a moment, then understanding dawned in those blue eyes. “Until today?” She gestured toward his head. “What changed today? What happened?”
He sighed. “Since William’s death, I’ve been going down the list, finding the refugees. I couldn’t return their treasures, but I’ve tried to do as he wished and restore the value of them.”
She blinked. Her face softened. She looked down at their clasped hands, then back up at him. The silver in her eyes shone bright as her gaze met his.
He couldn’t help it. He reared back. She looked touched. By his actions. She looked . . . proud. Of him.
His pulse pounded. His heart swelled.
It was, perhaps, the most wonderful rush of emotion he’d ever felt.
