“If you’ll just step this way,” he said, walking Mrs. Wattings to the door. He reached forward ahead of her and opened it, flinging it wide with a dramatic flourish.

And there, standing on the steps, was Wattings.

He felt Mrs. Wattings stiffen, and then she was running out the door and into Mr. Wattings’s arms, nearly knocking both of them over in the process. And he heard her sob, and saw Wattings’s face, and felt a bone-deep satisfaction at what he’d accomplished.

“Oh my goodness.” Della had stepped to his side, taking his hand in hers. Almost as though it were unconscious. And that shouldn’t have pleased him as much as it did—but it did. “This is what you were doing last night.”

He squeezed her hand. “It was. I was on my way home when I thought that I should just visit the address to see if we would be disappointed tomorrow. I was walking up the street when I saw him. I don’t know which one of us was more surprised.”

She chuckled. “Likely it was him, since you at least knew you were looking for him.”

“Fair point,” he replied.

Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Wattings were walking back into the house, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as she stared up at him as if she were unable to believe her eyes.

“Oh! Emily!” Della exclaimed, dropping his hand and dashing up the stairs.

Mrs. Wattings walked up to him, tears streaming down her face as she enfolded him in a hug. He patted her gently on the back, meeting Wattings’s gaze over her shoulder.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, her voice choked. “I didn’t think it would be possible. I didn’t want to hope.”

The raw emotion in her voice made him ache for her, of how she must have smothered her pain to present a good front for her daughter. Della knew what her friend was suffering, of course, but Griff had never seen it; instead, he’d seen a kind woman who seemed to genuinely care about others’ well-being.

He heard footsteps above and turned to see Mrs. Wattings’s daughter pelt down the stairs, her eyes wide, Della following close behind. Mrs. Wattings released him from the hug as she watched her daughter’s progress.

“There he is, Emily. Your father,” Della said quietly.

“Papa!” the girl screeched, leaping up into Wattings’s arms. Her father held her tight, and Griff heard the man stifle a sob in his throat.

Truth be told, he was remarkably close to sobbing as well. He hadn’t cried in years. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, actually.

But now he could feel his eyes prickle and his chest tighten.

“My girl,” Wattings said, patting his daughter’s head. “My girl.”