Page 90 of Where the Viscount Met His Match
EPILOGUE
Two weeks later…
Lyra was sitting at her desk in the library at Weston House going through her correspondence when she recognized a familiar, feminine script. With a smile, she tore open the missive and read it.
She glanced at her mother who was sitting in a chair by the mantle and reading a book. “I got a letter from Mara.”
“Oh?” Lavinia set aside her novel and appeared truly interested in what the letter contained. It warmed Lyra’s heart that her mother had finally come to terms with Roarke and Mara’s relationship.
They had also become closer since their brief time at Eversleigh Hall. Lavinia was no longer the social butterfly she’d always endeavored to be, even though various invitations were flooding in. Since they both knew it was likely from the gossips that wished to know the fullon ditabout how Roarke had mysteriously vanished from the marriage mart in such a short time with a virtually unknown female, most of them were declined.
And Lyra would have been lying if she said she wasn’t grateful for the company herself. After Roger’s death, the silence around her was getting harder to ignore.
Lyra refocused on the matter at hand. “Mara says they are having a wonderful time in Italy.”
“Did she mention if they might make it back for Christmas?”
Lyra rolled her eyes. “No, she didn’t, but I sincerely doubt it. Christmas is only three weeks away, and they are on their honeymoon, as you well know. They need this time together. There will be plenty of holidays to celebrate in the future.”
“I understand that,” Lavinia sighed. “It’s just been so long—”
A sudden pounding on the front door had them glancing at each other curiously. It was too early in the morning for anyone to be calling, but by the sound of the intruder, it seemed rather urgent.
“You don’t think something could be wrong with Margaret or the baby, do you?” Lyra worried her lower lip.
“No,” Her mother shook her head firmly. “I know she wasn’t yet up to making the trip to London for Roarke’s wedding, but they are both quite well.”
The sound of numerous, heavy footfalls quickly neared, and before long, the library was filled with uniformed men.
The one who wore the darkest scowl and appeared full of authority strode forward and pinned Lyra with an ominous glare, before he announced clearly, “Lyra Coventry, Lady Weston, you are under arrest, charged with the murder of your husband, Roger Coventry, fifth Earl of Weston.”
