beneath the rubble Gideon had long since despaired of it ever coming to light.
Everything had changed when Cecilia came to Darlington Castle.
It would have been the easiest thing in the world for her to simply declare him guilty and be done with it. Everyone else in England had, and when she arrived at Darlington Castle, she’d had every reason to believe he was a murderer.
But she hadn’t. She’d believed in him. How many times had he dismissed her from his service? Twice, three times? Yet she’d hung on, and somehow, between dropping the coal scuttle and singing those dreadful lullabies, she’d made everyone love her.
Isabella, Amy and Mrs. Briggs, Duncan and Fraser, and…
Him. She’d made him love her.
Haslemere gave him a reproving look. “In case you’ve forgotten, Cecilia did just as she was sent to Darlington Castle to do. She uncovered the truth.”
Gideon squirmed under the rebuke. He hadn’t forgotten. How could he? Cecilia had set him free from the vicious rumors that had plagued him since Cassandra’s death. The lies she’d told him were nothing against all she’d done for him.
He was in love with her—madly, deeply so. There was only one reason he’d let the woman he adored walk out of his life, and it had nothing to do with a few meaningless lies.
“Let’s have it out, shall we, Darlington?” Haslemere’s voice was quieter now, and, for all that he disliked coddling the tenderer emotions, gentle. “I told you, you forget how well I know you. You didn’t send Cecilia away because she lied to you. Why don’t you tell me the real reason?”
Haslemere already knew, of course. He knew Gideon well enough to have guessed it. He’d simply been waiting for Gideon to say it aloud. “Leanora murdered my wife and son, Haslemere. Poisoned them in our home, right under my nose.”
Haslemere nodded. “Yes.”
“I knew who Leanora was, what she was. I should have seen what was happening and put a stop to it, but somehow, I didn’t. I let my wife and son die.”
Haslemere was quiet for a moment, then he said, “Look at me, Darlington.”
Gideon looked, half afraid of what he’d see, but Haslemere’s face was full of compassion. “You didn’t know who Leanora was. You knew she was selfish and erratic, even devious, yes, but you didn’t know she was mad. You didn’t know she was a murderer. How could you?”
Gideon wanted it to be true, wanted it more than anything, but he wasn’t sure he could ever make himself believe it. “I failed Cassandra, Haslemere. I failed both her and my son. I didn’t take care of them. What if…what if I fail Cecilia, too?”
Haslemere let out a deep sigh. “You didn’t fail anyone, Darlington. What happened was a tragedy, but it wasn’t your fault. Do you think Cassandra would want you to spend the rest of your life alone, punishing yourself for her death?”
“No.” After Cecilia left Darlington Castle, Gideon had found what remained of Cassandra’s diary buried in the rubble. Most of it had burned in the fire, but he’d read enough of the few singed pages that remained to remind him Cassandra had loved him as much as he’d loved her. His happiness had been as important to her as her own.
Somehow, in all the chaos of her illness and death, he’d forgotten that.
“No. She’d want you to be happy, and for you, Cecilia is happiness. So, I’ll ask you again, Darlington. When are you going to put an end to this nonsense?”
Gideon closed his eyes, ready to search inside his heart for the answer, but it was right there already, waiting for him. It had been, all along. Now he’d given himself permission to seize this second chance at happiness he was desperate to get to Cecilia, and couldn’t bear to wait another moment. “It ends here, Haslemere. Here, and now.”
“You know what, Darlington? I’ll join you.” Haslemere rubbed his hands together, a sly smile curling his lips. “I’ve a notion to pay a call on Georgiana Harley. I wouldn’t want her to forget about me, now would I?”
* * * *
“If ye didn’t think Miss Cecilia was fit to take on Darlington, ye wouldn’t have sent her there in the first place.” Daniel Brixton folded his massive frame into the seat on the other side of Lady Clifford’s desk. “If ye thought her fit, then she’s fit.”
“Perhaps I miscalculated.”
Lady Clifford tapped a finger against her lips, considering it. She’d realized any number of scenarios could play out in