"Good morning, Lady Darvin," he said, stepping beneath the oak's umbrella of shade.

She turned toward him, and he stilled at her utterly bleak expression and the tortured look in her eyes.

Driven by deep concern, he dismissed propriety. Reaching out, he gently grasped her upper arm, then maneuvered himself so his back blocked her from any curious glances that might be cast their way. "What is wrong?"

She seemed to look right through him, her thoughts clearly far away. "The wedding ceremony… I was just remembering. I tried so hard not to, but sitting in that church…" A shudder ran through her. "I have not been inside it since my own wedding day."

He instantly recalled that day in vivid detail. He'd sat on his bed, sick with loss, staring at the clock, knowing with each passing minute the woman he loved was exchanging vows with another man. When the church bells had chimed in the distance, signifying the end of the ceremony, he'd opened a bottle of whiskey and proceeded for the first time in his life to get deliberately, blindly drunk. He'd stayed drunk for two days, then spent another two days suffering the worst hangover in the history of hangovers. After that, he'd simply… lived, believing she was happy.

One look at her stricken face disabused him of that notion. She looked so… haunted. So distraught. Her eyes shimmered with tears, but there was no mistaking them as the happy sort women often shed at weddings.

Was there something more to her unhappiness than he'd previously thought? Was there more involved than missing her home and her brother? More than the fact that she hadn't had children? Releasing her arm, he pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.

Dabbing her wet eyes, she said, "Thank you. And forgive me. This is a happy day, yet here I am sniffling. I'm afraid I allowed my memories to distress me."

Her words disturbed him, and a sick uneasiness slithered down his spine. "Your husband…" He hesitated, not certain how to phrase what he wanted to ask her. "Was he… unkind?"

A humorless sound erupted from her lips, and she averted her gaze. Even as his mind told him not to, he grasped her gloved hand and gently squeezed her fingers.

She turned back to him, and he was taken aback by the fire burning in her eyes. "Unkind?" she repeated in an awful voice he didn't recognize. "Yes, he was unkind."

As suddenly as her anger appeared, it vanished, as if doused by cold water, to be replaced by a broken, lost expression. Tremors shook her and she squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear rolled down her pale cheek, silently landing on his white shirt cuff. He watched the droplet soak into the linen.

Hell and damnation, that bastard had hurt her. Hurt her mind and spirit. God Almighty, had he hurt her body as well? A red haze veiled his vision, and violence such as he'd never felt before gripped him.

A sense of unreality overwhelmed him. The news of her marriage to Darvin had nearly brought him to his knees, but he'd accepted the inevitable with stoic resignation. As much as he loved her, he'd known he could never so much as court, let alone marry her. He had nothing to offer an earl's daughter.

Except love. And kindness. Her words raced through his mind. I used to spend time on the cliffs, looking out at the sea, wondering how it would feel to jump…

Nausea gripped him at the thought of Darvin mistreating her. To the point where she'd contemplated suicide. God in heaven. If only he'd known-

What would you have done? he asked himself. What could you have done? But he knew without question. He knew in his soul that he-a man who dedicated his life to upholding the law-would have killed the bastard. And why the hell hadn't her brother done so?

She opened her eyes and looked at him. His feelings must have shown, for a look of unmistakable tenderness filled her gaze, stealing his breath. "I appreciate your outrage on my behalf. You were always such a stalwart friend. There was nothing you could have done."

A stalwart friend. Did she have any idea he would have given anything to be more? "Your brother," he managed past his tight throat. "Did he not know?"

"He knew I was unhappy, but not the extent of my misery, and I dared not tell him. He visited me when he returned from the war. He saw bruises on my arms. I told him I'd fallen, but apparently he'd heard of Darvin's proclivities, and he did not believe me."

He clenched his teeth against his mounting rage. "Why on earth did you protect such a monster?"

"I wasn't protecting Darvin. It was my brother I sought to protect. He would have killed Darvin and hung for his efforts. As it was, he beat Darvin nearly unconscious and threatened to finish the deed if he ever dared hurt me again."

"And did he?"

Her eyes went totally flat. "Yes. But not as often. I… I never told Eric. When I finally stopped fighting Darvin, he eventually lost interest in me and turned to other women. Eric only knows that Darvin was unfaithful, not about the… other things."

Every cell in his body screamed with impotent fury against her suffering and the man who'd caused it. He'd hurt her. Humiliated her. Been unfaithful to her… this gentle, lovely creature he'd loved from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her when they were both little more than children. His heart shattered, aching for her. For himself. Bile burned his throat, and he pressed his lips together, trying to calm his heaving insides.

He squeezed her hand, fighting the overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms, to protect her. To let her know he'd never allow anyone to ever hurt her again. "Why didn't you leave him?"

"I did, a month after our marriage. He found me at an inn fifty miles from Cornwall. He told me if I ever left him again he would kill my brother." Her gaze searched his, her eyes troubled and confused. "I… I never meant to tell you. I don't know why I did."

A tempest of emotions consumed him, and he could not force away the image of her bruised and crying, from his mind. He looked into her haunted eyes, shadowed with dark memories of sufferings he could not begin to imagine. Rage erupted in him, and he fought to clamp it down, contain it. Control it. Darvin was dead, yet he wanted nothing more than to dig up the bastard and kill him again. How the hell had her brother kept from strangling Darvin with his bare hands?

Her brother. Everything in him shifted, then stilled as realization clicked into place. No, her brother hadn't killed Darvin. Instead he'd channeled his rage elsewhere, and risked his life to save other women from a similar life of misery.

He moistened his dry lips. "Tell me… if you'd had the chance to run away, even if leaving meant never seeing your family or Mends again, would you have done so to avoid marrying him?"

She didn't even hesitate. "Yes."

That single word, barely more than a whisper, rocked his very foundation. He'd devoted the last five years of his life to capturing the Bride Thief. The man was a criminal. A kidnapper. He tore families apart and ruined planned marriages. Yet Margaret clearly would have accepted his help to escape marrying Darvin. And she would have been spared those years of horror and despair.

Confusion assailed him. There was no curtailing the law. He prided himself on his honesty and integrity. The punishment for kidnapping was the gallows. If he failed to see justice carried through, how could he call himself a man of the law?

He swallowed to dislodge his heart from his throat. "You said you'd never meant to tell me. Why not?"

She looked at the ground. "I… I didn't want you to think badly of me."

He swore he actually felt his heart break in two. His hand shook as he reached out and lifted her chin with his fingertips. "I could never think badly of you. Of the man who hurt you, yes. Of you, no." God, he longed to tell her that it would be impossible for him to think any more highly of her, but he didn't dare. "I'm so very sorry for what you suffered."

"Thank you. But I'm free now. And I'm back at the home I love, with my brother."

Guilt hit him like a blow to the gut. Within an hour's time he hoped to have her brother in custody.

A fleeting smile touched her lips. "And this very day I have gained a sister, so there is much to be happy about." She gently eased her hand from his. "I'd best go offer my congratulations. Would you care to join me?"

Before he could reply, he heard a discreet cough behind him.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Straton, but I need to speak with you."

Adam's every muscle tensed as he recognized Farnsworth's voice. Offering Lady Darvin a bow, Adam said, "I'll be along in a few moments."

She inclined her head, then moved past him, walking toward the crowd of well-wishers. Once he was certain she could not overhear, he turned to Farnsworth.

"Well?" he asked.

Farnsworth pulled a piece of black material from his pocket and handed it to Adam. "I found this in Lord Wesley's bedchamber, sir. Behind a hidden panel under his desk. No question it's the Bride Thief's mask."

Adam stared at the black silk mask. In his hands he held the evidence he'd sought for five long years. He now had everything he needed to arrest the Bride Thief.


Sammie and Eric no sooner rounded the corner after their passionate kiss than Mama descended upon them.

"There you are, darling!" She engulfed Sammie in a rib-squeezing hug that Sammie nonetheless relished, as it would be the last time she felt her mother's arms around her. "I'm so happy for you," Mama said with a sniffle. Then into Sammie's ear she whispered, "I'm sorry we didn't have time to discuss… you know what, but I'm certain the earl will know what do to."

Stepping back, Mama dabbed her eyes with a lacy handkerchief and emitted a trio of chirping sounds. She glanced quickly about, but obviously realizing that no benches were in "fainting" distance, Mama drew a deep breath and recovered herself. Indeed, she lit up like a dozen candles when Lydia Nordfield and her daughter Daphne approached, both women wearing similar puckered expressions.

"Lydia!" Mama exclaimed. She embraced her nemesis with an enthusiasm that brought a wince to Mrs. Nordfield's already pinched features. Leaning back, Mama's face became the personification of concern. "Now don't you worry, Lydia. I'm certain Daphne will find a nice gentleman. Someday."

A choking sound erupted from Mrs. Nordfield, and the smile she leveled upon Mama was glacial. Mrs. Nordfield and Daphne then offered Sammie stilted best wishes. The woman's narrow-eyed gaze bounced between her daughter and Sammie several times. Sammie bit the insides of her cheeks to hide her amusement, for she could almost hear Mrs. Nordfield saying, If Samantha Briggeham can become a countess, surely my Daphne can become a marchioness or a duchess.

"Perhaps if you had spectacles, Daphne dear," Mrs. Nordfield mused as she led her pinch-faced daughter away. "They do have a certain charm…"

Hermione, Lucille, and Emily came next, and Sammie embraced them each in turn, committing their glowing faces to her memory. How was it possible to feel such sadness and such joy at the same time? Such regret for the times they would not share, yet such anticipation for the future?

Papa followed, kissing both her cheeks. "Always knew some lucky fellow would find you, Sammie. I told your mother so." He patted her on the head as if she were his favorite hound, then moved on.

And then Hubert stood before her. They'd already said their good-byes earlier this morning, and although she smiled at him, tears still misted her eyes. Reaching up, she tousled his unruly hair, and their gazes met. His Adam's apple bobbed, and a lump lodged painfully in her throat.

Sadness lingered in his eyes, but his lips curved upward in a lopsided grin. He then wrapped her in an awkward, bony hug and their spectacles smacked into each other. Laughing, they separated.

"Nice show, Sammie," he said, adjusting his glasses. "You're the most beautiful countess I've ever seen."

Swallowing her melancholy, she laughed at him. "I am the only countess you've ever seen."

"Well, I've seen a great many countesses"-interjected Eric-"and I must agree with Hubert. Beautiful." Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips, his dark eyes sending her a message that shot heat down to her toes.

Hubert moved on, and what seemed like an endless stream of well-wishers followed. Finally Margaret stood before her, extending both her hands. "We're officially sisters now," she said, tears shimmering in her eyes. "And you're officially a countess."