Chapter 28

Sitting at her small desk in her tiny library, Marlowe studied her finances. Another week, two at the most and she would have

to bring this respite from the trials of life to an end and become once more a kept woman.

Based on the number of men who had approached her that first night after Hollie let it be known she was on the hunt, she suspected

it would take only a few days to find his replacement. She already had a list of the lords she wouldn’t even bother to consider.

She had yet to compile the names of those she would deem a possibility, because she didn’t want images of other men she might

like filling her head when she was with Langdon.

Not that any would outshine him.

At the sound of the hushed footfalls, she looked up as her butler approached.

“His lordship is here, madam. He has with him a rather large gentleman. They’re waiting for you in the parlor.”

His lordship. Hollie. The butler knew as well as she did that she didn’t have the option of not being at home when he called. Such was the life of a mistress. She really should write a book on the perils and pleasures of serving as a courtesan.

“Let him know I’ll be right there.” Shoving back her chair, she stood and fluffed out her skirt. On her way to the door, she

stopped in front of a mirror and tidied her hair. Habit. It was habit to try to look her best for him. But the intimate part

of their association had come to an end. She had no need to primp. Yet still she did it.

When she walked into the library, she was surprised to discover his lordship was in fact Langdon. Briefly she wondered if her servants thought he was her new defender.

Because she didn’t know the older man—probably close to his father’s age—standing beside him, she curtsied. “My lord, your

presence is unexpected.”

He offered her a slight smile and a bow. “My apologies for not sending word. Allow me to introduce Sir James Swindler, a longtime

friend of my father’s.”

She curtsied deeply to the man of legend. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Sir James. I’ve read of your exploits

in apprehending criminals for Scotland Yard. Although I don’t remember precisely which case earned you your knighthood.”

“Those were never reported on.”

“As you know of his reputation,” Langdon said, “then you comprehend he’s very good at finding people.”

Her stomach felt like it had the night of the storm when her balloon had begun plummeting toward the sea. She thought at any second it would hit the floor with a resounding thud. “Someone like my father.”

Her words came out on a croak.

Langdon nodded. “I hope I didn’t overstep when I asked him to determine if he could learn anything about his disappearance.”

She swallowed hard. “I assume you’re here because he did.”

“Perhaps you’d like to sit down.”

Throwing back her shoulders, she tossed her head. “No, I’ll take this news standing.”

With her knees locked so she wouldn’t sink to the floor. She’d often wondered what would be worse: to know with certainty

he was dead or to learn he was alive and well but had abandoned them. She girded herself against the onslaught of emotions

waiting at the periphery of her heart and soul.

Sir James’s eyes held regret, sorrow, and sympathy. She knew before he even spoke the ending of this tale.

“Around the time of your father’s disappearance, in a remote area of Wales, a group of farmers reported seeing a fire-breathing

dragon fall from the sky.”

Her stomach concluded its drop to the floor. “My father’s balloon was decorated with dragons. Hydrogen is quite combustible.

That balloon wouldn’t have been the first to suffer such a mishap.”

Langdon appeared absolutely horrified, as if he’d just realized the dangers of flight involved more than encountering a storm. She wondered if perhaps the risk was part of its appeal.

“They were terrified, poor blighters,” Sir James continued. “Were unfamiliar with hot-air balloons. Attacked it with pitchforks

at first, apparently... until they saw the man. He hadn’t survived the fall, I’m afraid.”

She wondered how it was that those words managed to suck all the air out of the room, out of London. She couldn’t seem to

draw a breath. Still, she nodded jerkily in response to what he’d said. And she had the answer to her earlier debate. It was

much worse to know he was truly gone.

“I visited the nearest constabulary. I don’t suppose your father wore a signet ring.”

“He did.” He’d always said it proved he was a lord, as if only those among the nobility were allowed to wear such a thing.

“Do you recall what it looked like?”

“Why not just show it to her?” Langdon asked, and her entire body went stiff with the possibility of touching a reminder of

her father. When she was younger, still small enough to sit nestled on his lap, he’d given it to her to wear for a few minutes.

His hands and fingers were so much larger than hers she’d slid it onto her thumb, but still it had swallowed the digit and

she’d had to close her hand into a fist to prevent it from falling off.

“Because the mind is unreliable when it comes to memories,” Sir James said. “If I show it to her, the sight might replace

the truth.” He turned his attention to her, his expression one of patiently waiting.

She looked down at her thumb as if the jewelry was still there. “It was gold. An elaborate W was carved into a flattened surface of onyx.” She lifted her gaze. “It was the fanciest piece of jewelry I ever saw before

coming to London. I suspect it was instrumental in convincing the shop owners it would be a privilege to extend credit to

a man who wore such a thing.”

Sir James dipped two fingers into a waistcoat pocket. When he withdrew them, he extended toward her the ring. Her gasp sounded

more like a strangled sob.

“The authorities had kept it in hopes of using it someday to identify the poor chap. I convinced them to entrust it to my

care. I promised to either return it to them or provide them with the identity of their daring mystery bloke.”

Her father had been daring. He’d taught her the advantage of being unafraid to face the unknown. It was the reason she’d returned

to London without her mother when she was seventeen, now lived a life of relative luxury, and her name was practically housed

on the tip of every gossipmonger’s tongue, readily accessible to be uttered. While she might be questioning the wisdom of

some of the decisions she’d made in desperation, she couldn’t deny they’d required bravery on her part.

Slowly, slowly, that bravery suddenly nowhere to be seen, she reached out and enfolded her hand around the ring. It fairly pulsed against her palm. She pressed her tightened fist to the center of her chest and laid her other hand over it. Closing her eyes, she envisioned her father’s smile, heard his laughter, recalled how proud he’d always seemed of her achievements. How much he’d loved traveling with her in his balloon. How much she’d loved being so close to him.

When Langdon’s arms came around her, she didn’t push him away. Instead she absorbed his warmth and comfort, relished the steady

pounding of his heart that was in direct contrast to her erratic one, forced her struggling breaths to match his calm ones.

One of his hands stroked her back slowly. Had he spoken, had he offered words of condolences, she might have burst into tears.

Hollie had plowed his way through any moments of emotional turmoil with constant monologues, battering her with words that

prevented her from thinking clearly or processing what she was feeling. That Langdon knew her well enough to simply remain

silent was a bit unnerving and something to think about later.

She wondered if her father had been afraid when his balloon had caught fire, if he’d been as terrified as she’d been when

trapped in the storm. If he’d known his life was on the verge of ending. If he’d had regrets. Felt guilty for the lies. Felt

sorrow at the thought of never seeing her or her mother again. Or had he believed he’d survive, been determined to brash it

out, and have an adventure to share?

It wasn’t unusual for aeronauts to don parachutes, even if they weren’t always as effective as they might have been. But her

father had viewed them as an unnecessary weight, and the lighter the basket, the higher the balloon would go. She wondered

if he’d had a few seconds to recognize the foolishness of that attitude.

Opening her eyes, she gave Langdon a little nudge. Relaxing his hold, he tucked a finger beneath her chin. “Are you going to be all right?”

After she nodded, he swung around to stand beside her and placed his hand reassuringly at the small of her back. She met Sir

William’s gaze. “Robert Tittering—at least that’s the name under which he married my mother. He was quite flawed by all accounts.

But he loved deeply and without reservation, and I have often thought that to be his finest quality.” Her chest was loosening

a bit, her breaths coming more easily. “I’ll be visiting my mother once the Season comes to a close. I’ll share with her then

what you’ve discovered. After all these years, a few more weeks of not knowing isn’t going to cause any harm. But I very much

appreciate you solving the mystery.”

“I have found it’s seldom easy to live with the not knowing. But sorting through the knowing is no easy task either. Therefore,

I shall leave you to it and see myself out.”

As he began to stride past, Langdon held out his hand. “Thank you, Uncle James.”

“Not at all, lad.” And he carried on.

When she heard the outer door close, she lowered herself into the nearest chair. “He’s your uncle?”

Langdon studied her with the intensity of someone searching for cracks in a dam. “Not by blood. It’s just what I grew up calling

him.”

He crouched before her, appearing almost afraid to touch her. Then, as if faced with a wild creature, he slowly, so very slowly, moved his hand toward her and gently wiped his thumb along her cheek. Only then did she become aware of the dampness, did she realize tears were rolling free like raindrops from a darkened cloud gliding over a windowpane. She wondered how long they had been doing so, if they’d begun their journey before Sir James took his leave.

“Would you have rather not known?” Langdon asked.

She shook her head. “I’d always suspected. I couldn’t imagine if he still drew breath, he wouldn’t have returned, even if

it meant hiking the entire way... or crawling. I’ve shared with you the worst of him, but he wasn’t all bad.”

“Few ever are.”

He had both hands cupped around her face now, his thumbs tenderly gathering up the dew that continued to accumulate.

“How were you able to tell him how long ago he disappeared?”

“You mentioned the length of time when you were recounting your tale. I can remember numbers when they are told to me. I can’t

tell you what they look like, I can’t write them. I know not their value. But with the information I had, he was able to narrow

his search.”

“It makes me sad to think it might have been horrible for him. I know what it is to think you’re going to die. I thought of

all the things I meant to do. The dreams I abandoned. The ones I saw come true. Did the same thing happen to you, during the

railway collision?”

He shook his head. “It happened too fast. I was making up stories about my fellow passengers and in a blink I woke up on soaked grass and was being pelted by rain. For those who died, I very much doubt they knew Death was coming for them. I drew some comfort from that.”

Sniffing, she squeezed her eyes shut, wrenching out the remainder of her tears. She took a deep, slow inhale, and an even

slower exhale. He must have recognized she was coming back to herself, because his hands moved away from her face and he rocked

back a little into his crouch.

Ten days , she almost blurted. Ten days is all I can give you before the reality of my financial situation raises its ugly little head.

She realized she could give him any number, a hundred, a thousand, and he would be unable to accurately judge the significance.

Only she would be aware of the numbers ticking away, becoming smaller and smaller until there was one day left and then none.

Perhaps like Death arriving unexpectedly, there would be some mercy in his not being aware of their time slipping away. He

could enjoy each hour without realizing how few remained. It was a gift she could offer him.

“I’ve had many moments of sadness through the years, missing him, wondering what happened. Now I know. And there is relief in that. The last time I saw my father, he was going up in his balloon, smiling broadly, waving, and the last thing I heard was his laugh. He had a wonderful, deep laugh. I’m going to imagine he arrived at Heaven’s gate the same way: smiling, waving, and laughing. Thank you for finding the answer for me.”

“ I didn’t actually find it.”

“But you knew who would. Thank you for asking him.”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up in case he didn’t find out anything. But I also knew he wouldn’t

give up until he did discover something.”

“Those poor farmers. I suppose it would be frightening if you’d never before seen a balloon.”

With quiet contemplation, he studied her. “The sadness is going away.”

She nodded. “As I said, it’s been around over the years. It hit harder today, but it doesn’t linger. I mourned him. And I

remember him.”

“I’ve been dragging you off to my residence every night. Perhaps tonight we should go to the Twin Dragons. Have a bit of fun.”

“I’d like that.”

He straightened. “I’ll see you at dusk.”

He never gave her an hour, a time. It was always dusk, dawn, midday, dark. He never looked at a watch or a clock, and she

knew why now. “I’ll be ready.”

Bending over, placing his hands on either side of her chair, he leaned in and kissed her before striding from the residence.