The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(77)

Lillian reassured her of Ross’ affections and then left her alone to read the letter. Love poured from the page, dripped from every word. She was his life, his love, his everything, he said. But he could not let her live under a cloud of fear for the rest of her days.

Wait for me. She read those words repeatedly. Marry me.

Estelle slept clutching the letter. Every day she ventured to the top of the keep and stared out at sea searching for his boat, wondering when he would come home to her.





Chapter Twenty-One





Twelve days had passed since Ross took Estelle’s hand and hauled her out of the small boat. Compared to eight years it should have been nothing. He’d said he was coming back. But she could not shake the deep sense of loss. Every night she prayed for him. Every day she awaited his return only to retire feeling drained, lovesick and alone.

She had used the time productively, rebuilding her relationship with Fabian and Lillian. Witnessing the depth of their love only made her miss Ross all the more.

Every day, she wandered down to the secluded cove, paddled her feet in the sea, sat and watched the waves break on the sand.

Today, a thick blanket of cloud obscured the sun. Sharp gusts of wind whipped her hair loose from its knot. But she enjoyed the peace and solitude, and it gave her time to daydream about Ross.

She put her hands over her ears as another gust howled past. Mr Erstwhile would caution her about being outdoors in such harsh weather. He’d treated plenty of people with a chill in their chest, mostly from going out in all elements.

She groaned inwardly when she sensed someone approach. Perhaps Fabian had come to keep her company, or Mackenzie with wild tales to make her laugh. For as the days dragged on, her mood grew more melancholic.

Whoever it was draped his coat over her shoulders and dropped down beside her. In an instant, she knew it was not Fabian or Mackenzie. The alluring scent that clung to the coat belonged to only one man.

Her head shot to the right, and her heart almost leapt out of her mouth.

“Did you miss me, Estelle?” Ross looked out at sea before turning to face her. A lock of ebony hair hung rakishly over one brow. The sight of him stole her breath. “Are you angry I went away?”

It took a moment to speak. “Angry? No. Livid? Most definitely.”

He smiled at that.

Relief flooded through her, starting in her fingers and racing to her toes. “So you took a trip to France without me.”

“I wouldn’t call it a trip exactly. More a mission to right the wrongs of the past.”

“And did you succeed?”

He raised an arrogant brow. “What do you think?”

She scanned his face and body. Her gaze fell to the marred hand resting on his knee. “How did you come by that bruise on your knuckle?”

“Oh, that.” He examined the bruise and flexed his fingers. “My hand collided with a gentleman’s nose and then smacked into his jaw.”

“Was it anyone I know?”

“As a matter of fact, he is the son of a merchant who lacks manners when it comes to maids.”

Estelle couldn’t help but feel a frisson of satisfaction. “Is he dead?”

“No, though I fear he may need to recuperate for some time.”

“I see.”

Another gust of wind forced her to suck in her breath. Ross reached over and drew his coat more firmly around her shoulders.

“And what else were you up to on your secret mission?” Surely he’d not gone off in search of the smugglers.

“I spoke to the magistrate who showed an interest in what happened at Drummond’s yard. It seems Hungerford did hire the Frenchman to attack you in the alley. He also hired him to break into the shop. When questioned, the man waffled on about the Erstwhiles eating poisoned macaroons, about Hungerford wanting to take advantage of you when you were at your most vulnerable.”

“Good Lord. The level of deceit is astounding.” Now she knew why Mr Hungerford insisted on serving macaroons when he knew she hated them.

“Oh, and I spent a night in Wissant,” Ross continued. “You’d be surprised what you can learn when you ply the locals with wine and ale.”

“Wissant? You have been busy.” Estelle inhaled to calm the nervous flutter in her stomach. “And … and what did they tell you?”

“Faucheux is dead. That is the name of the smuggler you fear?”

Estelle’s heart thumped hard against her ribcage. “Please tell me you didn’t kill him.”

Ross shook his head. “The band of smugglers were caught and hung years ago. Faucheux was hung for the murder of Monsieur Bonnay. The group fought without a leader and were caught with contraband some months later.”

Faucheux was dead.

A sense of peace settled in her chest, one she’d not felt since the carefree days of her youth. She had been so angry with Ross for leaving, and yet no words could express her gratitude. Never again would she worry whenever she heard a gruff French voice.

She turned and clutched his arm. “Do you know what that means?”

“It means you have nothing to fear. It means no one can ever testify to the part you played all those years ago.”

The love she felt for this man burst through her. She flew into his arms, causing him to fall back onto the sand.