“The newspaper report said he’d died as well.”

“He did. I received word of it not long after I left. He took a chill while out walking and was gone in a fortnight. Rather ironic, really.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “All that loss—”

“Don’t be. It’s ancient history now. If I think about it at all, it’s only because occasionally something happens that I wish I could share with my mother.” A regretful smile ghosted over his lips. “I would have liked her to have met you.”

“Do you suppose she would have approved of me?”

“She would have adored you,” he said. “She was a gentle lady, with a romantic spirit. It was she who first encouraged me to write when I was a lad.”

Julia edged closer to him. “Did you intend to give it up? Your writing, I mean? When you went away to war?”

“I didn’t think about my writing at all. Not for a long time. When I finally returned to it . . .” His expression sobered. “You asked me why the style of my novels changed. It’s because I changed. I had to become someone else. I understood then that there was nothing thrilling about falsified deaths and secret identities. There was only loneliness. And I had enough of that to contend with in my new life. I had no desire to write about it.”

She was near enough now to touch him, her shoulder brushing the bookshelf as they stood face-to-face. “I wish I had known you before,” she said. “The real you.”

“You do know the real me,” he replied gruffly. He took a step toward her. “Promise you won’t leave me.”

Her pulse quickened. “I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Yet you insist upon returning to London.” He loomed over her. “I could forbid you going.”

She stood her ground. “You could,” she acknowledged. “But you won’t.”

He stared down at her with palpable frustration.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said. “I intend to stay in London for however long it takes to resolve things.”

“And then?”

“And then . . . we’ll see.”

Thirty-Six

Julia didn’t know where Mr. Finchley’s offices were. She’d only ever encountered him at his home in Half Moon Street. So, the morning after arriving back in London, Half Moon Street is precisely where she went.

Anne had offered to accompany her on her errand. Julia had politely declined. The less Anne knew about Julia’s true reasons for returning to London the better. Thus far, Julia had only confided her intention to regain control of her funds. It was enough to explain her visit to a solicitor.

The Finchleys’ housekeeper showed her into a small room off the entrance hall. It was furnished with a mahogany desk and a pair of carved chairs with seats covered in green morocco leather.

Julia remained standing, smoothing her carriage dress as she waited. She wasn’t obliged to wait long.

Within minutes, Mrs. Finchley appeared, accompanied by her husband.