He put his arms around her, advising, “Let it go, Rissa. It’s all over now. I’m home, safe, in good health, and have even benefited from the mishaps of the journey. Don’t be angry on my account.”

“I’m not, I’m furious that the Everetts have done us such an injustice and yet won’t pay for it.”

“We know how pointless revenge is.”

“I know.” She sighed.

“And you don’t mean the Everetts, you mean Vincent Everett in particular. His brother apparently met justice at his own hand.”

Chapter 23

Chapter 23

ALBERT WASN’T DEAD.

It took a while for Vincent to assimilate that fact. He thought hoax. He thought cruel joke. He even thought of George Ascot. After all, how better for Ascot to completely absolve himself of any wrongdoing than by imparting the information contained in the letter that was delivered to Vincent, which painted Ascot as innocent? And it was hand-delivered by a sailor. There was no proof that Albert had written the letter; even his signature could have been a copy.

That thought didn’t last long. The letter was from Albert. The tone in it was his, impossible to duplicate without knowing him well. And references were made that Ascot couldn’t have been aware of, without seeing the first letter.

Albert wasn’t dead.

It should have been elating news and just that, instead of the incredible shock it was. But then it came with a confession that just about everything in Albert’s first letter had been lies and excuses. He placed all blame now where it belonged, on himself. No apologies, not even for giving the wrong impression about his death. Albert hadn’t realized he had done so, so he had no idea that Vincent might have picked up the gauntlet for him.

I know you were probably expecting to never hear from me again. I was rather foxed when I wrote you that farewell letter, but I do vaguely recall saying I would never be back. That hasn’t changed. I have no desire to ever return to England, where I feel so inadequate to my peers. Where I live now, everything is on an equal footing. Even a beggar can pick himself up by his bootstraps and start over. Which is what I’ve done.

I did think you might like to hear of my progress, in getting my life in order. And perhaps a better explanation is due, at least a sober one this time, of what brought me to complete failure.