“London, why didn’t you tell me,” he tries to say, but she interrupts him.
“I’m not finished. The child learned that it was better to be invisible and not heard. A mouse could move unseen, listening, and learning, pulling information that could be used to save them. She grew, and the young woman faded away, and in her place, the Mouse was born.”
London doesn’t wipe the tears that stream down her face as she continues her story.
“At fourteen, she invested in her father's name and began to make money. Enough to keep them from the workhouse, but it seemed he was determined to join his wife. The more she made, the more he gambled and drank away.”
“Multiple times, she pulled him from the workhouse and managed to invest and make more money, but each time seemed worse than the last. The last time the collectors came, she was working. At sixteen, she'd managed to find work as a scullery maid. When they came for him, he didn’t fight. He didn’t fight for her Declan. Instead, he left her alone to fend for herself. The Mouse did what she had to do to survive. It was the hardest thing she ever had to do, walking away from him. Watching someone, you love slowly kill themselves is a death in itself.”
“London?” he steps forward, but she angrily scrubs the tears from her cheeks.
“Why is it so hard to be seen, Declan?” The heartbroken loneliness in her voice has him reaching for her. She evades his touch and rushes from the garden.
“Let her go, Declan, she needs time to process this,” his grandfather says hoarsely.
“No. She needs someone willing to fight for her,” he whispers and wipes away his own tears.
Chapter 32
London waits for Declan to come. Removing her dress causes a groan of pain. Lifting her arm is a struggle as the blow to her collar caused a sizeable purple bruise and aching pain that rips through her body.
“Easy, my Lady.” Mary assists her and helps her slide on a robe. When she sees Declan at the doorway, she tells him, “keep the ice on it, the doctor should be sent for.”
“No,” London gazes out the window. “I’m fine. I want to sleep.”
“Thank you, Mary. We will send for him in the morning.” He stands in the doorway of their bedroom and stares at his wife as Mary leaves.
“You’re wondering if you know me at all, aren’t you?” she turns to stare at him.
“Maybe.” He steps close and pulls her robe aside to look at her shoulder, gently checking the bruise before pressing a kiss to her shoulder.
“Don’t be kind to me, it makes me cry,” she shudders and fights back a fresh wave of tears.
“Why didn’t you tell me about your father…” he cups her face holding her in place to keep her from avoiding his eyes.
“You never asked about my family,” she sniffs, struggling not to cry.
“I asked about your life,” he says.
“I know,” she whispers. “I didn’t know how to start.” She glances at him, “My father was the Earl of Ironhand, Declan.” She watches the shock ripple across his face.
“What?” The Earl of Ironhand was set to marry a titled princess and ran off with a Bulgarian commoner. The scandal was heard of as far away as the States.
“Yes. They immigrated, and my father began to invest in the stock market. It was how he made his money. For a time, life was good. They loved each other dearly, but when mother died, the man I loved was no more. My father was gone. He was never cruel to me, nor physically abusive,” she grips his shirt, “but sometimes I wish he was.” London's voice breaks.
“Don’t say that!” he rumbles.
“I would have given anything to see something, feel something, maybe see the man inside him come alive again!” The sobs wrench from her, and he picks her up and carries her to a chair. He sits with her, cradling her in his arms. “Why didn't he fight for me?” she sobs.
“I don't know,” he says, holding her close, wondering how she survived.
They are silent for a little bit until she calms down enough to talk.
“The father I loved was lost to me years ago, but It’s the thought of Tessa telling him that I didn’t care about him which cuts the deepest. That he died thinking I didn’t love him! Why would anyone be that cruel?” she asks.
“That woman is sick, London,” he presses a kiss to her forehead and holds her tight. “We will pray that she finds peace,” when she stiffens and stares at him in surprise, he smiles.
“We will not give her another second of our lives, London. We will pray the Lord heals her, and never again will she be between us. You'll be free to start your life without anger, regret, or fear,” Declan explains softly.
“That sounds lovely, but I’m not sure I can.”
“Yes, you can.” Declan is adamant, “The Lord blesses those who trust him, London. Do you trust him?”
“How could I not? He led me to you,” she kisses him softly, and he uses his thumbs to wipe away her tears.
“Exactly, pray with me.” Declan leads the prayer, and she whispers the words after him. “I love you, Declan Sheridan,” she whispers.
“I love you more, London Sheridan,” he smiles and guides her to the bed. “I want to know all about your life, London. No more secrets,” he insists. They talk for hours about her childhood, growing up with her father, and learning how to play the stock market at his side.
“Daddy used to tease his friends that I could pick stocks better than they could. It became entertaining to see who I could beat.”
“Why didn’t he
