Chapter Thirty-Nine – A Moment’s Truth
With her chest heaving up and down with each laboured breath, Beth stared at her husband, his eyes fixed on his sister as she strode toward him. Relief washed over Beth then, and she leant forward, resting her hands on her legs, taking one slow breath after another, willing her hammering heart to calm down.
Then her gaze shifted to Tristan’s uncle lying almost hidden in the tall grass, all that was visible the hilt of the dagger sticking in his chest. Henrietta’s aim had indeed been true, and Beth silently thanked her sister-in-law for her love and loyalty. She was truly an amazing woman, and Beth hoped with all her heart that the future would see them all walk side by side as a family.
When her breathing finally slowed down, Beth stepped forward, her gaze shifting over the two men striding toward them. While Connor approached his wife, his gaze shifting over the man she had taken down, Lord Ainsworth rushed to the younger Mr. Turner’s side.
Shaking her head, Beth cursed herself. How could she have forgotten about Matthew? Lunging forward, she skidded to a halt by his side, dropping down into the tall grass while Lord Ainsworth knelt beside him.
“Mr. Turner, can you hear me?” he asked, his sure hands lifting the coat from the bleeding wound in his left shoulder. “Do you feel any pain?”
Searching the young man’s face, Beth brushed the hair from his forehead, praying that he would not share his father’s fate. After everything he had done, after risking his own life to save her husband’s, he deserved to live. He deserved a chance to turn his life around and find happiness. After all, his father’s hatred had not only infected Tristan’s and Henrietta’s life but also his own. Who knew how having such a father had shaped Matthew? And yet, in the end, he had acted honourably, recognised the truth and not hesitated to act on it!
Groaning, Matthew tried to lift his right arm as the muscles in his jaw clenched. “Of course, I feel pain,” he snarled, his teeth gritted together and his eyes closed. “I have a bloody bullet in my shoulder.”
Lord Ainsworth looked up at Beth, and a grin came to his face. “He will be fine.” Then he took off his coat, ripped off one sleeve to press onto Matthew’s wound and placed the rest under his head. “However, we need to get him to a doctor fast.”
Beth nodded, then rose to speak to her husband. However, Matthew’s good hand grabbed her arm and pulled her back. Startled, she tried to jerk her arm away, which made him groan, and he immediately released her.
“I’m sorry,” Beth whispered, kneeling. “I didn’t mea−”
He met her eyes then, and her heart ached for the pain and loss she saw there. “Is he dead?” he whispered, his gaze shifting to the side in the direction where his father lay in the grass.
Beth drew in a deep breath, then looked up at Lord Ainsworth. He nodded, then gestured for her to move her hand over the wound and apply pressure before he strode over to the elder Mr. Turner. Kneeling beside him, he checked his pulse, then looked up and shook his head.
Beth drew in a deep breath, dread constricting her throat, as she met Matthew’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, his face distorted in agony, and Beth knew without a doubt that it was not his shoulder that pained him so.
His lips pressed together as he forced the raw emotion she could read on his face back down. Then his eyes opened, and he looked at her. “I’m truly sorry,” he said, tears glistening in his eyes. “I never thought…” He shook his head, still unable to comprehend what had happened there today.
“I know,” Beth whispered. “It was not your fault. You’re a good man, Matthew. You did the right thing. Thank you.”
He drew in a deep breath. “And yet, my father is dead.”
***
“What are you doing here?” Tristan croaked, unable to tear his gaze away from his sister, afraid she might vanish into thin air.
Her eyes shifted to him, and a gentle smile lit up her features. “What do you think I’m doing here?” she asked, a teasing tone in her voice. “You’re my little brother. I came to protect you. Have I not always done that?”
Nodding his head, Tristan smiled, then pushed himself to his feet. “He said you didn’t want to see me,” he whispered, not looking at his uncle lying dead at his feet. Then he shook his head. “I guess I should have known better.”
His sister nodded, tears coming to her eyes as she stepped toward him. “Yes, you should have. As should I.” Gently, she placed a hand on his cheek, the way she had done a million times before. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I should have known that you would never willingly risk your life. I should have known that you would never do that to me. I’m sorry. I should have believed you. But I never thought…” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze shifted to their uncle’s lifeless form.
“Neither did I,” Tristan replied. Then he stepped forward and reached for her hand, pulling her into his arms.
As they clung to each other, Tristan felt the present slip away. Once again, he was a little boy, scared of the dark, of the rumbling of thunder in the distance, as his sister held him whispering words of comfort into his ear. And he felt safe. Safe and loved.
It had always been she. She had been the one to keep the demons at bay. She had been the one to give him a fighting chance. Because of her unconditional love and unwavering loyalty, his uncle’s hatred had not been able to destroy him, to claim him whole. Instead, he had been able to fight his way out of the darkness. He had been able to love when the chance for a happy life had knocked on his door.
Without Henrietta, who knew what a withering void his heart would have been today?
The thought alone sent a shiver down his back, and he could not help but wonder how she had protected herself.
Stepping back, he gazed into her eyes, then studied her face. “You seem different,” he whispered, joy filling his heart. “Happy. At peace.”
His sister smiled. “I am. Especially now that I know you’re safe.”
“How?” He asked, his hands still holding hers tightly in his own. “You were always so…angry, so scared.”
She nodded then, and her gaze drifted to the side to the largest man Tristan had ever seen.
Tall with broad shoulders, he towered over them, his black hair and beard almost hiding a kind face that lit up when his eyes fell on Henrietta. A sword fastened on his hip, he stepped closer, his eyes watchful as though he still expected a threat looming hidden in the trees surrounding them. His movements were those of a man familiar with battle, and Tristan noticed the way he watched his sister as he moved around her, his body shielding her from any threat that might arise.
“Tristan,” his sister’s voice cut through his thoughts, “this is my husband Connor Brunwood, Marquis of Rodridge. Connor, this is my brother Tristan Turner, Viscount Elton.”
“’Tis a pleasure to meet ye,” the bear of a man said, his voice deep and melodious. “If ye don’t mind, I shall call ye Tristan. After all, we’re family now.”
Nodding his head, Tristan smiled. “Thank you for coming. I never dared dream I would see my sister again.”
Connor shook his head. “She never left ye. Ever since I first met her, not a day has passed that she didna think about ye.”
“But why now?” Tristan asked, confusion drawing down his brows despite the warmth that filled his heart. Once again, he glanced at his uncle. “How did you know?” He met his sister’s eyes. “Did you know? That he wanted to kill me?”
She nodded, and her lips tightened in anger.
“How?” Tristan asked again, wondering how everyone around him had seen his uncle’s true intentions but him. Had he truly been that gullible? Or that desperate for familial affections?
His sister took a deep breath. “For a long time, I believed Uncle Randolph’s lie, but then something happened, something…” She shook her head, and her gaze darted to her husband. “I’ll tell you later. There is so much to say. But what is important is that I finally remembered something about the night our parents died that I didn’t before.”
Tristan drew in a deep breath as his heart clenched in agony. Somehow, he knew that what she was about to tell him would change everything. “What was it?”
“That night,” his sister began, “I heard our father yelling and our mother weeping.” She swallowed, pain edged into her eyes. Instantly, her husband moved closer, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “As always.” Then she met Tristan’s eyes, and he saw the strength of her will shining through them. “So, I got up and went to the nursery to get you. Then I hid in the pantry. Hours passed until silence finally fell over the house.”
Tristan nodded, remembering the story his sister had often told him. “Until he killed her, and then himself?”
Henrietta shook her head as her eyes filled with tears. “I heard her scream and then a shot being fired.”
“I know you told me that before,” Tristan said, unable to make sense of her words. “He…he killed her with a knife and then shot himself. That’s what Uncle Randolph said.”
Henrietta’s jaw clenched. “He lied,” she snarled. “After the shot rang out, I heard footsteps walking around the house, climbing the stairs and going from room to room as though someone was searching for something.” She shook her head. “Our parents were dead, who could have been there? And what does it mean that he was there when they died? No. As much as I despise our father for what he did to our mother and us all those years, he did not kill her nor did he kill himself.” She drew in a deep breath. “It was Uncle Randolph.”
Tristan stared at her, mouth agape, as his heart and mind tried to process what he had just learnt but had known deep down all along. Then he swallowed, knowing that he could ignore the truth no longer. “He was searching for us, wasn’t he?”
His sister nodded. “Mainly for you.”
“The title,” he whispered. “He’s always wanted the title.” Meeting his sister’s gaze, a deep smile came to his face. “You saved me,” he whispered, awed by the strength she had even possessed then, a five-year-old girl protecting her baby brother. “Even then, you saved me.”
“Of course, I did. You’re my little brother.” Holding his gaze, she clutched his hands in hers. “The second I realised you were in danger, I did everything I could to get back to London as fast as possible.” A hint of fatigue came to her eyes as she suppressed a yawn. “I’m not entirely certain what day it is.”
Connor chuckled as he placed his hands on her shoulders, seeking to steady her. “I had to force her to sleep at least a few hours each night. She was so hell-bent on reaching ye that she would have fallen flat on her face and still insisted she could keep going.” He grinned. “Ye might have noticed that we’re a bit worse for wear.”
Staring at them both, Tristan did not know what to say. However, what he did realise in that moment was that he did have a family who loved him after all. A family, who would work themselves to the bone to protect him. Only he had always been looking in the wrong place. “Thank you,” was all Tristan could say, and still it seemed to fall far short of the gratitude that filled his heart.
“There is much to say,” Henrietta told him as her eyelids began to droop, “but I need you to know that I’m sorry for not believing you. You told me time and time again that you were not acting reckless, and you were right, you weren’t. It was Uncle Randolph, who sought to place you in danger. All this time, it was his doing, not yours. And the only one to thank for you still being here is the man you’ve mentioned to me before.” A soft smile touched her face. “I didn’t remember his name, but I did remember that you once called him your guardian angel.” She glanced over his shoulder. “Is that him?”
Turning his head, Tristan found his wife and his best friend kneel by his cousin’s side as they tended to his wound. “Yes, that’s him. He’s always followed me like a shadow, almost invisible, but always there. I owe him my life many times over.”
“And I owe him my gratitude,” his sister said, “because he protected my brother when I did not.”
Stepping forward, Henrietta’s husband placed an arm around each of their shoulders. “I suggest we leave the heavy talk for tomorrow,” he said, a look of exhaustion on his face as well. “For I promise ye if I canna put down my head soon, I shall drop down into the grass and sleep like a rock for days to come.” He laughed and shook his head. “I’m certain the people of London shall line up to see it.”