He stared until his eyes watered, devouring every tiny brushstroke. Every curved line. Every gradient of faded color. Until he could take no more. Then he gently set it down beside him and pressed the heels of his hands against his damp face. And there on his knees in a room bathed in twilight, Alec finally wept.

Chapter Twenty

Does London always smell like this?” Valentina asked, wrinkling her nose as they exited the first-class carriage and stepped onto Euston Station’s busy platform.

“Oh no,” Lottie replied. “It’s usually quite worse.”

Valentina’s horrified expression inspired Lottie’s first genuine laugh in days and reconfirmed that hiring her had been an excellent decision. Her previous maid had left service to marry last year, and Lottie hadn’t been in a hurry to find a replacement. But the vibrant young woman had proved to be a more than capable lady’s maid—and an even better traveling companion. Without her, Lottie doubted she would have ever made it to England, let alone remembered to change her undergarments. Valentina had appeared in Alec’s flat shortly after he left and found Lottie in a heap of tears. After letting loose a string of insults directed at the absent Alec, Valentina took charge and had her changed and packed in less than an hour. The journey home had passed by in a blur of European landscapes while her battered heart and mind replayed her last moments with Alec.

What we had was not a true friendship. It was an obligation. And I was glad when I could finally be rid of it.

Just as Lottie began to sink into that familiar pit of despair, a tall, slender man appeared before them, having shoved his way through the crowded platform. It was Mr. Wetherby, her uncle’s secretary. The man had the ear of Sir Alfred and far too many opinions about her life. He was also the nephew of her erstwhile chaperone, Mrs. Wetherby. He shared his aunt’s pallid complexion, light blue eyes, and sharp nose, along with her penchant for criticism and Lottie as a favored target.

“Miss Carlisle,” he said, bowing from the neck. “I trust you had a pleasant journey.” He looked past her. “Where is Mr. Gresham?”

“He stayed in Venice. My maid accompanied me.”

Mr. Wetherby barely acknowledged Valentina and didn’t bother to hide his relief. “Might I ask why Mr. Gresham did not accompany you?” he asked after a moment.

She lifted her chin. “No, you may not. Where is the coach? I’d like to see my uncle as soon as possible.”

Mr. Wetherby gave her a wide-eyed stare, then quickly recovered. “This way.”

He escorted her and Valentina to a hackney carriage. “Your uncle did not want anyone to see the family crest,” he explained once they were inside. “So far we have been able to suppress all news of your little diversion.” His lips curved ever so slightly on the last word.

Blast.

Yet another failure. At least she had been properly ruined. Uncle Alfred would learn the truth soon enough. Or most of it.