The Unlikely Lady (Playful Brides #3)(80)

“Perhaps you should take your own advice.” Garrett repeated Cavendish’s words. The captain was damn right. Garrett could no longer live in the past, blaming himself for the actions of another man.

After ten years of allowing guilt to ride him, control him, today he was done. Harold Langford had chosen Isabella. Harold Langford had chosen to throw himself in front of that bullet.

Garrett Upton had his own choices to make.





CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Garrett’s invitation to come back to the library whenever she liked was an enticement Jane couldn’t resist. If looking about Upton’s town house led to the opportunity to search for a certain letter, so be it. Of course, she’d pointed out to Lucy that she might just ask Garrett for the letter, but nothing was simple when Lucy Hunt was involved.

Jane had come straight from Lucy’s house, in fact. Less chance to encounter her mother and be forced to explain why Mrs. Bunbury hadn’t yet materialized. One problem at a time.

Cartwright and the dogs greeted Jane at the door again and ushered her into the library. “Mr. Upton is not here at present,” the butler intoned. “We expect him back at any moment.”

“Thank you. I’ll be happily entertained by the books,” she replied.

Cartwright served the tea tray and Jane partook of a teacake. She waited twenty entire minutes before tiptoeing to the door—tiptoeing seemed appropriate when one was engaged in clandestine activities—and peeking into the corridor. The dogs, who remained at her heels, peeked out too.

“The study is just down the way, is it not?” she asked the dogs, who merely wagged their tails in reply.

She took a deep breath. Be bold. Jane straightened her shoulders, closed her eyes briefly, darted out of the room, down the corridor, and slipped into the far door on the right.

The dogs ran with her, and moments later, all three were happily behind the closed study door.

“Thank you for not barking,” she said to them. “That was well done of you.”

The dogs each took a turn getting a pat on the head. Then Jane glanced around the study. Decorated in masculine hues of dark blue, it smelled vaguely like Upton. She took a deep breath to savor the scent. A large mahogany desk sat in front of a bay window, two large leather chairs in front of it. A few dark wooden bookshelves lined the walls—more books!—and a large comfortable-looking chair rested on a round rug in front of the fireplace. A cozy and useful space.

She hurried to the desk and scanned the tabletop. It was neatly arranged. A pile of what appeared to be outgoing mail, an inkwell, several quills, a large square glass paperweight. Nothing appeared to be correspondence, however. She tiptoed again, this time around to take a seat in the large chair. She closed her eyes. The lemony scent of furniture polish and a hint of ink filled her nostrils. It felt like Upton in here. Peaceful, calm, sensible. She suddenly missed him.

She took another deep breath. “I am not proud of myself for doing this,” she announced to the dogs. “I assure you, I’m not usually the type of person who sneaks about and pries into other people’s belongings.”

The dogs looked at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“I’m doing this for you too. You don’t want that horrible woman as your stepmother.”

This elicited more wagging of tails.

Jane turned her attention back to the desk. There were three drawers on each side and one in the middle. She’d just take a quick peek inside each. “Please let it be here,” she whispered.

She slowly slid the middle drawer out first. More quills. A tray of sand. A seal and some wax. No letters. No paper at all.

She closed the drawer and pulled open another on the bottom right. A quick perusal of the large stack of important-looking papers inside told Jane it was mostly contracts and estate-related paperwork.

She pulled out the next drawer and the next. They were neatly arranged, but did not contain a letter from Harold Langford.

She chewed on her bottom lip. What if she didn’t find it? But then, what was she planning to do with it if she did find it? She took another deep breath. Be bold.

She pulled open the bottom drawer on the left. A box sat in the center of the drawer, full of what appeared to be … letters. Trembling, she pulled the box from the drawer and placed it on the desktop. The letters stood on their sides, stacked together.

Jane pulled out the first few. Missives from Aunt Mary, one or two from Lucy, one from Lord Berkeley. She slid them back into place and took out the next set. More from Aunt Mary, half a dozen from other friends, none from Harold Langford.

Jane scanned the room. Upton might return at any moment, or a servant might venture in to clean or something. She didn’t have time to rummage through all of the letters.

Something told her the one she was looking for wouldn’t be like the others, wouldn’t be with less important correspondence. Upton would do something special with it, because of what it meant to him. Using both hands, she lifted the entire group of letters, and set them carefully in a large stack on the desktop. Then, she peered into the bottom of the box.

A single letter was there. Underneath them all. Not stacked like the others. Hidden away. With a hand that continued to shake, she pulled out the lone letter. She unfolded it, holding her breath.

Harold Langford’s name was scrolled across the top with a date from nearly ten years ago. She slid it onto the desktop and expelled her pent-up breath.