Chapter Forty-Two

I t was late when Hettie awakened. The sun was streaming in through the curtains, oddly bright for London. And she was alone.

Of course, she had been alone when she retired for the night. She had simply assumed that at some point Joss would join her. However angry he'd been at her for taking the risks she had, surely it would not keep him away? Or so she had thought. Clearly, she had been mistaken.

Getting out of the bed, forcing one foot in front of the other, she saw to her morning ablutions. Annie Foster had been returned to her mother's home the previous night. After her ordeal, she'd wanted to be close to her family. Hettie could understand that. After all, when she'd been in that dark hold on the ship, had she not only wished for her sister?

With her hair brushed and pulled back in a simple chignon, one that required no assistance, she dressed in one of the borrowed black gowns from her sister. Her figure had been more generous than Honoria's to start, and there was no denying that her body was beginning to change. They were subtle changes to the outside observer, but unmistakable to her. Stays that didn't quite cover her as they once had, chemises that no longer fit quite as they should—and the reality of her situation had altered quite dramatically.

Simon was in the gaol. Inspector Bates no longer considered her a suspect in any of the crimes he might have once accused her of. All the reasons for them to marry, save for the child itself, had been eliminated in one fell swoop. The truth was that it would be to her benefit to remain a widow. Her child, if it was a boy, would inherit the title. But she didn't want that. She wanted her child to have a father, and for better or worse, that was Joshua Ettinger.

Unable to hide in her room any longer, Hettie left her bedchamber and made her way down the stairs. Breakfast would long since have been over, so she bypassed the breakfast room entirely. Near Vincent's study, she heard the low hum of hushed voices. As one of those voices belonged to her sister, she felt assured enough of her welcome to knock softly.

Almost immediately, the door opened and Honoria smiled. "Come in. We were just discussing... things."

"Things?" Hettie asked, puzzled at her sister's odd tone.

"Simon is dead. Discovered in his cell this morning. Strychnine, most likely, based on the evidence," Joss explained from where he stood staring out the window.

Hettie blinked. "Oh. Is it... did he..." She trailed off, uncertain if she wanted to know.

"I don't think it was suicide," Joss said, looking at her for the first time. "He wasn't the sort for that, was he? It was Ardmore, most likely, or one of his men. I say good riddance."

Vincent shook his head. "It's too bold, Joss. Ardmore's power is growing every day. If he takes control of the various illegal enterprises in this city, rather than just controlling the bulk of the cent-percenters, no one will be able to stop him. I hesitate to think what the consequences of that might be."

The room grew quiet then as the potential ramifications of it all sank in. Vincent, for all his protestations of not being a good man, of being a criminal, still operated within the confines of his own moral code. Ardmore had no such constraint. Though Hettie had only learned of him recently, what she had heard was enough to terrify her. Morality was fluid for him, if it existed at all.

"What can we do?" Honoria asked, rising from her seat and crossing to where Vincent was seated at his desk. She placed her hand over his. "You have said that you wished to step back from this life. If you mean to do that based solely on the belief that I require it or even wish for it, then you are wrong. I fell in love with you for who you are and who you were and whomever it is you choose to become. If I'm willing to follow you into hell, surely Newgate is not much of a stretch."

It felt wrong to observe such intimacy, such devotion. As if her presence was an intrusion, Hettie thought. For the first time, she recognized that she was no longer the thing that mattered most to her sister. Like all younger siblings, there was a moment of resentment for that. As a woman, there was something else. A moment of the purest envy. She wanted to be loved that way, but she also, desperately, wanted to love that way. The very idea of having such deep and abiding feelings for another human being was both terrifying and exhilarating. It was also out of reach. Because Joss Ettinger would never love her that way, and she didn't have the strength to give him her heart when she'd never hold his in return.

"On that note, Hettie, we should go. We have an appointment with a vicar," Joss said.

At least one question in her life had been answered. He intended to go through with the wedding. Hettie wasn't certain whether to be relieved or reluctant.

*

He didn't believe in love. So why he felt envious of the connection so evident between Vincent and Honoria was a mystery to him. Mysterious or not, it didn't change the fact of what he felt. Nor did it change the fact that the woman whom he wanted such an expression of devotion from was the very woman he was on the verge of marrying for reasons that, while morally correct, still felt wrong. Or not enough.

On the surface of it all, it'd be better if she remained a widow. There would be no shame or outcry over having a child within nine months of her husband's death. The child, if male, would inherit the title. But he couldn't. He couldn't let his child carry another man's name. Their child. But would he feel that way if it were any other woman?

During the night, he'd toyed with the idea of not marrying her at all. Not because he didn't want to, but perversely because he did. He wanted her too much, and that terrified him. He was man enough to admit that. Then there was the other side of that coin. He wanted her too much to simply walk away and let her go. Altruism of that sort was foreign to him.

There was a possessiveness in him when it came to Hettie that was also quite foreign to him. In all his life, he'd never felt that connection to another person. There were people who had his friendship, who had his loyalty. But there was no one that he couldn't simply walk away from. Until her. She was his. But for a man who didn't believe in love or other such fine, sentimental feelings, what did that mean exactly?

He wasn't certain but there would be time enough to figure it out. The rest of their lives, in fact.