Chapter 42

CHAPTER 42

E dwin paced the length of the parlor, his hands clenching and unclenching as he fought to keep his composure. The rawness of Hanna’s betrayal cut deeply, a sharp ache he could neither ignore nor dull. He had never expected her lies to hurt him like this.

Perhaps he hadn’t thought she was lying at all—at least not in the beginning.

“Fetch Lord Worcester,” he finally barked to the Jenkins brothers. “I want him brought to me, now .”

Peter and Thomas Jenkins gave swift nods and exited, leaving him alone with Martin. The quiet in the room settled over him like a suffocating blanket, and he fought the urge to reach for the half-full decanter on the drink cart.

Martin watched him in silence for a moment, his gaze calculating but not unsympathetic. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke, his tone tentative. “You’re certain Hanna lied, then?” he ventured cautiously. “She did seem shaken. Perhaps it’s true that her father forced her hand. She said he threatened you and her sister. It’s… not impossible.”

Edwin’s face hardened, and he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “It doesn’t matter. She worked against me. She’s been lying, hiding things. All this time.” He shook his head, as though dispelling even the slightest inkling of doubt. “It’s over between us. Even if I could forgive her, she could never forgive me. She knows the truth now—that I married her to gain access to her father, to clear Benjamin’s name. She thought I was an honorable man. Better than her father. But in reality, we are both as bad as him.”

Martin let the silence hang between them, his gaze lingering on Edwin’s clenched jaw and taut shoulders. There was an edge of exhaustion in his friend’s posture, a weariness that went beyond physical strain.

“And yet…” Martin’s voice dropped, almost to a whisper. “She looked genuinely hurt when she heard it. Do you think, perhaps, she has feelings for you, Edwin? That there’s some truth in what she said?”

Edwin spun around to face him, his eyes blazing. “Whose side are you on, Martin?” His voice was sharp, almost wounded. “You condemned her along with the rest of us. Now you’re second-guessing your decision?”

Martin shrugged, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I did condemn her, it’s true. I did. But seeing her earlier…” he trailed off. “Seeing the way she looked at you, I’m no longer certain of her guilt—and I wonder, are you?”

A flicker of pain crossed Edwin’s face, and he struggled to hide it. He opened his mouth, ready to respond with some retort, but his words caught in his throat.

The truth was, deep down, he wasn’t certain. Not at all. He’d seen the anguish in Hanna’s eyes, heard the raw tremor in her voice. But hadn’t he done everything to convince himself that she was lying? It felt easier that way, cleaner. He couldn’t allow himself to think otherwise, not if he was to move forward with his plans.

“I don’t have the luxury of doubt, Martin,” he said finally, his voice brittle. “My family has been dragged through the mud because of Worcester’s lies—my brother made to suffer shame and suspicion. It cost him his life. Benjamin’s name will be cleared, no matter the cost.”

Martin took a slow step closer, his voice low, gentle. “And what of your heart, Edwin? I saw the way you looked at Hanna—before all this. You cared for her. You wanted to believe in her, even if you won’t admit it. This isn’t just about Benjamin, is it?”

Edwin looked away, his throat tight. He couldn’t face Martin’s knowing gaze, couldn’t bear the weight of his words. “It was never about my heart,” he muttered. “That was never part of the plan.”

“But sometimes plans change,” Martin pressed, sympathy softening his tone. “Feelings have a way of creeping into people’s hearts. Hanna may be guilty, or she may be innocent, but are you willing to risk losing someone who might truly care for you?”

Edwin’s hands balled into fists, his voice harsh and unsteady. “She deceived me,” he whispered. “I opened up to her, let her into my life, and she took that trust and twisted it. You don’t understand, Martin. I can’t let myself trust her again.”

Martin’s expression was thoughtful, almost sad. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you’re afraid. But, Edwin, if you walk away from this without truly knowing—without listening to her side, you might find that betrayal isn’t the only thing that cuts deeply.”

For a moment, Edwin was silent, feeling the familiar ache in his chest, one he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on before. He wanted to tell Martin he was wrong, to dismiss his words as nonsense. But deep down, he knew his friend was right.

The weight of all his questions, his doubts, sat like a stone in his stomach, heavy and unmoving. The possibility that he had pushed away someone who might have cared for him gnawed at him, adding another layer to his anger and confusion.

Just then, the door opened, and the Jenkins brothers entered, shoving Lord Worcester into the room. The Earl stumbled forward before quickly straightening up, his gaze defiant and venomous.

Edwin’s heart hardened once more as he turned to face the man, forcing himself to bury his lingering doubts. This was the course of action he had chosen, and he had to see it through.

Edwin felt a slow, powerful rage rise from the depths of his chest, so fierce it was a wonder he didn’t shake the walls of the parlor with his fury. He took a step forward, narrowing his eyes at Lord Worcester, who sat slumped in the chair, his face pallid, sweat beading on his brow.

The sight of the man’s cowardice, of his half-lidded eyes flitting back and forth like those of a rat searching for an escape, only stoked Edwin’s anger further.

The air in the room thickened, oppressive and dark as Edwin fixed him with an unyielding stare, his voice a soft, deadly whisper.

“How dare you have me hauled away like a sack of potatoes at my own ball? In my own house? Have you no shame?” Worcester barked.

“Shame? It is you who should be filled with shame, Graham!”

“Do not call me that. I am Lord Worcester to you,” the Earl fired back.

“You have no right to any titles, you lying, stealing, thieving murderer!” Edwin shouted.

Worcester flinched at the words as if whipped by them.

“Do you see these, Graham?” Edwin said, throwing Benjamin’s letters at the man.

They scattered to the ground, and the Earl stared at them. At once, he inhaled sharply, nudging the scattered papers with the toe of his boot.

“I do not know what these are,” he said, without looking up.

“Of course, you do. These letters—every one of them was penned by my brother. These are the letters you used for your forgeries. You turned his words into lies, threats, and declarations he never made. We already have your forger, Graham. He already admitted it all.” Edwin’s voice, though quiet, rang with authority.

“I do not know what you mean. Many dislike me because of your brother’s actions,” Worcester replied, his words slurring as they exited his mouth.

“Tell me, what were you planning to accomplish by lying even now? Did you truly think your slithering words could twist their way out of justice?” Edwin glared at him while Martin stood in the corner, his arms crossed.

Worcester’s breath caught, his bloodshot eyes wide as he stared up at Edwin, and for a moment, he stammered as if he might protest, deny, and wriggle free. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a nervous croak. Panic flickered in his eyes before he tried to gather himself, squaring his shoulders with bravado that was pitiful against the weight of the evidence of his crimes.

“I… I don’t know what you’re on about, Your Grace,” he attempted, but his voice cracked, thin and quavering.

Martin, who had been watching in silence, spoke up, his voice calm but edged with cold steel. “Worcester, you cannot hope to slither out of this like a common thief.” His tone left no room for argument. “Have the decency to admit the truth.”

A deep, frustrated sigh escaped Worcester. He glanced at the damning pages on the floor as if they might disappear, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. He let out a bitter chuckle that held no humor, only resignation.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice low, defeated. He slumped in his chair, looking every inch the broken, cornered man. “You want the truth, then? You’ve caught me anyhow. And I take it my dear daughter is the one who delivered these to you? Useless broad that she is.”

The words caught Edwin by surprise, as he’d thought Hanna was involved in all of this. Had he been wrong?

“Yes, I admit it,” Worcester continued. “I was the one who did it all. You’ve got me. Are you happy? I intended to create something legitimate—a business that Benjamin would be proud to invest in. He had the connections, the charm, the golden reputation to attract high-ranking investors. It was supposed to be… respectable.” He chuckled again, but his voice trembled. “But then other opportunities presented themselves—opportunities with greater rewards, though admittedly greater risks.”

His eyes darted to Edwin, then to the floor, as if he couldn’t bear the weight of the Duke’s gaze.

Edwin’s voice dropped, dangerous in its quietness. “So, you turned to gambling, to unscrupulous loans, to shady investments—and dragged Benjamin into your schemes?”

Worcester’s face twisted in frustration, a hollow mockery of defiance. “When I suggested investing in certain establishments, he declined, calling it beneath him. He harped on about legality—in fact, he spoke of the laws you would tell him about, told me how his brother as going to be a barrister and that’s how he knew this was all illegal,” he sneered, though his eyes betrayed his shame.

Edwin’s heart leaped at that. His brother had always respected his desire to become a barrister, but he hadn’t known Benjamin had voiced this to others—and with such pride.

“I did what was necessary to keep my ventures afloat. Things went bad… When losses mounted, I… I turned to him for a loan. I thought he would understand.”

“Understand?” Edwin’s voice was icy. “Did you ever believe that Benjamin would condone your embezzlement? That he would turn a blind eye to your deceit?”

Worcester’s lips twitched, but he forced himself to meet Edwin’s eyes, a flicker of guilt breaking through his defiance. “Perhaps not. But I didn’t expect him to threaten me. If the scandal broke, it would have ruined me entirely.”

Edwin felt a pang in his chest as he heard the cold calculation in the man’s voice. His fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. “You resolved to murder him. For the sake of your wretched empire, you decided to end his life.”

Worcester flinched, and for a fleeting moment, something like true regret flickered across his face. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of his guilt was too much to bear.

“No, that is not true. I would have… I wanted to talk to him again. Convince him. Ask him to give me time to recover the funds so I could pay everyone back. But then the rumors about the gambling halls spread, and the authorities swooped in and took it all. I thought he had turned against me. I thought he’d already started to ruin me, that there was no other way—” He broke off, his voice cracking with a tremor of self-loathing. “So yes. I sought to end it before he could destroy everything. I wanted to control the narrative, keep the truth from coming out.”

Edwin strode forward, a rage like he had never felt before overtaking him as he seized Worcester by the collar. His voice was low and filled with menace as he growled, “You murdered my brother.”

Worcester recoiled, his eyes widening as he attempted to pull away. “No—no! I didn’t mean?—”

But Edwin’s grip tightened, and he could feel the man’s pulse hammering beneath his fingertips, the scent of liquor and sweat thick and nauseating.

Worcester squirmed, his eyes darting to the door, but Peter and Thomas quickly closed the distance between them. They pried Edwin’s hands away and pulled him back.

Panting, the Earl clutched his throat, his words slurred and unsteady as he finally managed to stammer out, “I didn’t mean it. I swear! I… I was drunk and mad, filled with anger.” His voice faltered as he continued, his eyes darting wildly around the room. “It was that night in St. Giles—the rookery. I had been there, drinking myself into a stupor… wasting away amongst the lowest of the low. And then they came… some of the men I used to employ.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. “They found me there, humiliated me, mocked me, and all I could think of was Benjamin—the man who wouldn’t loan me the sum I needed, the man who was ready to expose me. And in that rage… that bitter, all-consuming rage, I hired a man I once knew. I told him to get rid of Benjamin, to make it look like a miserable accident.”

Edwin felt his stomach churn, his disgust only growing as the Earl continued.

“But afterward… after the ale had worn off, and I found myself cold and sick, I realized what I had done. I… I tried to stop it, Edwin!” Worcester cried, almost pitifully. “I wrote a letter to the man, begged him to leave Benjamin alone. I even sent money with the message to ensure he would stop. But it was too late.”

He shuddered, glancing at the incriminating letter Edwin now held. The words ‘ TOO LATE ’ were scrawled across it like a damnation.

Edwin looked down at the letter in his hand, the ink smeared by the Earl’s careless grip. He threw it at him, his eyes blazing with contempt. “You’re a vile coward. You have my brother’s blood on your hands, and you have the audacity to try to weasel your way out of it?”

Worcester flinched, but his eyes turned glassy and hard. “I was a fool. I was so desperate… I told myself I’d change, I’d start anew, but then I… I realized that his death… it opened doors for me. Doors I could use. I cast myself as the wronged party, painted Benjamin as a traitor, and the world believed me. What did it matter if one good man’s name was tainted so that another could go on?”

Beside Edwin, Martin’s voice was calm, yet icily condemning. “You even dared to blackmail your own daughter,” he said. “You forced her into this—this web of lies.”

“I had no choice,” Worcester sneered. “When Edwin came to me with his proposal to marry Hanna, I was suspicious from the start. But I played along, thinking perhaps he really wanted her. Still, I needed to be sure, so I told her she would have to spy for me… and she resisted. She told me she was fond of her husband,” he scoffed, looking between them.

“Imagine that. My foolish daughter, too dim-witted to see that she was being used by both her father and her husband.” He let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, the irony. You both thought you were playing the same game with poor, hopeless Hanna in the middle of it all.”

The weight of his words pressed down on Edwin, forcing him to acknowledge his own complicity. A pang of shame twisted within him. Hanna’s pained face flashed through his mind, and her quiet pleas to explain rang in his ears.

He forced himself to meet Worcester’s leery gaze. “You threatened her, didn’t you? Told her you would harm me and her sister if she didn’t follow your every command?”

Worcester shrugged, his face a mask of hollow resignation. “What choice did I have? If I wanted her loyalty, I knew I needed to press her where it would hurt. She did everything I asked—delivered letters, cast doubts, all to keep you away from the truth. It was perfect until your meddling ruined everything.” He looked around, his resignation gone, replaced with something close to fear. “What happens now?”

Thomas Jenkins stepped forward, his face set in grim judgment. “You will answer for your crimes, Lord Worcester. These deeds are too grievous, too damning to escape, even for a man of your standing. There will be no salvation this time. You will be locked away, stripped of your titles—perhaps even hanged.”

Worcester fell off his chair, clutching his head, a whimper escaping his lips. “Mercy, please. I tried to undo it! I tried!” His voice fell to a desperate whisper. “I only wanted… I only wanted to fix it. But it… it spun out of control.” He bent down, covering his face with shaking hands.

Edwin watched, feeling as if a leaden weight were pressing down on his chest. “You robbed me of my brother, tore Hanna from me through deceit, and threatened the lives of innocent people. I will show you no mercy,” he declared, his voice steely with determination. “You will answer for what you’ve done.”

As he stepped back, the horror of the truth crashed over him, an ache gnawing at him as he recalled Hanna’s protests, her pleas for understanding. She had been innocent in this, forced by loyalty and fear. She’d loved him, trusted him. And he’d doubted her love—used her, just as her father had done.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Edwin turned around, his chest tightening as Emma stumbled into view, her eyes red and her expression frantic.

“Hanna—” she gasped, her voice breaking. “We tried to escape, but she was thrown off her horse. She’s hurt—she’s hurt badly.”

Without another word, Edwin pushed past everyone, running down the hall. As he reached the top of the staircase, he turned around once more, fixing his gaze on Thomas.

“Take care of that,” he commanded, gesturing toward the defeated, crumpled figure of the Earl.

Then he bolted down the stairs, his only thought of Hanna, of reaching her before he lost yet another person he loved.