The Reverend's Daughter (Book 2 after The Duke's Daughter)

Twenty Six Part Three

Alfred snapped his fingers, murmured a joking, "Darn." Lamenting James' statement, as he smiled at Terese.

"Believe me son, if I could, I would," James looked lovingly at his wife, "Yet it does not pay the bills."

They all laughed at James and Alfred's wit.

"There will be time for that later, Alfred." James leaned forward, his bushy brows raising in interest, "Business aside, what have you two planned for the morrow?" James had seen Alfred and Terese earlier, pouring over the sights brochure Alfred had brought.

Terese smiled and squeezed Alfred's hand. "We have decided upon a museum tour. Finally, I have someone who would like to pursue them with me." Terese teased her parents, as neither enjoyed the museums. She had prodded them through one, only to find it was not as enjoyable if they did not enjoy it as much as she.

"Thank God, I do not think I could withstand another, the first one was bad enough." James acted as though the experience had taxed his being.

After more shared laughter, it was decided they could leave, they would still have a little time to get settled before the opening act.

Later in the evening, after Alfred kissed Terese chastely goodnight, they shared an intimate smile and agreed upon a time for the morrow. Alfred would come to the estate, they would then take her father's carriage about to the museums.

Alfred rode home that night feeling content. He had James' papers in his coat, he could not wait to read them and see what had made the simple man into a mogul.

That James was showing such confidence and acceptance of him, made Alfred sit a little taller in the saddle as he rode.

He left his horse and walked to the apartment he was sharing with Merry. The lights were still on in her parlour.

Alfred found her asleep on her chaise, art supplies spread out all around her, a pad and a piece charcoal in her hands.

Alfred chuckled and set her things aside, then he lifted her, noticing she barely weighed a thing. He took her small frame to bed and tucked her in.

Alfred then went to his own room to sleep. He would start reading James' reports over breakfast, but for now he needed rest.

Alfred went to bed and recalled his evening with the Ferguson's. It had felt like he was part of a family, and Alfred had never had that before.

Then Alfred remembered his meeting with Jude. Hopefully, he could arrange a meeting with Damien that would not interfere with his time planned for Terese.

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Had she breathed?

Jude pulled his feet free of the landing and raced down the stairs.

What in the hell was she doing here?

Jude's brain spun as he leapt over her body. He turned and bent over her, searching for her face under the thin veil of hair that had fallen across it.

Good God, what if she is dead? Here, in his townhouse, in the middle of the night, by his own hand, dead?

Jude furtively scanned her white, slack face for movement, for breath, for anything.

He looked down Gwen's body, where one arm was twisted, bent under her body in a direction one's arm normally did not bend.

Jude cringed.

His eyes traveled lower, to her legs, where one of them had obviously been pulled from her hip socket, as her heel faced up, when it should be facing down.