“It must be exhausting being married.” Tamsin strolled up to me. “You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”
I grinned and gave her a quick hug. “I slept. Some.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll make up for it with all the sleep you’ll get trekking through the wilderness. And whatever shack you have in Westhaven will probably be very restful too.”
I thought back to the dilapidated shanty on the gold claim. It felt like a lifetime ago. “We don’t even have one yet. We’ll have to build it—or hire someone to, in light of Cedric’s carpentry skills. Besides, you’re one to talk—after living in an Icori roundhouse.”
She smiled at the joke but made no comment on it. In the weeks that had passed since Warren’s downfall, we’d learned a lot more about her time among both the Grashond Heirs and the Icori. She’d taken a long time to open up, and I knew there were still things she wasn’t telling us. I hoped they’d come out in time when she was ready. Aiana had cornered Jasper, telling them that there was no way Tamsin could be expected to marry anytime soon after such traumatic events. Aiana had won her case, and Tamsin’s contract had been extended.
She turned away and stared vacantly at the sea of people. “There’s something—well, that is—there’s something I need to talk to you about. Something I have to ask you.”
Her sober expression was startling. Frightening even, seeing as I’d thought the worst of her troubles were over. I squeezed her hand. “Of course.”
“It might be too late . . . I should have brought it up sooner . . . but I didn’t want to burden you with everything else. But I know you and Cedric made a lot of money from selling the Hadisen claim, and so I thought . . . that is . . .”
“Tamsin.” I’d never heard her ramble in all our time together. “You can tell me anything. Go ahead and ask whatever you need to.”
So, she did.
I fell silent for a long time afterward, trying to wrap my mind around what I’d just heard. The longer I didn’t speak, the more troubled she became.
“You think I’m a terrible person, don’t you?”
“What? Of course not.” I drew her to me again. I remembered when, long ago, she’d told me I had no idea how much she had on the line. And she’d been right. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. And of course I’ll help.”
Her brown eyes shone with tears. “It’s a lot to ask. And I understand if Cedric doesn’t want you to spend the money. It’s his right to—”
“Cedric wouldn’t mind. And it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to touch the Hadisen money.”
I scanned the crowd, half hoping Nicholas Adelton might have turned out. No such luck. Legally, I probably didn’t need his help, but he certainly would’ve made things neater. After substantial evidence had condemned Warren to a ship back to Osfrid to answer for his multilayered conspiracy, a legal nightmare had ensued over the land he owned in Hadisen. In matters of treason, land like that usually reverted to the crown. But he’d had a number of leaseholders working the land, and in a generous gesture, the courts had ended up gifting those claims. Rather than deal with the excavation, Cedric had sold his for an impressive price—giving us the means to pay off my contract and build savings for Westhaven. Nicholas had been instrumental in helping us sort matters out, so I suppose he’d earned a break from us.
I spied one of the Westhaven laborers nearby, keeping track of inventory with a pen and sheaf of paper. I talked him into lending the pen and giving me a piece of paper. He was one of those who was starstruck over the truth about my past, and when I thanked him, he simply stammered, “No problem, m-m’lady.”
I knelt down to make a desk out of my knees and began writing: I, Elizabeth Thorn née Witmore . . .
I stopped, unsure what to write next. Using my legal first name wasn’t the issue. It was what came next. Or did anything come next? I’d been gone more than a year. My cousin Peter would most certainly carry the exalted Rupert’s title now.
I, Elizabeth Thorn née Witmore, former Countess of Rothford, authorize the release of my surety money to Lady Alice Witmore, to be spent in the terms outlined below . . .
Tamsin watched me write each word, and I was pretty sure she didn’t breathe the entire time. When I signed and finished, she read it over again, and then looked at me hopefully. “That’s all it’ll take?”
“It should be. That money’s been isolated from any family debt for years and is legally mine, now that I’m married. It’s not a lot—if it was, I would have had fewer problems. But it’s enough for what you need, and Grandmama will see that everything gets followed through.” I reached into my skirt pocket and produced a folded bundle of more paper. Along with a copy of my marriage certificate, it also contained a long-overdue letter. “I’ll just add it to what I’m already sending her. Silas Garrett is supposed to deliver it and verify that he compared me to the portrait and saw me alive. I’m just not sure where he is.”
Tamsin pointed. “He’s over there, speaking with that awful Grant Elliott. He seemed so polite at first, but he’s actually got quite an attitude, you know.”
Sure enough, the two of them stood removed from the throng, having what looked like a friendly conversation. I still didn’t know their exact connection, save that they’d both played a part in having Warren arrested. Silas was transporting Warren back to Osfrid for a treason trial while Grant remained behind in the colonies.