Gerome shoved Henrietta as hard as he could, everything moving in slow motion. Ewan stared in horror as the devil’s hand pushed squarely between Henrietta’s shoulder-blades, sending her over the edge of the bridge.

Spurred on by adrenaline and abject panic for his wife’s life, Ewan tore across the bridge and dove towards the balustrade. His hands reached through the gaps, his fingers grasping desperately for Henrietta’s beautiful amethyst gown. The one that this wretch had brought for her to wear.

Delivered by the hands of a traitor, as her final costume. Well, not if I can help it! He scrambled for purchase, his right hand gripping a fold of satin.

With an almighty roar, he yanked back on the fabric, pulling Henrietta back towards safety. She screamed as she teetered, Gerome’s hands still on the end of the rope. Undeterred, Ewan jumped to his feet and wrapped his arms around his wife, hauling her back over the balustrade to solid ground.

“Ewan!” she cried in a strangled voice, holding tight to him.

“You are safe, my love. You are safe,” he replied, refusing to let go.

“Not quite,” Gerome muttered darkly, as he pulled hard on the rope around her neck. Glancing down, Henrietta’s eyes began to bulge, her face turning scarlet as her air supply was cut off. She tried to tug at the rope, but it was too tight. Ewan reached for it, panicking, but he could not free her, either.

“Release her!” Ewan roared, getting to his feet.

Gerome narrowed his eyes. “Never.”

Terrified of losing his wife, he lunged for Gerome and knocked him to the ground, the two of them grappling for the rope. He dug into Gerome’s hand with his nails, trying to pry the coil from the villain’s grip, but he held fast like a man possessed. Make no mistake, the devil was in him.

A split second later, Gerome looked up in alarm. His hands released the rope, and he slithered away from Ewan. The General and his men, with Seth trailing behind, were headed towards him. Leaping to his feet, Gerome took off across the bridge, heading for the distant horizon. Henrietta writhed on the ground, clawing breath back into her lungs, her eyes red and bloodshot. Torn, Ewan looked between his wife and the retreating enemy. If he let Gerome escape, then a threat would loom over them for the rest of their lives.

“I will come back, my love,” he murmured, kissing Henrietta’s forehead. “General, have your men see to my wife. We must go after Gerome!”

“I am right behind you,” Aaron shouted, as the pair of them sprinted after the escaping shadow.

You will not evade us, Ewan promised, thinking of his wife on the bridge. She would forgive him, he was certain. Indeed, it spurred on his ire towards Gerome. Not only had he attempted to murder Henrietta, but he had prevented Ewan from being there to aid her in her greatest hour of need. Gerome’s past did not justify this.

They chased him through the darkness, his figure visible in the gracious light of the silvery moon. Had it not been full, they would not have been able to trace him. It seemed as if providence was smiling down upon Ewan and Aaron, allowing them to seek out the man who had threatened their peace.

At the Eastern gate, Gerome tore out onto the road beyond, before bounding over a fence and sprinting on into the opposite fields. Ewan followed at speed, though Aaron had fallen behind. He was older now, and not so sprightly as he might have been during his war days. Still, Ewan did not give up. He could not give up.

Fifteen minutes later, and the gap was beginning to close. Gerome was tiring. Like a predator sensing the end of its prey’s life, Ewan picked up the pace, hurtling after his aggressor. Thoughts of Henrietta drove him on, though his lungs burned, and his muscles ached. It had been a long time since he had exerted himself like this, if ever.

A forest lay up ahead, looming ominously. If Gerome manages to slip into the woodland, I will lose him. Unwilling to let that happen, he pushed himself harder, until he could not physically run any faster. Even then, the gap was not small enough.

“Stop!” Ewan bellowed fruitlessly.

Gerome glanced back over his shoulder, flashing a cold smile. He knew he would be victorious; it was written all over his twisted features. Ewan could not catch him before he reached the forest, and both of them knew it.

“I said stop!” Ewan cried again, but it was too late. In the blink of an eye, Gerome disappeared into the dense, dark forest, taking Ewan’s hope with him.

Think of her… think of your future together. There will not be one if Gerome is allowed to wander free, he told himself, barreling into the trees. He scraped to a halt in the undergrowth, regaining his breath as he peered into the shadows. Closing his eyes, he let his hearing take over, listening out for the slightest discrepancy in the sounds of the woodland.

When he could hear nothing of note, he began to edge forward into the gloom. An owl screeched in the distance, and he could hear the cries of warring foxes, but he could not pick out the sound of his true enemy. All he could hear close by was the sound of his own breath.

With the roots of the trees snatching at his boots, he kept on moving, his ears pricked for the slightest sound. Every shadow bore Gerome’s face, and every shadow proved to be nothing more than his imagination playing tricks on him.

“Show yourself!” Ewan barked.

Silence followed.

You fooled me, you coward. You came into my home and you threatened my wife. I will punish you for these acts. I will not allow you to get close to her again, you may count on that.

He realized how oblivious he had been, mentioning the plan to the General in Gerome’s company. All his life, he had been taught that staff were to be seen and not heard, and that false education had brought him to this. Gerome had stolen Henrietta’s letters, and he had been the one to deliver those notes—there had been no express rider. He had been the express rider.

Not only that, but Gerome had been the one to purchase the tickets for the Autumn Ball. He had known of their exact whereabouts, and what the plan of action was set to be. He had overheard Aaron and his men discussing their positions, and how they would protect the exits. Gerome had known everything, and none of them had realized. Like a snake in the grass, he had crept up on them unawares.

Indeed, Ewan wanted to be angry at Aaron, for it was the General’s fault that this had come to pass. However, he could not find it in his heart. Deep down, he felt a faint flicker of pity for Gerome’s history, but his sorrow did not mean he could cause another’s. Mistakes had been made by all, and he could not see what the outcome would be.

A twig snapped a short distance away. Ewan’s head snapped up, his eyes squinting to get a better look. As he took a small step towards the sound, something hit him hard in the back of the head. He staggered forwards, shaking away the dizziness. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a blur heading his way.

Waiting until the very last moment, he whirled around and grabbed at Gerome, the two of them sprawling in the dirt and mulch. Gerome was far stronger than he looked, his rage intensifying his power as he wrestled with his former employer. A blow landed on Ewan’s jaw, sending a jolt of pain through his skull. Retaliating, Ewan sent a punch into Gerome’s solar plexus, winding him. The wretch sagged, a groan hissing from his lips.

“You threatened my wife,” Ewan spat, struggling against Gerome as the man knelt on his arms, keeping them down.

“I needed to punish the General for what he did to me,” Gerome shot back, reaching for Ewan’s throat. “As you have taken that opportunity from me, you will have to do. This way, Henrietta will suffer, and she will not forgive her father for the loss of you. It is not quite what I wanted, but it will be good enough.” He squeezed hard, attempting to crush Ewan’s windpipe.

“Henrietta is innocent,” Ewan strained to speak. “You had no right.”

“I had every right. She took my place. She gained his affection, and she did not deserve it. And you—how could you allow her to send such preposterous letters to those establishments? She will only bring shame on your name, as she would have done the Oliver name.”

“You do not know her,” Ewan rasped. His hands scraped along the undergrowth, looking for something he might use to fight back.

“She did look rather beautiful in that gown though, did she not?” Gerome jeered. “How could you not see my deceit? It is pitiful, how ignorant you were of me.”

“Do not speak of her!” Ewan cried out, his hand curling around a rock. With every ounce of strength left, he pushed his left arm up, driving the rock into the side of Gerome’s head. For a moment, he did not move, staring at Ewan with a dazed expression. Indeed, he almost looked surprised.

A split second later, Gerome tumbled to the side. Ewan scrambled to his feet, seizing the opportunity. The deceitful man was still breathing, his chest rising and falling, his blurred eyes staring up at the canopy overhead.

At least I did not kill him, though it would have been no less than he deserved.

“Lord Peterborough!” Aaron’s voice called from beyond the tree-line.

“In here!” Ewan called back, his chest heaving.

Gerome laughed softly. “Perhaps I underestimated you.”

“Perhaps you did,” Ewan replied, removing his cravat. Stalking over to where Gerome lay, he took the man’s hands and bound them tightly. There was no way that Gerome Buffond was escaping his clutches now. No, the only place that this man could look forward to was a dingy gaol, where he would spend the rest of his days.

There was a bitter irony to that, which tugged at Ewan’s empathy—Gerome had started in harsh conditions, and he would end in the same surrounds. He felt sorry for the lonely boy that Gerome had been, but he could not feel sorry for the man who had threatened everything he held dear.

“Is he dead?” Aaron gasped, as he burst through the trees.

Ewan shook his head. “He is not.”

“I am grateful for that.”

“You are?”

Aaron nodded. “I owe him more than an apology. I owe him the life that I denied him, though I did not mean to. Since I cannot offer him that, in its entirety, I would at least like to speak with him.”

“Well, he is bound. He should not cause too much trouble.”

“I thank you, My Lord.”

Ewan dipped his head. “I will wait until you are done, so that we may take him to the appropriate authorities.”

“Very well.”

“You may find me beyond the trees. Shout for me when you are done.”

Left alone with his son, Aaron could not help but stare in wonder at the man he had helped to create. Now that he looked closer, he could see hints of his own features in the face of Gerome. They had a similar nose, and similar lips, and perhaps their brows were akin. However, the eyes staring back at him were not kind ones. They held only hatred within them.

“I meant what I said before,” Aaron began, sitting beside the prostrate figure of Gerome. “I did come looking for you and your mother, but it was not safe, and the country was still in turmoil. There had been so much fighting that families had dispersed to the four winds. When I came back, you were gone. You see, I knew you existed.”

Gerome frowned. “You did?”

“A letter arrived upon my return to England, though it came a year after I came home. It must have been lost somewhere, but your mother sent it to the nearest address she could remember,” he explained. “The postal service managed to find me and gave it to me. By then, you had already been born, and you had already been moved.”

“She would not write to you,” he replied sourly. “She despised you, in the end.”

He shook his head. “She was sad, yes, but she did not despise me. The letter said that she was with child, and she hoped I would come back for her. A marriage had already been arranged for me, but my dear wife understood—she helped me try to find you. Only, as I say, it came to naught. We could not discover your location.”

“You abandoned us both. She died of a broken heart.”

“Close, but you are not entirely correct,” Aaron continued. “Your mother had always had a weak heart. She told me so, one night. It had been in her family for generations—a defect that could not be healed. Her mother had died the same way, and her grandmother before her.”

“How can you know this?” Gerome’s tone was tinged with intrigue, the anger softening ever so slightly.

“We talked in great depth about our lives,” Aaron said, remembering her. “I was young then, but I adored your mother. She was my first love, and a man does not forget his first love. Had the war not torn us apart, I do not know what may have happened, but I was a soldier—I went where I was told. Still, that does not change the affection I felt for Seraphine.”

“You loved her?” Gerome’s eyes widened.

“I thought you might think me insincere, but I truly did. I love my wife now, of course, but Seraphine was the first to find her way into my heart,” he replied. “I never forgot her, and I searched for you for many years before I gave up hope. Everyone I spoke to told me you must have died in the war or had died later in an orphanage of some disease or other.”

“How can I believe you?”

Aaron smiled. “As I said, I have the documentation to prove it. The papers are all signed and dated and tell the story of my search for you.” He paused uncertainly. “You see, two paths stand before you. Down one road, there is prison and a long sentence. Down the other, there is freedom. However, there are provisos to the latter. I cannot liberate you if you will seek to harm my daughter again, or anyone else that I hold dear.”

Gerome frowned. “You are even contemplating such a thing? Why would you do that?”

“Because you are my son, and because I understand why you have been brought to this desperate act,” he said softly. “The years in that orphanage hardened you, and I imagine that thoughts of revenge were the only things that kept you sane. I did this to you, and I have the means to remedy it… but you must not seek to harm anyone.”

“How could you trust me now?”

“Because you are my blood, and because you are Seraphine’s son.” He smiled. “She was a kind soul with a generous and forgiving heart. It failed her, but her character was sweet and loving. If you have any of her within you, then there may be hope for you yet.”

Gerome gulped awkwardly. “What would your proposal be?”

“That you come and reside at my home, and you live there with us for a while. Naturally, I will have to ensure that you are near, and that my men keep watch over you for some time. But I should like the chance to know you better, and to make amends for my mistakes.”

“So, I would be a prisoner in your home?” His eyes narrowed.

“No, you would be a guest. Once it became clear that you meant us no ill will, then you would have true freedom. You will become a part of my household, if you so choose.” Nerves wracked his body, for he knew he was taking an enormous risk. If Gerome continued to harbor a grudge, then Aaron would never be able to let him leave. Then again, it was better that Gerome be a prisoner in his house than a prisoner in a dank gaol.

Will Henrietta ever forgive me for this?

“Is this a trick?” Gerome asked, his expression boyish.

“I know you have been disappointed often in your past, Gerome, but this is no trick. This is a genuine offer, so that I might pay penance for my previous acts. I want to offer you a real chance at life, but you have to be willing to take it with both hands. You must relinquish your anger, and begin to forgive, otherwise this cannot work.”

For a long time, Gerome did not say a word. Instead, they simply looked at one another, assessing silently. Aaron’s mind drifted towards thoughts of his daughter, who had been seen to by his men on the bridge. He was desperate to get back to her, so he could ensure that she was safe, but first he had to do this. If Gerome did not comply, then prison was the only option.

“I agree to your terms,” Gerome said quietly, dropping his gaze.

“You understand that you must keep your distance from my daughter?”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“And that I will have to keep you near?”

“I understand.”

“Then we should leave, for my daughter requires my assistance.”

A shamefaced look drifted across Gerome’s features. “I understand,” he repeated.

Aaron stood, and reached out to help Gerome to his feet. He did not untie the binds that Ewan had placed there, and Gerome did not ask him to. Instead, they walked together through the trees, heading for the field beyond. Ewan turned in surprise as they emerged, a look of confusion glinting in his eyes.

“Where are we taking him?” he asked.

“He is coming home with me,” Aaron replied firmly.

Ewan coughed. “You cannot be serious?”

“I am perfectly serious, Lord Peterborough. This is my doing, and I must be the one to offer redemption, not only for him but for myself as well.”

“Henrietta will never forgive you.”

Aaron sighed. “I pray that she will. I have spent too long without compassion, and I will not make that mistake again. Seeing her on the edge of the bridge, I realized how I had failed her as a father. She had sought my respect, my support, and my affection, and I gave her none of those things. Perhaps this will show her that I have a heart, after all.”

Gerome smiled wryly. “Fear not, My Lord, I will not be expecting an invitation to Nightingale anytime soon.”

“Just because General Oliver is feeling lenient does not mean that I am,” Ewan snapped. “You almost murdered my wife tonight, and I will not forget that in a hurry. The General might wish to offer you redemption, but you have a long road ahead if you wish to gain forgiveness from me or my wife. Is that clear?”

“I would not expect you to,” Gerome shot back.

Aaron did not know how he would mediate this hatred between the two men and, presumably, Henrietta. Even if his daughter would not speak to him again for doing this, an idea was forming in his mind—a way in which he might make amends to both his children. It might not win him Henrietta’s forgiveness, but it might procure her future happiness. In the end, that was all he wanted.

He had granted his son redemption, but he was going to have to offer something else to Henrietta.

I will make it right, my dearest girl. I will win back your affection. I will become the father that you have always hoped I might be. That, I promise, even if you and I never meet face-to-face again.