“No. Trent never showed it to me.”
Ariana leaned over the desk and slid open the bottom drawer, reaching in to extract the hidden book. “Trenton never showed it to me either. I found it myself. But he knows I’ve read it.” She handed the journal to Dustin. “I’d like your opinion.”
Dustin stared at the book for a moment before he reached out and took it. Wordlessly, he scanned the pages, one after the other, until, twenty minutes later, he raised his head. “I’d kill her myself if she weren’t already dead,” he bit out, tossing the journal to the desk. “Either the woman was totally deranged or so corrupt that she was lying to herself as well as the world.” He turned blazing eyes on Ariana. “I hope you don’t believe a word of this. Vanessa and Trent were never involved … physically or emotionally … much less betrothed. Why, to read that trash one would almost think—”
“That Vanessa’s words were written specifically to implicate Trenton,” Ariana finished.
Dustin stopped in midsentence. “What?”
“I’ve thought about it again and again since I read the journal. I remember my sister, and she was not insane. I can’t imagine that she would totally fabricate a nonexistent relationship, at least not in her own mind. She might manipulate the ton into believing she and Trenton were to be wed and even go so far as to spread vicious lies about him when he didn’t concede to her will. But why would she lie in her private writings? After all, no one reads a journal but the one who keeps it, right?”
“Unless someone intends for that journal to be read by others,” Dustin continued slowly, completing Ariana’s thought.
“Exactly.”
“You believe that, once Vanessa died, Baxter altered the pages of the journal in order to blackmail Trent?”
“It is something my brother would do. After all, his antipathy for Trenton was no secret.” Ariana’s shoulders sagged. “But that’s where my theory falls short. I studied that journal carefully, and I’m absolutely certain that the handwriting is Vanessa’s, not Baxter’s.”
“Could Baxter have coerced Vanessa to write specific things prior to her death?”
Ariana shook her head adamantly. “No one could force Vanessa to do anything. Least of all Baxter. He’s not a strong-willed man by nature, and he was especially malleable when it came to Vanessa. Besides, what would have been the point? Vanessa was alive, so the journal couldn’t serve as blackmail. And Baxter had no way of knowing that Vanessa was going to be the victim of a tragic drowning. If he had, he would have moved heaven and earth to save her.”
“So we’ve reached an impasse.” Dustin frowned. “Unless Vanessa penned the incriminating entries herself, then left the journal in a conspicuous place so it could be used against Trent.”
“That would make sense … if my sister premeditatedly planned her own death. But Trenton believes Vanessa was too self-centered to intentionally plot her own suicide. And, quite frankly, I agree.”
“Then how did she die?”
Ariana wagged her head slowly from side to side. “I don’t know. Perhaps it was an accident. If it was suicide, it had to be totally on impulse. It’s the only way Vanessa would kill herself.”
Dustin stared thoughtfully at the discarded journal. “Do you mind if I keep this for a few days?” he asked at length. “Rereading it might spark something.”
“By all means.” Ariana gestured for him to take the journal. “You have more right to it than I. You’re Trenton’s brother.”
“And you’re Trenton’s wife … very much his wife,” Dustin returned emphatically. Seeing Ariana’s flush, he shook his head. “I wasn’t referring to a physical union, Ariana. I was referring to a spiritual one. A month ago you were wed. Now you’re married. Think about it.” He stood, stretching. “I believe I’ll take the journal and retire to my room. After all, I have days of renovation ahead of me.” He ruffled Ariana’s hair. “Stop worrying. You’re going to provide me with an army of nieces and nephews to spoil. And just think of all the stories we’ll be able to share with them.”
Automatically, Ariana lay her palm against her abdomen, struck by the wondrous possibility Dustin had evoked with his affectionate comment. She could be carrying a child. Trenton’s child.
Myriad emotions welled up inside her at the thought: overwhelming tenderness, protectiveness, yearning. A baby: someone who needed her, who turned to her for love; someone on whom she could lavish all the attention and nurturing she had been denied in her own childhood.
And Trenton: Would having a child make him happy? Would he gaze at his son or daughter with that intense emotion he tried so hard to repress and only Ariana could see?
Yes, somehow she knew he would. Together, they would raise their child, provide him with all the precious things life had to offer: sisters and brothers to play with and parents to envelop him in their ever-growing love.
And, year after joyous year, Christmas would come.
Tears welled up in Ariana’s eyes as she recalled the afternoon she and Trenton had walked along Osborne beach, the magical moment when he’d promised her Christmas at Spraystone, a private Eden filled with snow and laughter and love.
With their entire world in turmoil, would that dream ever be realized?
“He’ll be back, Ariana,” Dustin said gently. “I promise you, Trent will be back.”
Ariana blinked away her tears. “Of course he will.” She stood, squeezing Dustin’s arm. “Go rest. We have a great deal of work to do before the sitting room is absolutely perfect. And who knows? Trenton could arrive home any moment.”
Even as she spoke the words, she prayed they were true.
CHAPTER