Page 2 of Fortune’s Final Folly

“No—”

Lavinia tsked at her denial. “It is the way of things, the path of life, as ye very well know.”

At Lavinia’s words, the necklace, the only thing left to Zeta from her old life besides her heartbreak, warmed at her throat.

They’d traveled, the pair of them, all over England and Scotland. In their journeys, they spoke—sometimes huddled in a freezing wagon bundled in hides, one time before a roaring fire in the early evening outside London proper, and more recently on the coast of Dover during a particularly warm spell amid summer—of the day she’d be reunited with Katherina. In none of their musings had Lavinia not been by Zeta’s side when they located Katherina.

Together. The pair of them. As they had been since the woman had rescued Zeta from the roadside and taken her in with nary a question.

Lavinia’s steady stare scanned the expansive green grounds of Shrewbury Gardens, knowing the hellish torment Zeta had endured at the hands of the estate’s cruel mistress, though Lavinia was always too compassionate to speak of it aloud. “I still feel, to me very soul, that your Katherina will be returned to ye.”

“As do I.” Zeta had spent all her adult life gifting fortunes to those who could spare the coin, and to many who couldn’t. She’d learned much from Lavinia, including a knack for reading people—their desires, their fears, and their hearts. “I will never stop searching.”

“That is good, my child.” The slight weight of the woman’s hand slipped from Zeta’s shoulder, and she felt Lavinia slipping from this world. Each day passed with Zeta knowing it was one less day with Lavinia near.

The shrubbery to their left rustled, and a woman not much older than Zeta appeared.

“Return to camp,” Zeta whispered to Lavinia, nodding back down the hill to the wooded area that gave their caravan refuge from onlookers. “Seek warmth. I will return shortly.”

Lavinia stared at the woman as she approached but thankfully acquiesced, turning slowly to return to the others.

“My lady?” The new arrival hurried over to Zeta. She dressed in the Shrewbury servants’ garb, with her limp, brown hair tied at the nape of her neck. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead despite the late December cold. “My lady, is that you?”

It had been years since Zeta was mistaken for a lady, despite being raised to take her place in the upper crust of London society.

“Lady Holderness?” the servant said, stopping before her, her eyes narrowing on Zeta. She took in Zeta’s disheveled appearance, though she must have found something she recognized as her stare settled on Zeta’s weather-worn face.

“I have not gone by that name in many years. But, yes, it is me.” Zeta glanced around, fearful her husband, the wretched rakehell, would have someone near to detain her—or expel her from Shrewbury land. “Who are you?”

“My lady, I was the one who—”

Memories returned much like a dagger to her soul. “You helped the duchess collect my things before I was thrown from…Shrewbury.” She nearly said her “home”, but the estate below had no more been her home than the wagon she’d been traveling in for nearly two decades.

Her home had been with her mother—and later, with Katherina.

The woman dipped her head, clearly ashamed. “No, my lady. I, in no way, wanted to help the duchess. But I had no choice. Was never given a choice if I wished to keep my position.”

Zeta eyed the woman, knowing she spoke the truth, yet unwilling to allow her actions to be forgiven so easily. “Where is my daughter?”

The servant’s stare returned to Zeta’s. “I do not know. I am merely a maid at Shrewbury.”

“My husband then?”

The woman’s cheeks flooded white, despite the chilly winds. “Last time word came to us, he was living on the Continent after a sordid incident in London.”

“He has not returned since his father’s passing?”

“No, my lady, though rumor implies he might have gone the way of the duke and duchess.” Her tone lowered to a whisper before she continued, “May the Lord bless them in their eternal slumber.”

Zeta nearly snorted at the maid’s mumbled prayer.

“Who cares for the estate in Lord Holderness’s absence?” she prodded, not allowing herself to dwell on that morsel of information. “There must be someone, a cousin or distant relative, who has come forward to claim the title and lands.”

“No, my lady. Lord Holderness, err the Shrewbury heir, has yet to claim his title. However, no one disputes that he lives. No one who matters, that is,” the maid replied. “Our salaries are paid by the steward. Some of the servants have been released from their posts. Only a few, those needed to maintain the Gardens, have remained. I have heard the steward is in contact with a solicitor in London.”

“I should like to speak with him, the steward.” Zeta nodded to the woman. She was, after all, Pierce’s lawful wife. In his absence, perhaps she could… “Take me to him.”

The maid shook her head. “I fear you are not welcome at Shrewbury. The duchess made that very clear before she passed, and the servants were reminded of her decree when you visited the duke several years ago. The magistrate is to be summoned if you even so much as set foot on Shrewbury land.”