As impatient as I was to return to England, I stayed a few days with Mom and Phil because it would be a while before I’d see them again. Then I’d gone back to Chicago to arrange shipment of all my things to England.

Besides, I had to say goodbye to Greer.

And yes, I had enough tears left for that goodbye.

The eventual trip from Chicago to London, London to Newcastle was torturous. I’d never been so impatient in my life to get anywhere. The drive north from Newcastle was even more so. Jet-lagged, smelling of plane, and pale cheeked, I directed the cab to Roane’s estate.

His true estate.

Alnster House.

I needed to see it. It was part of a deceit that had become twisted into something that shouldn’t have been as destructive as it was. What I wanted from the house, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps to alleviate my concerns. To remind me it was just bricks and mortar and it didn’t change who Roane was.

The cab pulled up to the huge sandstone mansion, and my bravery faltered a little. It didn’t do much to reassure me that Roane was an ordinary, down-to-earth farmer.

The house was set back miles from the main road, surrounded by fields. The lawns around the mansion were well kept and rolled for acres before turning into wheat and barley fields.

A dirt road turned into a gravel drive with a fountain in the middle.

An exterior imperial staircase led up to the front door of the grand home.

It was like a smaller version of Mr. Darcy’s house.

“Holy fuck.”

“Is this it?” the driver asked, staring up at the house in awe.

Just as I was about to step out, a figure appeared in the doorway. It was a woman dressed in a conservative pencil skirt and blouse. I waited as she elegantly walked down one side of the stone staircase, the gravel crunching underfoot as she approached the cab.

The driver rolled down the window.

The woman, who appeared to be in her midfifties, asked, “May I help you?”

“We’re looking for the Alnster estate,” the driver said.

“This is it.” She looked at me. “I’m Mrs. Smith, the housekeeper. May I help you?”

I licked my dry lips.

Roane had a housekeeper.

Of course he did.

“I’m . . . I’m looking for Roane.”

Her brows pinched together a little, as if she was trying to place me. “Mr. Robson does not reside here.”

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Perhaps you would favor me with a name first?”

Wow, Mrs. Smith was old-school posh. I wasn’t sure I wanted to give her my name. I was afraid she’d know who I was and have us led off the grounds at gunpoint.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you.” I tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Let’s go.”