I flipped to the first page.
I have spent my time in Crowne Hall searching under every poem…
As I read further down the page, my anger grew and evolved into a living thing. I remembered West’s curiosity in Scotland, one I’d discounted for manipulation of my heart.
It had been more.
So. Much. More.
I took a breath, remembering the odd nighttime songs, West absent from bed. He’d been looking for the coin. I told Gray the story, how curious West had been, how the birds sung in the night.
“He was looking for the coin,” I said.
“You were right,” Gray said. “The fear you had about it being in Scotland was true.”
“I’m so fucking stupid.”
Grayson placed his hand on my head, stroking my hair. “You’re not stupid. West had a months-long advantage. When we started looking, he’d already searched Crowne Hall. He knew what we didn’t: Woodsy was never the key. It was never about his poems or his favorite poetry, it was always you, your poetry. Woodsy desperately wanted you to write. So he buried it beneath the first poem you ever wrote him.”
Tears blurred my eyes. “Why wouldn’t my uncle just do that here? Fucking Scotland?”
“I don’t think your uncle could have ever predicted what would happen to you,” Grayson said softly. “Crowne Hall was dangerous. Arthur du Lac burned down his house to get at it. Scotland was a safe choice. The last time it was used was for Josephine…” Grayson trailed off. “I suspect Woodsy gave it to her years ago.”
“Why didn’t West use it? All these months he could have used it.”
“It was the one thing holding you to him,” Gray said. “He wanted you to love him. Truly love him.”
You’ll never be able to leave me until you find it.
“I hate him,” I whispered.
Grayson continued to stroke my hair in a soothing rhythm. “There’s more. West has been writing in it since last year.”
I clenched the leather.
I really wasn’t sure if I wanted to read it, or just toss it in the fire and be done with him. Still, I flipped through pages.
Addicted.
Needing the closure.
I stumbled on the first entry, dated the night of the poker game.
What has she been doing all these years? She’s still so beautiful. Does she still think of me like I think of her? That night got me through everything… My beautiful songbird with the heart of an angel.
Does she still sing for me?
Another one, dated the night after New Year’s.
Dad was way too fucking nervous when he saw me talking to her. I never should have done the bet…she was just a servant. He still doesn’t know how I got rid of the coin. I told him I lost it playing poker. If dad finds out about Story, then she’ll never be safe. He doesn’t accept she’s the love of my life. He can never know.
But why is she with Grayson fucking Crowne?
The next entry was the night of the ball, of Abigail’s engagement.
Rape? Fucking rape? Fuck her. Just like everyone else. She never loved me. Just like all the maids that tried to ruin Dad.
Dad will know what to do.