Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Silence then, as if everyone in the room were holding his breath. Jonathan’s words echoed around in the vast space, bouncing off the high ceilings and the grand tapestries that hung on the walls.
“And how did you come to procure such a poison?” Thomas asked quietly, his voice hoarse from the myriad emotions he was trying to keep under control.
“As I’ve said repeatedly, I had nothing to do with the act of poisoning your father,” Jonathan replied, his voice just as quiet. “But Montague had a fascination with plants, especially the poisonous ones. He grew them in his quarters. You’ve been there, Thomas. The place is lined with greenery from wall to wall. He always said that acquiring and tending to strange plants was a hobby of his.”
“A hobby,” Thomas echoed bitterly. “That’s a generous term for plotting murder.”
Thomas thought back to the plant he had been examining when Montague had discovered him in his quarters all those years ago. The green oval leaves, the dark-purple berries… Montague had indeed been tending to a deadly nightshade plant.
Jonathan fell silent, his gaze dropping to the floor. For a long time, the only sounds were the crackling fire and the occasional creak of the house settling around them. It felt as if the weight of their words had shifted the very foundation of their world.
Eventually, Polk broke the silence, his voice shaky at first but growing steadier as he spoke. “What do we do now?” he asked.
“Please forgive me,” Jonathan said, looking toward Thomas. His eyes were filled with remorse, begging for pity. “I was desperate.”
“I nearly died today due to your desperation, Jonathan,” Thomas spat out, his face hardening into a mask of cold anger. “The authorities have been summoned, and Montague is going to be arrested. He tried to murder me, and he tried to murder Lady Patricia. Even if we cannot prove that he is the one behind my father’s murder, he will stand trial and spend the rest of his life at Newgate.”
“And what of you, Jonathan?” Polk asked, his gaze flicking back and forth between the two men. “You’re as much a part of this as Montague.”
Jonathan flinched at his words. “I… I understand,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “If I must face your wrath for my part in this, so be it.”
“No.” Thomas’s voice cut through the room like a blade. He glared at Jonathan. “The law will decide your fate. But if you think I’m letting you off easy after what you’ve done, you are sorely mistaken. I plan to put an heir in my beautiful wife soon enough, but even if I don’t, I shall see that you and all your descendants are forever disinherited from this family. If the authorities do not see fit to send you to prison, you will live out the rest of your days outside of the financial security of the Ashford estate. If you thought you were penniless now, just wait until you’ve experienced true poverty.”
With that, he turned and stormed out of the room.
37
A month later…
Tricia felt like she was in a hug as she sat next to Thomas at dinner. They’d both recuperated quite nicely and had decided to delay the formal announcement of their engagement until April, when the season began in earnest. Champagne was being served in Thomas’s London residence, and when everyone had a flute, Thomas clinked on his to get everyone’s attention.
“Lords, ladies, gentlemen,” he said. “I’m so happy to announce my betrothal to Lady Patricia-Price Adams.”
A collective gasp filled the room, though their engagement at this point was a surprise to no one, followed by murmurs of congratulations and goodwill. Tricia’s heart pounded as she turned to Thomas. He smiled at her, his brown eyes sparkling under the soft candlelight.
“Lady Patricia,” he declared, looking deeply into her eyes, “I am most honored to have won your hand.” He held out his champagne flute and they clinked, a soft tinkling note that echoed throughout the grand dining hall.
The buzz of chatter around them seemed to dissipate as Tricia found herself lost in his gaze. Her mind was whirling with thoughts of wedding gowns, bridal veils, and bouquets.
Her throat was no longer parched from the smoke inhalation, and her neck no longer bruised from Montague’s attack. Thomas’s wounds and burns had healed, and though there was some scarring, he was good as new.
For a moment, everything seemed perfect. The candlelight cast long, dancing shadows on the ornate walls. The clinking of glasses and the low murmur of conversation filled the air, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.
The dowager countess, elegant in a flowing gown of emerald silk, rose to toast the newly engaged couple. “May your love be like the evergreens,” she began, “lasting through all seasons.”
A round of applause followed the countess’s toast. Thomas gave Tricia’s hand a reassuring squeeze, and she looked up to meet his gaze, radiant with shared joy.