“I will. Just give me a moment,” she said, forlornly.
“You don’t have to say anything, Lizzie,” Marianne said gently, as she sat next to her. She rubbed her younger sister’s back in circles. “But know this. I will always be here when you need me.”
Elizabeth knew that Marianne was telling the truth. There was a time she felt her older sister had escaped their father’s oppressive rule when she got married to Dominic, but sherealized that the move was to appease their father. It also helped that she had fallen in love.
“I thought I wanted freedom, Marianne. A marriage to someone who wouldn’t care where I was at any given time of the day. With Alasdair, I knew I’d be safe, and that would be it. I thought I’d be happy,” Elizabeth lamented.
“And you’re not?” Marianne asked, eyes wide and tearful.
“I thought I was, for a time. I felt safe and happy with Alasdair,” Elizabeth admitted. “B-but I am not so sure as of late. He’s leaving and may not come back.”
Marianne quietly listened to her, holding her hands in hers. It was just like when they were children.
For a moment, she felt safe again, only to be reminded that her sister had a family of her own now. She could no longer demand the same thing from her.
“Shh, he’s coming back,” Marianne whispered after a long pause. “Wait, I think I know what you need. I’ll be back soon.”
When she returned, her arms were full of art supplies: canvas, paint, pencils, sheets of paper, and more. Seeing her sister’s efforts, Elizabeth could only nod politely.
When Marianne finally left her, she sat in front of her desk. A large sheet of paper lay on the wood, waiting for her to createmagic on it, but she just stared at it. It remained pristine even as the clock continued ticking.
She sighed heavily.
It had not happened before. Yes, she would sometimes sit for a while. There would be lines of pencil sketch outlining some invisible idea, but eventually the lines would be filled with detail.
Today, she had no luck.
How could she when she kept seeing Alasdair’s face? She would not draw him.
No. Not again. Not ever.
Chapter Thirty
Alasdair was no longer drunk in his study.
The fire that had once made his head spin now burned steady and focused. He’d thrown himself into the investigation with ruthless precision, filling notebooks with names, places, whispered connections.
There was no thrill in the work, only a sense of grim purpose. It was as intense as he had expected, and lonelier than he’d prepared for.
He’d met again with Farnleigh, and through him, been introduced to other men—lawyers, clerks, former military officers—who had either worked under Kittridge or under men who did. Every meeting was noted, every lie weighed, every truth pursued. His evenings were consumed by maps, lists, rumors.
And then came the invitation.
At a gentleman’s club tucked discreetly into a quiet side street, Alasdair found himself seated in a dim corner with Edward Ambersen, a senior politician whose name still carried weight in Parliament.
Ambersen was in his early fifties, sharp-eyed despite the deep lines on his face and the permanent dent between his brows that looked like it had been pressed there by a decade’s worth of headaches.
Alasdair hadn’t planned to linger at the club, but it would have raised suspicion to rush the meeting. Their brandy glasses sat untouched for the moment. The roast beef and vegetables before them were hardly noticed.
“How did ye come to be part of this?” Alasdair asked, his voice low.
Ambersen’s fingers tapped once on the armrest before answering. “It is… a long story. I made too many compromises in my youth. I didn’t witness most of the wrongdoings directly, but I knew. Men like me always know, if only in whispers. But these past few years, the protests have grown louder. And now, even the most loyal men, like Farnleigh, are beginning to speak openly. We’re sick of the rot.”
He paused, then met Alasdair’s eyes.
“I heard you were trying to clear your father’s name, Your Grace. That you’ve been hunting truth the way most men chase titles.”
“I have been,” Alasdair replied. “And I mean to see it through.”