Chapter 32

It was a solemn afternoon and evening, one I was certain none of us would ever forget. But all I had to do was look up at Gage's beloved face to recall it could have been so much worse. At least, for me.

I burrowed closer to his side where we sat on the sofa in the drawing room at Roscarrock House, and he tightened the arm he'd draped around me in response. Dolly and Tristram, Anne and Dr. Wolcott, and Morgan and Anthony Knill were seated in similar poses. Mery leaned his head back against the cushion of his chair, his feet propped up on a footstool and his broken arm cradled before him. He, too, was sporting an impressive black eye, though not as swollen as Anderley's.

I had spied Gage's valet in the covered portion of the courtyard just a short time ago, rain drumming the ground a few feet away. Bree was administering some sort of liniment to his facial injuries. I'd intended to ask how they both fared, but once I'd seen the look on Anderley's face and the intent in his eyes, one Bree seemed to echo, I retreated to the house, giving them their privacy.

Emma was sleeping upstairs—none the worse for our misadventure—with Mrs. Mackay watching over her. Not that there was any more concern for her safety. Not when Tamsyn and half of her crew had fallen to their deaths or drowned in Lundy Hole, along with Bevil.

Gage had managed to avoid their plummeting bodies, but I suspected he would be haunted by the event for a long time. Especially since his initial fear had been that one of them was mine with Emma still strapped to my chest. Once he'd realized that I was still safely above and that no more bodies were about to rain down on him, he'd fought his way past the Grenville closest to him back toward the entrance to the cave.

The man who had been injured, bleeding into the water, had long since slid beneath the waves, and Tristram had clubbed the third man over the back of the head with a loose rock when he moved to attack Gage, redeeming himself in the end. Then the pair began to struggle their way out of the cave, trying to help Bevil between them. But the tide had begun to come in, and the swells from the incoming storm grew larger. It had taken all of their considerable strength just to reach the mouth of the arch. There, Anthony Knill and Tom Wolcott had pulled them to safety. However, Bevil was lost, driven under by an incoming wave and then pulled out to sea by the wicked current.

Those on the cliffs had given up all their fight to either apprehend us or reach the treasure in the face of such tragedy. The remaining Grenvilles had trumped down to the beach to search for their dead, while Joan and Amelia had silently followed us back to Roscarrock House, supported by their daughters and granddaughters.

I had fallen onto Gage with a great spectacle of sobbing once he reached the cliff top again, too overcome from residual fear and lack of sleep. We dropped to our knees, holding each other for some time, until I finally released him long enough so that he could kiss and embrace our daughter. Mrs. Mackay had thankfully taken charge of her after I'd frightened her with my frantic cries for Gage's safety, and I apologized to Emma then, just so relieved we were all alive.

Joan and Amelia had not been so lucky.

Bevil's death, and perhaps their own remorse over the entire affair, seemed to have broken them. They'd taken to their beds, where Imogen now took her turn tending them. Having seen Amelia's haggard appearance and heard her wheezing breaths, I suspected she wouldn't be long for this earth now. Her heart was simply giving out.

As for Tamsyn, I presumed the Grenvilles were mourning her, even if no one here was. No one except for perhaps my father-in-law.

He stood gazing broodingly out the windows into the stormy twilight much as he'd done the evening of our arrival at Roscarrock House. I could not read his thoughts. They were closed to me. But I knew that love did not die easily, and he had loved Tamsyn. Even more so because she was all that was left of his friend Jago. Her cold betrayal might have broken that, but it had been too sudden to destroy it completely.

We were all largely silent, deriving comfort merely from each other's presence as we were each lost in our own thoughts, grappling with pain and suffering and grief. So when Mery suddenly cleared his throat and pushed himself more upright in his chair, I think we were all surprised.

"Perhaps now is not the time. But if not now, when?" He grimaced remorsefully. "I owe all of ye an apology. I've not acted as I should for a long time." His brow furrowed in shame. "I blamed Granfer, but I'm the one who chose to shuck all responsibility. That stops now." He arched his chin. "Though I'll need your support, Tristram."

His cousin met his gaze levelly.

"Last I recall, you 'ad a lot of ideas for 'ow we could manage our money better. I'd like to hear them, and I promise to listen to your counsel better than Granfer ever did your father."

Tristram appeared to straighten at this pronouncement.

"I'll also need ye to take over the reins should the coroner's inquest decide my killin' Granfer wasn't justified." Mery's firm voice faltered. "I…I have to take responsibility for that, too. Anne told me to confide in Sebastian and Kiera." His gaze locked with hers. "And I should've listened to 'er. Had I, things might've all turned out very differently."

"Maybe," Tristram said. "But maybe not." His expression was grim. "They were determined."

Branok, that is. And Tamsyn, who we'd since learned had been part of the scheme from the beginning. The exact nature of their relationship and what he'd promised her to convince her to take part was not clear. It might never be. But her telling Lord Gage that she'd seen Branok walking along the cliffs was all part of their ploy, hoping that while he searched for Branok, he might also finally lead them to the treasure.

It had all been expertly played. Even Tamsyn's decision to understate the matter by telling us she'd only recognized Branok from a distance. The doubt she'd allowed to fester had ultimately made it all the more believable to Lord Gage. Particularly with Bevil baiting him and the others sowing their own seeds to drive him out wandering.

When Branok had turned up dead, their suspicion had initially fastened on Lord Gage, but it had rather swiftly shifted to Mery. Which was why one of their conspirators had always been underfoot when we tried to speak with him.

In any case, the affair was over. The treasure was well and truly lost, and the smuggling ring was broken. Whether Mery and Tristram would be able to save Roscarrock House from Branok's silent stakeholder remained to be seen, but I intended to encourage Lord Gage to help them. To finally heal the rift that had existed in their family once and for all. Something told me it wouldn't be difficult to convince him.

We had all already given our statements to the local magistrate, who had taken it upon himself to visit Roscarrock House personally when he'd learned what had happened, and that such an august person as Lord Gage was involved. There was also the lapse in Mr. Cuttance's previous judgment to consider. Neither my husband nor his father believed the coroner's inquest would return a verdict other than justifiable homicide considering the victim proposed to kidnap a nobleman's infant granddaughter, but there were no guarantees.

Imogen appeared in the doorway then, her face etched with lines of sadness.

"Is it my turn to relieve you?" Morgan asked, sitting forward.

"Not yet." Imogen's gaze swung to me. "She's askin' for Kiera. And his lordship," she added as she turned to him.

I stiffened, uncertain I wanted to speak to Amelia. Not after everything that had happened. But if she meant to apologize and ask for my forgiveness, then I knew I should give her the chance. Especially since we'd be leaving in the morning, and I would possibly never see her again.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Gage asked as I began to rise.

I pressed my hand to his chest, urging him to stay. "I'll be fine with your father."

He nodded, letting me go.

Lord Gage met me by the door, offering me his arm. There were deep shadows in his eyes, and I knew this interview was not going to be any easier for him than it was for me. I hoped that whatever Amelia had to tell us wouldn't make matters worse.

Imogen had left Amelia's bedchamber door ajar, and we entered after rapping. It was dark inside, with just a single brace of candles lit. She lay back in her bed, her gray hair fanned out over her pillow. I thought for a moment she'd fallen asleep while waiting for us, but then she opened her eyes.

Her hand lifted toward me, and I slowly stepped forward to accept it. She didn't rush to speak, but merely stared up at me for a few moments, her fingers lightly clutching mine. "I owe ye an apology. All of ye," she added as she looked at her nephew. Her voice shook so much, it was difficult to make out her words. "I never thought…" She shut her eyes against the painful thought and swallowed. "I was wrong," she tried again in a steadier voice. Her pale gray eyes glittered with unshed tears. "I know my sayin' so doesn't take it away, but it's all I 'ave."

I nodded, letting her know I understood, extending her the grace to accept her apology even though part of me still resisted. In time, I would be glad I'd done so.

"That, and the truth about your granfer," she told Lord Gage, who still stood stiffly by the door. "Should've told ye before, but ye weren't ready to hear it, now, were ye?"

She'd already told me how her father had believed the treasure was cursed and was intent on keeping his grandson away from it, but that wasn't all she had to say.

"I know it's not what ye want to hear, but your granfer bought you that commission to protect ye. When the magistrate decided to make an example of ye, because of the treasure, because of the rampant smuggling. Because preventive officers had killed a boy…" She broke off, breathing hard. "He knew that ye couldn't remain 'ere. 'Twasn't safe. Not that your father would've allowed it anyway. And if your granfer simply paid the fine, then ye would return to your father, and he would make your life a misery."

I could tell by the expression on Lord Gage's face that he knew this to be true. He'd admitted how unhappy his life had been at Liftondown, how useless his father had deemed him.

"So the best solution, the only solution, was to give ye a productive occupation far from here. The Royal Navy seemed like it would suit ye. And so it did. Ye became a fine man," she declared. "But when ye were young, your granfer could see what was comin'. Ye were a restless, impish boy, who already had more charm than ye had a right to. And ye were growin' into a 'andsome, restless man who would only get 'imself into greater trouble. Your granfer did the best by ye he could, and that meant gettin' ye away from here and your home in Devon." Her eyes glinted with approval. "He was right proud of the man ye became. A man ye never would've been had ye stayed."

With this last pronouncement, her head seemed to sink deeper into the pillow. "He loved ye, my boy. More than you'll ever know."

Lord Gage's features were stark in the candlelight, and his eyes glinted with an emotion he could not hide. I didn't know if these words would heal him fully, but they were certainly a start.

"Now," Amelia pronounced on an exhale. "I must rest."

We took that as our cue to be dismissed, and I reached for my father-in-law's arm, cradling it close to my side in what comfort I could offer as we left the chamber.

The world was shrouded in mist the following morning when we departed Roscarrock House, preventing me from having one last glimpse of the sea. But after the previous day's misadventure, I wasn't certain I wanted to. I rode on horseback alongside Gage while his father, Emma, and our staff filled the two carriages rattling over the roads behind us. I'd feared that Emma might suffer from nightmares after the terrors we'd experienced, but her sleep had seemed to be as sweet and dreamless as always. Mrs. Mackay had assured me she was too young to remember anything, and that was a blessing.

Instead, it had been Gage and I who had endured a restless night, trading turns comforting each other when we woke bathed in sweat. As such, the cool mist against my skin was bracing, helping to wash away the film of fatigue from my mind. For a moment as the fog thickened, I was reminded of my midnight ride with a coarse sack pulled over my head. My muscles responded with lingering fear, but then the haze thinned, revealing the sign at the crossroads leading to Trelights and beyond.

A single red-billed chough perched at the top, watching us with its beady, knowing eyes. There was no way to tell if it was the same bird that had helped me at Lundy Hole, but I chose to believe it was.

"Thank you, sire," I murmured, touching the brim of my sugar-loaf hat.

He gave one low chortle and then took flight.

I turned to find Gage looking at me in question.

"In case he's King Arthur," I explained, choosing for once not to elaborate. Let him believe it was mere whimsy. There were simply some mysteries that were not meant to be explained.

A truth it would have served me well to remember when, with the turn of the new year, we went home to Edinburgh. Work was being completed on the dower house at Bevington Park in preparation for our return the following summer. Meanwhile, we rejoined my family and our friends in Scotland and resumed projects too long set aside for other pursuits. Had I but known that the art which for so long had proven my solace could one day turn deadly, a great calamity might have been avoided.