Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

C old water splashed around Diana. Sputtering, she flailed at the edge of the bathtub that she’d fallen asleep in and slipped beneath the surface. The now-tepid water seeped into her skin and deep into her bones, chilling her.

“Miss Diana, you must come at once!” Her butler’s panicked whisper came through the closed bedchamber door.

She blinked and wiped water from her eyes. “What is it, Peele?” She reached toward the little stool beside the bath and grasped a clean cloth to dry herself. As she stood, her body shuddered from the chill of the air. Water sluiced down her skin and she shivered as she wiped the cloth over herself as quickly as possible.

“You must make haste. The magistrate has come to see you, and he has two gentlemen with him. They claim to know you were abducted by the highwaymen and demand to see you.” Mr. Peele’s usually calm voice held a note of fear. “I told them you were not receiving visitors today, but the magistrate was firm in his demand to speak to you.”

A flash of panic shot through Diana as she dug in her dresser for clothes. If Peele was shaken, this must be serious indeed. She had never met the local magistrate and wasn’t even sure she knew his name. She’d stayed out of social circles in the country, except for her best friend, Rachel Merton.

She threw on a pale-lilac day gown that buttoned up the front and braided her damp hair into a coiled knot before tying a ribbon around it. She wasn’t as put-together as she could be for such a meeting, but it would have to do.

Diana squared her shoulders and left her bedchamber, mentally readying herself to meet the gentlemen below. Gentlemen turning up at her home when she lived alone, unmarried and without a proper chaperone, could cause quite a bit of trouble. While her land was not entailed to any male heir, it was buried in debts, and there was always the fear that those debts might be bought at any moment by a gentleman with no honor. She could be turned out on her ear, and her servants might lose their home and jobs as well. So she had to keep up appearances as best she could. It was why they had kept the front rooms, where she would entertain guests, as newly decorated and furnished as possible, while the rest of the house was in a far worse state.

Peele escorted her to the largest sitting room. She paused at the sight of the three men standing there. Two she recognized at once—the father and son from her coach ride yesterday, Edwin and Claude Fellows.

“Miss Fox, thank goodness, are you well?” Claude rushed over to her and reached for her hands in a way that was far too familiar for their brief acquaintance. She shied back, yet he did not release her fingers.

“I am well. Thank you for inquiring, Mr. Fellows.”

The third man now spoke, his voice cool and his gaze appraising. “Miss Fox, I am Lord Caddington, the local magistrate. I was informed that you were abducted from a stagecoach two days ago?”

“Yes, my lord, I was.” She could feel Lord Caddington’s gaze move over her, assessing her. What was he looking for? Or rather, what was he hoping for? Because he was clearly seeking something.

“Did you suffer an assault on your person?” Caddington asked. Then she saw it, a lightning-quick flash of excitement in his eyes as he examined her. Did he want to learn she had been injured in some way?

An eerie chill ran down Diana’s spine. This man liked pain. She wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she was certain of it. She had always been able to read people, even as a girl, and the time she had spent working with her servants, trying to keep their home alive, had honed that ability. Caddington was well dressed, well spoken, held a title, and no doubt possessed a fair-sized estate, along with his magistrate’s powers. It would be easy for most people to place their trust in such a man and learn too late he was not a good man.

“I was not harmed, Lord Caddington, but I appreciate your concern for my welfare.” She kept her tone polite. “I was fortunate enough to make my escape and find my way home on my own, but thankfully I was not harmed in any way.”

Please let this be the end of his questions, she prayed.

“But that scoundrel threatened you!” Claude insisted, still holding on to her hands. “When you would not surrender your necklace, he said he would remove your clothing to get to it,” the young man declared, his face flushed with rage and embarrassment on her behalf.

She delicately pulled her hands free of Claude’s grasp. “The thief said that, yes, but it was a mere boast. He did not carry out his threat.”

“But he abducted you!” Claude continued. “He might have done anything to you.”

“And yet I tell you he did not harm me. I am fairly certain I would remember if he had.”

The father spoke up. “If you can recall, Miss Fox, where did the highwayman take you? We informed Lord Caddington of all that we know, including the general direction he and his companions took. We would have come sooner to see to your health and safety, but we were not positive we knew the location of your residence. We live several miles away, you see. It wasn’t until one of the servants in our household mentioned that she knew of your estate that we were able to inform his lordship of where you lived.”

Diana deeply wished that servant hadn’t said anything, but she no doubt thought she was being helpful. Diana would have to be careful about what she revealed to Caddington from this point on.

“I was carried blindfolded at first to a little glen perhaps a mile away from where our coach was halted on the road. I am so wretched with distances,” she lied. “And directions. I believe they took me westward? The sun was setting in the east...” She touched her fingertips to her temples as if in pained recollection.

“The sun sets in the west , Miss Fox,” Caddington said. “So did you ride in the direction of the setting sun or against it?”

She fluttered her lashes, ready to feign a fainting spell. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had to play the role of a delicate lady. The last time had been at a ball two years before, and she’d been desperately trying to avoid dancing with the vicar’s son. The young man simply had too many hands, and those hands had a tendency to wander where they weren’t welcome.

“Please sit, Miss Fox.” Claude pulled her toward a settee and sat down beside her. She inwardly bristled at the young man who had the audacity to offer her a seat in her own house.

“Think hard, Miss Fox,” Caddington ordered. “Which way did you go, toward or away from the setting sun?”

“It was toward the setting sun, I am certain of it.” Tyburn had, in fact, taken her east, but she wasn’t about to give that information to Caddington or any other authorities.

Of course, her protection of a lawless criminal wasn’t entirely based on a secret desire to shield her mysterious lover from the hangman’s noose, though that did play a small part. Truth was, if Tyburn was caught, he might tell the authorities that she had robbed him of most of his loot. Then she would also be facing the noose.

“Tell me your account of the robbery,” Caddington said. “What happened when you were stopped in the woods?”

He walked to where she sat and stopped just inches from her so as to loom over her, no doubt expecting her to wilt in his presence. She reminded herself that she had to keep playing the role of the helpless female. She preferred men who underestimated her.

Diana cleared her throat, letting tears shine in her eyes. “I was so scared at first. There was a loud crack, which we thought was thunder. Only it was a pistol shot. A man in a mask came and forced us all to leave the carriage. He demanded that I surrender my necklace to him. I refused and hid it in a place I thought he would not attempt to retrieve it from. I was wrong.” She reached up to touch her neck to feel the pearl that usually hung there, but it was gone. She prayed it was still fastened around Tyburn’s wrist. “He took me on his horse far from the road and made it clear I had no choice in the matter. Thankfully, I was allowed to remove it from my hiding place without the men watching. I gave it to the thieves, and they showed me mercy.”

“Mercy? Ha!” Caddington snorted. “That trio of bastards has robbed me of more than four thousand pounds just this year. Whenever I get close to finding them, they go to ground.”

Ah . . . Diana thought with grim understanding.

Now she could see why Caddington was interested in her story. He wanted to catch the clever thieves who had robbed him repeatedly. If she were to ever see that seductive—er, dreadful—Tyburn again, she might just kiss him because he had caused so much trouble for such a foul man.

“Lord Caddington,” Claude warned, “we are in the presence of a young lady. I advise you to remember that.”

“I will not censor myself in front of anyone, not even a lady .” He said the words as though he thought her quite the opposite of a lady. He pressed on with his interrogation. “What did they do when they let you go? Where did they take you? Did they bring you back to this house?” He threw his questions at her like barbed spears, looming ever closer, invading her space as an almost manic energy seemed to pour off him.

“Heavens no.” She shook her head, widening her eyes and pretending to be truly surprised. “They simply rode off and left me alone in the woods. I wandered around for a few hours, got turned around, and when I found the main road I was able to walk back here yesterday morning.”

“You walked all night?” Poor, sweet Claude looked devastated at the thought.

She patted his hand. The last thing she needed to deal with was a weepy young lad. “I slept for several hours in a field. It was not so terrible,” she said.

“A field?” Claude nearly squawked. “A gentle lady sleeping in a field? It’s not to be borne,” the young man growled, trying to communicate his protectiveness to her. Diana nearly laughed. Claude’s little growl might as well have been a mew. She had a different growl burned into her memory. A growl of pleasure and satisfaction as a particular masked man sank deep into her body.

Her face flamed at the wild, scandalous memory of how she’d given her body and soul to him. Could anyone blame her? Tyburn’s rumbling voice, made rough with that rich Scottish brogue, had captivated her. And the way his blue eyes had gazed upon her as though she were his entire world? No woman could resist that sort of seduction.

“ No woman should be made to sleep in a field, gentle-born or not,” she said. Claude blinked at her, clearly not understanding what she meant. “My back is no more delicate than a scullery maid’s.”

Claude’s lips parted and his brows rose. “Surely you jest, Miss Fox? It’s just that a lady such as yourself could not be... That is, you are not used to that which a scullery maid might...”

Good Lord, did he truly think gentle-born women were different than other women?

“Shall we return to more important matters?” Caddington shot the poor lad a quelling look. “Now, Miss Fox, can you tell us anything about these men? Their faces, their accents, their names perhaps?”

“I...” She didn’t want to say anything, but she was going to have to say something because Claude and Edwin had heard the men use names.

“As I told you, Lord Caddington, my father and I heard two of the men were called Tyburn and Oxford,” Claude said proudly. “I believe Tyburn is a Scot, based on his accent, and Oxford might be Irish.”

“Yes, that sounds correct,” Diana agreed. “You must forgive me—I forgot such details. I was simply so frightened, you see, that my mind quite blanked.”

Caddington narrowed his eyes. “Yes, it is regrettable that females are so delicate.” The way he said delicate made her skin crawl. She shuddered to think what had made him form such a low opinion of women, given that most women she knew were strong in both mind and body.

“If I recall any other details, where should I write to you, Lord Caddington?” She had no intention of writing to him, but she had to play the charade correctly; otherwise, he might sense her deception.

He handed her a calling card with his name and the name of his estate. “You may write to me here.” It was about ten miles from Foxglove, and she was thankful it was no closer.

“Well, since the young lady is not injured, we should leave her to her day.” Edwin cleared his throat and gave his son a meaningful look. “You’re to call on Miss Appleyard this afternoon, remember?”

Claude’s face fell as he shot a sheepish look at Diana. “May I call upon you tomorrow, Miss Fox?”

“Oh, that isn’t—” she began, but she was cut off by Edwin.

“I’m sure Miss Fox has much to do, and you have made your promise to another young lady.” Edwin cleared his throat.

So she was not an appropriate lady for Edwin’s son? Diana was both relieved and insulted. She may be penniless, but the Foxes were a noble line that went back more than three hundred years.

“Father...” Claude almost sounded like a whining child.

Edwin sent a stony look at his son, then turned to Diana. “We are relieved you are well, Miss Fox, but we really must take our leave.”

Diana rose and lightly curtsied to him. “Of course, Mr. Fellows. I understand.” She let Claude’s father know in her tone that she had heard his warning.

Claude reached once more for her hand. He bowed over her knuckles as he kissed her fingers. He stilled and frowned.

“Are these calluses?” he asked. She pulled her hand away, shame heating her cheeks. Damnation, she wasn’t supposed to let anyone see. Now she had to come up with yet another bloody lie.

“What? Oh yes, from riding. I often forget to wear gloves.” She was building a cathedral of lies, and she feared for the day when they would crumble around her.

A typical day for Diana included carrying buckets of water and coal. She scrubbed the floors on her hands and knees alongside the maids. She broke her back almost every day to keep this house— her home —working.

“I see. You must remember to wear gloves, Miss Fox. It is so very important to have smooth hands. You wouldn’t want any gentleman courting you to think you are working in the fields.” Claude admonished her as though she were a child. If only he knew what she did every day. She’d wager she was twice as strong as he was after all of the work she’d done these last few years.

It made her want to cuff the lad’s ears for his presumption, but instead she once again summoned up a pleasant smile from the depths of heaven-knows-where.

“You’re quite right, of course. I shall endeavor to do better, Mr. Fellows. Please allow me to escort you to the door.” She kept her smile in place as they exited the sitting room. Mr. Peele opened the front door for them, and her grooms already had their horses waiting.

Mr. Fellows ushered his son out of the house. Lord Caddington lingered in the doorway. His presence continued to make her skin crawl.

“Should you remember anything, you would do well to inform me at once.”

“Of course, Lord Caddington. I’ve kept your card, and I shall not misplace it.” She flashed the card for him to see.

Glaring at her, he lowered his voice but didn’t hide the menace oozing from it. “Anyone harboring knowledge about fugitives of the law will be put to death, even pretty young ladies like you.” He smiled at her, the expression showing far too much teeth.

“I certainly would not wish to support fugitives , my lord,” she replied seriously. Diana waited patiently for him to leave, with a bland expression upon her face.

He pulled on his riding gloves before he leaned in and whispered, “You might believe you are clever, Miss Fox, but I assure you, you are nothing more than a vessel for men to slake their basic lusts upon. And I would have no qualms reminding you of that.” With that, Caddington walked down the steps to his horse, as if he hadn’t just threatened to rape her.

Diana held still, heart slamming against her ribs. Peele came to stand beside her.

“I could shoot him and bury him in the back gardens,” the butler suggested, his tone icy. He must have heard what Caddington had said. Peele was excellent at hiding in the shadows and not being noticed unless he was needed, and Caddington was not the sort to notice servants.

“I am tempted to let you,” Diana said as Caddington rode away. She had a terrible feeling that she would see far more of him than she would like. And then a rather wicked thought entered her mind. If Caddington had too much money on his hands, then perhaps she would relieve him of some as well. That was certainly a man she would feel no guilt about stealing from.

“Please tell the footmen to meet me in my study. It’s time to formulate our plan.”

I will show Caddington just how clever I can be.

Rafe sat on the large settee in the Lennox library. Isla was cozied up beside him as they feasted on a tray of tarts they’d nicked from the kitchens. Most likely, Mrs. Gibbs had left the tray unguarded on purpose for them. She did so adore spoiling him, and now Isla as well. The dear old woman.

“What say you, kitten? Is cherry better than the apple?” He stretched an arm over the back of the couch. His little girl licked her fingers and grinned up at him. The tray they’d stolen had a mix of both apple and cherry tarts.

“Cherry is much better, Papa,” said Isla. “Apple is sweet, but I like the tartness of cherry.” Her adorable little brogue made his heart clench.

He stroked a lock of hair back from her face. “Spoken like a true connoisseur.”

She yawned and leaned her head into the crook of his arm. “What is a con—ah—sir?”

“It means you are an expert judge in matters of taste.”

“Hmmm...” Isla burrowed closer to him. “Are ye a connoisseur, Papa?”

Rafe considered her question. “I suppose I am a connoisseur of fine ladies and sparkling treasures,” he answered with a chuckle. He’d been plagued all day with thoughts of that little vixen-turned-thief he’d abducted last night. Her eyes had certainly sparkled as bright as any of the finest jewels he’d ever stolen.

Isla raised her little face to look at him. “Will ye find me a new mama?”

“A new mama? What’s all this now?” Rafe brushed his thumb over her little cheeks.

“Uncle Ash says I need a good mama, but he thinks... he thinks ye dinna ken how to find one.”

“Uncle Ash is a busybody,” Rafe muttered. “And I do know how to find a mama for you, but I haven’t found the perfect one yet. And you deserve the best mama, don’t you think?”

“I suppose... if she is verra kind and verra smart,” Isla murmured. “And if she likes to tell me stories and would eat cherry tarts... with us.” She yawned as her lashes fell onto her cheeks.

“All right, kitten, time for you to be in bed.” Rafe took her into his arms and stood. He carried the girl up to the nursery, and under her nanny’s care, she was soon ready for bed. She clutched the doll that he’d bought her in Edinburgh as he tucked her in and pressed a kiss to the girl’s head.

“Ye must kiss Mrs. Crumpet,” she demanded, and held out her doll.

Chuckling, Rafe pressed a kiss to the doll’s forehead as well.

“Good night, kitten. And good night, Mrs. Crumpet.” He stroked Isla’s hair back from her face.

But Isla was not quite done fighting off sleep. “Ye willna go away again?”

“Not for a while,” he promised.

Isla rubbed a fist against her eyes. “Not ever!”

“I can’t promise that,” he said sadly. “But when I come back, I will bring you wonderful toys.”

“I dinna want toys. I want ye to stay here,” she whimpered. He leaned over, pressing another kiss to her brow.

“My my, how fierce you are, my little tiger. I shall not leave ever again unless you allow it?” He would have to find a way to convince her to let him leave when the time came. She may have him wrapped around her little finger, but he could still charm her when he needed to. Satisfied with his promise, she snuggled deep into her blankets and fell right asleep.

“Oh, to be that young and to sleep that soundly,” Mrs. Chesterfield mused from her rocking chair nearby.

“Only the truly innocent can sleep like that,” Rafe said sadly. His thoughts suddenly stilled. That wasn’t true. Isla’s life was not untouched by tragedy. Far from it. She had seen both of her parents die, yet somehow she’d found a way to peace, to trust and love again.

Why couldn’t he do the same? Was he incapable of healing? Was he broken?

The grim thought slithered into his chest, coiling like a black viper around his heart, warning away all those who would try to seek access. Only Isla had been able to slip beneath the viper’s scales.

He stroked an index finger down his daughter’s nose and stood.

“I must retire,” he said to the nanny. “It is quite late.”

She nodded and resumed her knitting. “Good night, sir.” The soft clicking of needles in the quiet nursery was oddly comforting.

Rafe stepped into the hall, only to have that sense of peace he’d had shattered. Ashton leaned against the wall just outside the door. Rafe’s heart jolted from the sheer shock of this surprise.

“Ready for that talk, brother?” Ashton asked.

“Bloody hell, Ash, you mustn’t lurk like that. If you are trying to kill me, at least have the decency to use a pistol or a sword. Frightening someone to death seems hardly sportsmanlike. It’s unbecoming for a baron,” Rafe replied.

“I didn’t wish to miss you before you retired. I can see that you are weary, but weary from what, I wonder? Did you spend several weeks carousing in London so much that you look dead on your feet? I thought those days were behind you?”

The accusation, although one that would have been correctly applied to the Rafe of years past, still stung.

“They are behind me.” Rafe gently closed the door to the nursery and headed for his chambers. Ashton kept pace with him, shoulder to shoulder.

“Oh? Then what business were you settling in London? Mother was there, and she wrote to me saying she did not see you.”

Damnation, he hadn’t thought of their mother. “I did not stay at your townhouse. I stayed with Caspian.” He should have remembered that Mother liked to spend the fall in London at the primary Lennox residence, but he’d been so intent on his work with Will and Caspian that the matter had slipped his mind.

“Falworth? How is he?” Ashton asked.

“He’s been better. His father’s death has made for some financial complications,” Rafe replied. “He and I were out seeking investment opportunities. That’s what has made me weary.”

“Investment opportunities?” Ashton’s eyes sharpened and he stroked his short golden beard.

“Christ, you really do get aroused by talking business, don’t you?” Rafe teased.

“What arouses me is none of your concern, little brother.”

“On that, we agree,” said Rafe. “That’s poor Rosalind’s duty, not mine.”

Ashton’s growl was more playful than threatening. “Hush, pup.”

Who knew marriage could tame his lion of a brother? When Rafe had tricked Rosalind into playing and then losing a game of chess against Ashton, which had resulted in her having to marry Ashton, Rafe’s only desire had been to punish the Scottish minx for shooting him. He certainly hadn’t planned for the pair to fall in love and make each other happy rather than miserable. But did Ashton ever give him credit for playing Cupid? Of course not!

“Tell me, Rafe, what do you want to invest in? And why didn’t you come to me first?”

They were at Rafe’s bedchamber now. Rafe gestured for his brother to join him inside and walked over to the drink cart in one corner of the room. He poured them both a glass of scotch, and they settled into a pair of chairs by the fireplace. Some thoughtful servant had come by and lit the fire, and he was damned glad for the warmth of the flames. Ashton leaned back in his chair, waiting for a response to his earlier question.

“Because you’ve made it clear in the past that you did not wish for me to come to you for help.”

“Rafe, that isn’t true. I would have helped you, but I didn’t want to simply toss money at you when you were younger and more reckless. I didn’t want you to end up like...” Ashton cut himself off, but Rafe knew what he meant to say.

“Like Father,” Rafe replied, his voice hollow. “Let’s not talk of the past, Ash. I’ve had enough of it as it is.”

“I agree. You’ve changed over the last few years, especially since Isla has come into your life, and I want to help you. Tell me what you’re thinking of.”

There was no avoiding this talk—Rafe knew his brother too well. He let out a sigh. “I wish to invest in something, but to invest smartly,” he began. “Something that will produce a reliable income for myself and for Isla. I also wish to put some money aside each month to create a dowry for Isla. Not that I will ever allow her to marry, no man is good enough for my child, but she could use the money as she wishes when she’s old enough.”

Ashton sipped his scotch and studied the fire, thinking on Rafe’s words.

“Well, we could put some money in the consuls to start, but you would need a fair amount to invest to expect solid returns. How much do you have ready to invest?”

“Not much at the moment, but by the end of the year I hope to possess a thousand pounds?” Rafe estimated he could steal that much if he, Will, and Caspian spread their territory wider and worked even harder. They’d mastered their system over the years to target wealthy travelers by paying tavern maids and stable boys for information. Maids and stable hands were always ignored, and yet they saw everything, especially casks of gold coins or fat purses. As long as they continued in their good sources of information, he and his friends could acquire more money again.

“A thousand? How will you acquire such funds?” Ashton braced his arms on the sides of his chair and leaned forward. “Would you take out a loan, or bring in another investor?”

“I think loans are a terrible idea, as is bringing in another investor,” Rafe replied. He knew Ashton too well. If Rafe said he wanted either of those, Ashton might well browbeat him into taking money from him, and he was done with that. Not that he’d ever been given much to begin with, but Ash had been pushing funds at Rafe ever since he’d taken Isla as his ward. Rafe had reluctantly agreed to take a little money early on for a few dresses and some toys, but now he wished to care for his daughter all on his own as he found that his pride would not let him take another shilling from his older brother.

“I will find a way to raise the funds. When I have them... would you counsel me on how best to invest it?” It wasn’t easy to ask his elder brother for advice, but he knew Ashton was the best man for it.

Ashton nodded. “Of course, but Rafe, you could have the money. I would give it to you at once.”

Rafe shifted restlessly in his chair, old painful memories resurfacing. Ashton shouting at him, slamming doors, demand letters from the butcher, the modiste, the tailor tossed at him in a shower of unpaid bills.

“No,” Rafe said firmly. If he’d learned anything in his life it was that the people he loved thought he took advantage of them when all he’d ever needed was a little help and a little trust. His mother, Thomasina, Ashton, and even young Joanna had all given up on him or turned him away when he needed them most. As much as his mother’s rejection hurt, he could at least understand the reasons behind it. But Joanna had been too young to remember why she didn’t trust him, and she’d never understood why she still instinctively shied away from him. Ashton had never once let him explain, never once gave him a moment of compassion. Until now... and now it was simply far too late .

Ashton let out a heavy sigh, finished his scotch, and stood.

“Very well, but my offer stands. If you do acquire the funds you wish to invest, I will be here for you.”

“Thank you,” Rafe said, his throat unbearably tight.

I will be here for you . Those words might have saved his soul once upon a time, but now they had come too late. He was stuck with the man he was, not who he might have been, and it was up to him to work his way to something better. Even if it was through the unwilling purses of others.

He waited until he heard the bedchamber door close, then leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his palms. He started to shudder. Tears dampened his palms as he tried to rein in his emotions.

He did not cry. Not now. Never again.

He was not a boy anymore. He was a man...

He dashed the tears away and got up to pace back and forth by the fireplace. After a moment, he removed a small silver-covered box from the mantel and opened it. There amidst the precious keepsakes of his life lay the freshwater pearl pendant he’d hidden a few hours before. He cupped the pearl in his palm and closed his eyes. He recalled how the pearl’s owner had looked as she turned in his arms, almost bare of clothing, moonlight illuminating her skin as she gazed at him with innocence and trust. She seemed now to be more dream than reality.

She’d been alone, so very alone. He had seen it in her eyes. That quiet despair, that hunger for a gentle touch, that desire for any sign of affection or desire. Lord, he had seen his own soul in her eyes. He’d felt no prick of Cupid’s foolish arrows, but rather the piercing agony of having his own soul laid bare to hers and surrendering all to a stranger he could not even name. If he were to live a thousand years, he knew with bittersweet certainty he would not know such beautiful anguish as belonging to her ever again.

Rafe sighed in the dark and placed the pearl back in the box of keepsakes, nestled beside his mother’s locket and a small pocket watch that had once belonged to his father.

He had hidden both away when his mother and brother had insisted on selling everything of value in the weeks following his father’s death. It was sentimental of him to hold on to such things, he knew, but it was all he had left of life before. The life where he had killed his father.