XVII

London, April 1885

The carriage moved along with the monotonous rattle of its wheels on the road back, but Marcus's thoughts were trapped in the conversation he had had with Josephine Moore. The young woman's words echoed in his mind like the distant reproach he hadn't wanted to hear for so long. Why hadn't he sought out Grace when he discovered she was living in Scotland? Why had he allowed fear to rule him? He had been a coward, and now, he could no longer deny it.

The journey back from Sheiton's residence had given him too much time to think, and with each passing kilometer, he drew closer to the truth he had been avoiding: he could no longer run from what he felt for Grace. There were no more excuses. Josephine had been right. His fear of loving her, and worse, of facing what she represented in his life, had paralyzed him. And the duty to turn her over to the authorities, under the shadow of suspicion that hung over her, had stifled any chance of redemption.

However, he couldn't go on like this. He knew he had to confront reality, confront the feelings he had repressed for a decade. The question was, how could he win back a woman he himself had pushed out of his life?

The carriage stopped in front of the mansion, and Marcus stepped down with a heavy sigh. The fresh morning air of London hit him, momentarily clearing the overwhelming thoughts in his head. His butler awaited him at the door, always with his carefree smile.

"Milord, welcome," he said with his usual enthusiasm as he helped Marcus out of his coat.

Marcus observed him for a moment, feeling a mix of annoyance and resignation. Unlike his predecessor, he wasn't the kind of man who stayed discreetly in the background. He had a cheerful, almost insolent spirit, which Marcus found complicated. He didn't hate him, of course—after all, Simon was Ryder's nephew. It had been Ryder's final wish for Marcus to take his nephew under his protection, and Marcus, true to his word, had done so.

"Milord, did they receive you as you deserve at Sheiton's residence?" Simon asked with a grin far too wide, as he placed Marcus's coat in the hall wardrobe.

Marcus blinked, baffled by the question. Was he a king, to be greeted with parades and fanfare? He shook his head, holding back a sarcastic response.

" They admitted me, " he replied curtly as he made his way to his study.

As usual, Simon followed him like a shadow. Westlin quickly noticed his presence right behind him, which sparked a flicker of irritation. He came to an abrupt stop, turning to face the young man.

" What is it? " he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Holloway, unfazed, kept his smile as he answered.

" During your absence, milord, a gentleman has come by several times asking for you. Since you had mentioned you'd be back this morning, I informed him the last time he visited when to expect you. "

" And? " Westlin pressed, arching a brow.

" And for the past couple of hours, he's been waiting in your study. "

Marcus first looked surprised, then irritated.

" You've left him alone in my study all this time? " he asked with incredulity and reproach.

The young man remained calm and, of course, kept his smile.

" No, milord. I'm not that foolish. I stayed with him, chatting about how he went from being a footman to a respectable bourgeois. "

Marcus closed his eyes for a second, suppressing the urge to shout at him that it wasn't the right thing to do. Shaking his head, he strode decisively toward his study. Who could have been waiting so long to see him?

Upon entering, Marcus saw the man sitting with his back to the door. Hearing the door open, the visitor rose and turned to greet him. Although years had passed since their last encounter, Westlin recognized the man instantly.

" Good morning, milord, " the man said, extending his hand. " Do you remember me? "

As Marcus walked toward him to greet him, memories of that day came rushing back. Ten years had passed since their first conversation, but the image of the man remained etched in his mind.

" Good morning, Mr. Walter, " Marcus responded, taking a seat and motioning for the visitor to take the chair he had occupied. " Please, sit. "

Donald Walter had changed a great deal since they had last met. The former butler of the Earl of Hesse, who had once been a humble and uncertain man, now exuded confidence. His posture was different—more upright, more self-assured. It was clear that time had been kind to him.

" Thank you, Lord Westlin, " Donald replied as he sat down. " I apologize for showing up unannounced, but I believe the information I've gathered over the years might be of interest to you. "

Marcus raised an eyebrow as he recalled the last time Donald had used almost the exact same words. And, of course, the situation had ended with a substantial payment on his part.

" I suppose this time your reward won't be in the form of money, will it? " Westlin remarked, his tone laced with a hint of irony.

Donald shook his head, his expression hardening, as though his pride had been wounded.

" No, milord. This time I'm not seeking financial reward. I only wish to clear my conscience. "

Marcus observed him in silence for a few seconds, noticing the strange tone in his last words.

" Go ahead, I'm listening, " he finally said, settling into his chair.

Donald, clearly grateful for the attention, began to speak calmly, though his voice reflected the weight of what he was about to reveal.

" After our last meeting, I left my post as butler and began working as a fabric merchant. This took me back to France. And it was there that I discovered some truths I hadn't known about the Counts of Hesse. "

Marcus frowned.

" What truths? "

" Lord Hesse's death was unjust, " Donald replied gravely. " His Lordship was accused of espionage, but he wasn't even involved in political meetings. It was a close friend of his who orchestrated everything, driven by a forbidden love for the Countess. Lord Saint thought that if she became a widow, she would marry him. But that didn't happen. "

The revelation hit Marcus hard. The Count of Hesse hadn't been a spy? All this time, had he lived with unjust hatred?

" He wasn't a spy? " Marcus asked, leaning forward. " Then who the hell killed my father? "

Donald shook his head.

" No, milord. The real culprit behind it all was Lord Saint, who manipulated the facts to get what he wanted. "

Marcus remained motionless in his seat, trying to process what he had just heard. The man he had sworn to destroy, the Count of Hesse, had been innocent all along. Walter's words echoed in his head like bells.

" How can you be sure of this? " Marcus asked, unable to keep a slight tremor from his voice.

" As I said, my new trade took me to France, and since I wasn't entirely convinced that my master was a criminal, I sought answers to all the questions that plagued me, " Donald explained, his tone confident. " I spoke with close friends and former servants. They all agree he was a victim of betrayal. The real spy was never him—it was Lord Saint. If you recall, he was also the man investigating the case. "

Marcus closed his eyes for a moment, unable to hide the anger rising within him. Everything he had believed, all the hatred he had cultivated for years, had been a lie. And worse, he had contributed to the downfall of someone who had been innocent all along.

" What else do you know? " he asked, more composed, though with a contained urgency.

Donald paused, as if carefully choosing his words.

" After the Count's death, the widow was devastated. That's when she decided to protect her daughter at all costs, hiding her under a false identity. Grace Aylett, " Donald's voice softened as he said her name, " the woman you knew, is Grace Collier, the Count's daughter. "

Marcus felt his heart stop for a moment at the mention of Grace's name. Images of her flashed through his mind—her eyes, her laughter, the way she always looked at him with a mixture of defiance and tenderness. He had known all along that she wasn't just a simple maid, but he had chosen to ignore his instincts, blinded by duty and a desire for revenge. Now, that same duty had betrayed him.

" Her mother, before she died, " Donald continued, " wrote to the only relative she had in France, an uncle of the Count. She asked him to help her daughter when she could no longer protect her. That relative was the one who arranged the marriage with Lord Hantersey, believing that this way, Grace would reclaim her rightful position and remain cared for. However, you know why that final wish was never fulfilled. "

Guilt weighed heavily on Marcus, like an impossible burden. He recalled how he had treated Grace—the humiliations, the words filled with disdain. Deep down, he had always felt that she wasn't what she appeared to be, but his stubbornness, his hatred, had blinded him. The man who had prided himself on being just had become the executioner of an innocent woman.

" Grace… " he murmured, feeling his chest tighten as he spoke her name. The pain that filled him wasn't just for the ten years lost, but for the knowledge that he had been responsible for her suffering.

Donald looked at him seriously, with a hint of understanding.

" Yes, milord. Lady Grace spent her entire life running from a past that wasn't hers, hiding her true identity to protect herself. And now… " Donald paused, watching Marcus's reaction. " Now she lives as a humble maid in Scotland. "

Donald's words fell like a hammer on Marcus's mind. He, too, knew she resided there after leaving France, but… where? Would this man reveal her whereabouts after what had happened?

" Scotland? " he asked, as though the news were fresh to him. " Where exactly? "

" In a small village called Strathmore. It's the place where the woman who supposedly was her mother, the maid Aylett, was born. After leaving France, the Countess of Hesse, driven by her instinct to protect her daughter, took refuge there, believing that no one would look for them in such a remote place. And now it's Lady Grace who has decided to return. "

Marcus felt a wave of conflicting emotions. At last, he knew for certain where Grace was, but now he faced an even greater dilemma: Was it right to go see her after everything that had happened? How could she even bear to look at him after the way he had treated her? She had fled from his life, and rightfully so. What right did he have to intrude upon her world once again, now that he knew the truth?

" I must warn you, milord, " Donald continued, his expression grave, " Grace has managed to build a peaceful life there. She may not want to be disturbed. But if you feel the need to make amends for your wrongs, now you know where to find her. "

Marcus didn't respond immediately. The silence that filled the room was thick, weighed down by unspoken questions. His mind was flooded with images of Grace, especially the afternoon before she fled from his side. And now, after so many years, she was just a journey away. But... would she accept him? Could she ever forgive him for the pain he had caused?

" Is there anything else? " he finally asked, his voice subdued.

Donald shook his head. " That's all, milord. My conscience is clear. I only hope you find the peace you're seeking. "

Donald stood, offering a slight bow before extending his hand toward Westlin once more. The marquess looked at him seriously.

" I appreciate the information, " Marcus said, rising to bid him farewell. " Your visit has been most timely. "

Donald nodded, understanding that not only he had suffered because of the mistake they had made in the past. He offered a respectful bow and headed toward the door.

" I wish you luck, Lord Westlin, " he commented before leaving, closing the door behind him and leaving Marcus alone in the study.

When the door clicked shut, silence once again filled the room. Westlin sank into his chair, feeling the weight of the truth crushing him. He had spent so much time hating, seeking justice for his father, that he had forgotten that innocent lives had also been caught up in that fight. And now, the truth had come to light, but... how could he move forward?

" Holloway! " he called out, his voice firm, shattering the silence that had settled around him.

However, Simon didn't appear as swiftly as Ryder used to. He always took his time.

" Did you call for me, milord? " Simon asked, his usual enthusiasm lighting up his voice.

" Go immediately to the port, " Marcus ordered calmly but with determination. " Find out when the next ship departs for Scotland. Purchase two tickets and prepare the luggage. "

Holloway's eyes lit up with a mix of surprise and excitement.

" We're going on a trip? " he blurted out, barely containing his enthusiasm. " How wonderful! It's the first time I'll be traveling so far! "

Marcus watched him, suppressing a sigh of frustration.

" If I could leave you here, I would, " he muttered, his tone laced with sarcasm, which the young man, of course, completely ignored.

" I'll take care of everything! " Simon exclaimed, rushing out of the study without even saying goodbye.

Marcus turned his attention back to the documents on his desk. However, he didn't focus on them. His mind was elsewhere, in a small village in Scotland. With Grace...

He knew he couldn't simply show up and ask for forgiveness. Not after everything that had happened. He would have to be careful, plan every step, make sure not to scare her or hurt her again. But how could he achieve such a delicate feat?