My fingers were hopelessly smudged with ink, and I still wore my mother’s old gown when I received the summons to meet Edward’s parents in the sitting room.
“Did they say why they wanted to see me?” I asked the maid who had delivered the message. They had never called for me at this early hour before.
“No, miss.” Her eyes darted from me to the floor.
A chill shook me. The fire had gone out in my room a few hours ago, but I didn’t think that was the cause of the sudden cold. “What do you know?”
“I should not presume—”
“Please. What can you tell me?”
“Only that the missus did not look happy.”
Perhaps she had noticed my abandonment of Louisa after all. This did not promise to be pleasant. “Thank you, Bridget. Would you mind assisting me with removing this dress?”
The servant hurried to help. I thanked her and changed into my day dress, then left my room and walked to the drawing room, each step heavier than the last. To think about having disappointed Edward’s family—who had been so good to me in my time of need—brought me very low indeed. But I would take whatever punishment they saw fit. I only prayed it was not the loss of my employment altogether.
I knocked and entered the room. Edward’s parents sat in chairs pushed close to each other. They held their voices to a whisper. Though the room was decent in size, it felt suddenly small and crammed. I longed to run to the large window behind them and throw open the burgundy drapes so more light could shine through.
“Good morning, sir, ma’am. I heard you needed to speak with me.”
Now alerted to my presence, Edward’s mother looked at me. Her features tightened. “Miss Fairfax, thank you for coming. Please, sit.” She indicated the sofa across from them.
I followed her instructions and folded my hands in my lap, bracing myself for the blow.
Edward’s father cleared his throat. His mustache twitched, but not in amusement. “There is something quite urgent we need to speak with you about. And it is . . . delicate in nature.”
Delicate? Perhaps I had been called here to discuss something else entirely. “Go on.”
Obviously reticent to do so, he turned to his wife and they exchanged a look. She sighed. “It has come to our attention that last night at the ball, a young woman was observed in the arms of a servant. Her behavior was . . . unbecoming.”
They knew about Rosamond? Relief flooded my entire body. “You’ve heard then? Who told you?” Perhaps they were attempting to find the best way to tell Edward, and sought my assistance because of our friendship.
Edward’s mother seemed to slouch in her seat. Her hand fluttered to her mouth. “So it’s true?”
“I’m afraid so.” As much as I despised Rosamond, confirming her poor behavior to Edward’s parents brought me no pleasure. They were sure to be embarrassed by their choice for their son.
“I am astonished,” Edward’s father piped up. “I expected better.”
I didn’t want them to believe it was in any way their fault for not seeing through Rosamond’s façade. “It came as a surprise to me too.”
“That is no excuse.” Edward’s mother’s cheeks had reddened. I suddenly felt quite warm. Why were they both glaring in my direction? Had I unwittingly become some sort of target for their anger?
“I quite agree.” I chose my words carefully.
They exchanged another look, and Edward’s mother nodded once. His father studied me, deep disappointment etched into his features. “In that case, I’m afraid we have no other choice than to ask you to seek employment elsewhere. Immediately.”
Seek employment . . .? “What do you mean?” I had clearly misunderstood something during the course of our conversation.
“We owe your mother a great debt, and we have attempted to repay it by taking you in, giving you a position in our household. But you do not imagine that we could continue to employ someone—a lady’s companion to our daughter, no less—who behaves in such a manner?” Edward’s mother fanned herself as the words sliced through the air. “It would be scandalous.”
“You believe I was the one caught gallivanting with a footman?” I couldn’t help the screech leaving my lips.
“That is what was reported to us, yes.”
“By whom?” But I knew. I could picture her accusing glare as it had been in front of me last night. “Rosamond?”
“She came to us with her concerns, yes.” Edward’s mother narrowed her gaze at me even more. “Now you wish to deny it?”
“I do deny it, yes. I was there, but—”
“What is going on in here?” Edward charged into the room, his eyes flashing, hands balled into fists. He took in the sight of me facing inquisition and raised his eyebrows to his parents. “Louisa informed me that you were accusing Emily of something awful, but I didn’t believe her. Yet here I find you doing just that.”
“Edward, please. This doesn’t concern you.” Edward’s father held up his hand, as if by doing so he could silence Edward. He did not know his son very well.
“If it concerns Emily, it concerns me.”
His mother lifted an eyebrow. “Miss Fairfax”—she emphasized my name—“has found herself in a compromising position, and we will not be embarrassed by having such a servant in our household.”
Even though it was indeed my role, I winced at the word servant, especially given her caustic emphasis on the word. I couldn’t sit there with my hands in my lap any longer. Standing, I worked to control the shaking in my voice. “I told you, I deny it.”
“See?” Edward crossed the room and stood next to me. He looked at me. “Emily only ever tells the absolute truth.”
My chest squeezed, and I looked away. He believed that, but I could not tell him about Rosamond. If he had read the truth of my love for him in my eyes last night—and I did not see how he couldn’t—then he might think my story one born of vengeance.
“We have proof, son.” His father remained calm, even while his mother observed the two of us, panic building in her eyes. It both pained me and gave me a slight nudge of satisfaction to see it.
“What proof?”
“The man she was seen with came forward and confessed to Rosamond.”
Incredible. What had she promised the poor footman in exchange for this lie?
“Why would he do that?” Edward seemed to be calming too, attempting to resolve this with logic instead of emotion.
“Exactly. What would possess him to lie?”
“Em?” Edward grabbed my hand and squeezed—a gesture as familiar to me as breathing. “He is lying, isn’t he? The footman?” His eyes were full of such trust in me, such love for me. Even if it was brotherly love, he was the only person left in this whole world who truly cared for the real me.
At last, I found my voice. “Yes, of course. He’s lying.”
“There.” Edward fixed his gaze once more on his parents. “I will hear no more of such accusations against Emily.”
His father studied him, then nodded. “Very well. Miss Fairfax, you may go. We apologize for the intrusion into your morning.”
“It’s no trouble, sir.” I turned to leave. But before exiting, I leaned toward Edward and lowered my voice. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
I made my way out the door, but stopped once in the hallway, leaning my head against the wall, breathing deep. Rosamond was even more cunning than I had given her credit for.
From inside the room, I heard raised voices.
“Since when are you and Miss Fairfax so close, Edward?”
“Mother, we have always been friends. You know this.”
“I knew you had a childhood friendship, yes, and that you cared for her family. But the behavior I just saw . . . Tell me I am wrong to be concerned.”
“Concerned about what?”
A disbelieving laugh. “You were quite protective of someone who is just a friend to you, Edward. You are engaged to another, are you not? You�
��re not turning your attentions another way? Because you know what is at stake here.”
“Yes, you know I am engaged to Rosamond.” A pause. “And how could I forget what is at stake? I am reminded at every turn.”
“You did not answer my other question.”
Edward sighed, and from experience, I knew the sigh to be tinged with frustration. “Em—Miss Fairfax and I have only ever been friends, Mother. You have nothing to be concerned about on that account.”
27
GINNY
“I can’t believe we did it.”
Ginny stared at the bookstore’s upstairs loft, transformed before her eyes. From the time she and Garrett had started renting the building, the loft had been crowded with junk. She’d always seen the potential in it but had never taken the time to do anything about it. Now, it would make the perfect reading nook to encourage patrons to spend more time here.
Aldwin and Julia had gladly okayed the changes. Gone was the rickety railing, replaced with sturdy wood. The steps that had been too unsafe to climb could now be used. Broken bookcases had been repaired. All thanks to William and Steven. They’d spent the full day working, while Ginny and Sophia cleared away boxes and covered furniture with drop cloths to protect it from the paint they were about to apply to the loft’s walls.
William had to finish up some grading, so he’d had to cut out a few minutes after finishing the construction, but Sophia and Steven had claimed to be up for helping her paint.
“Thank you both so much. I’m so pleased with the result.” Tears clogged her throat. After her torrential downpour in front of Steven two weeks ago, she had no desire to repeat Hurricane Ginny. She swallowed hard. “Just, thank you.”
Steven lightly twirled the hammer in his hands. “We were happy to help.”
Sophia smiled. “Yes. So glad we could.”
“Even on your day off?” Ginny hated that, but Sundays were the only day the bookstore could be closed for part of the day. The whole town usually shut down on Sunday afternoons, giving families time to eat, laugh, and spend time together. “Count this as one of your working days, please. Take tomorrow off.”
Sophia tilted her head and chewed her bottom lip. “I might take you up on that. William just told me he finally heard from Abigail—the friend we met up with in London. She’s got a tip for us about the story. Although if you want to come, we could wait until next weekend to go.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want you to wait that long. I know you’re dying to find out more if you can.” Besides, she didn’t want to interfere with whatever was developing between Sophia and William.
“I’m available if you need an extra hand in the store.” Steven placed the hammer in the toolbox. Garrett’s toolbox. Her husband should have been the one here doing this. But he wasn’t. His friend and his brother had stepped into that role, helping her refurbish the bookstore one project at a time. Helping her create something new and improved.
Steven removed a screwdriver from his pocket and placed it in its proper spot.
Not for the first time ever, Ginny noticed how handsome he was, even wearing sweats and a stained T-shirt, with flecks of construction dust in his hair.
What was wrong with her? She wasn’t even divorced yet, and already her heart was latching onto the nearest guy. But she’d learned her lesson. She could not find her belonging in a man. “That’s too generous. I’ll be okay. But thank you.”
Ginny maneuvered to the back storage room and emerged with two cans of paint: one a vintage blue and the other a cream color. “Shall we?”
Steven snatched the cans from her. She and Sophia followed him up the stairs, where they’d already placed the paintbrushes, rollers, tape, and pans. Sophia, the self-proclaimed Queen of Taping, grabbed the tape and started working.
Ginny jimmied open the first can of paint. She tipped it, and a waterfall of blue became a pond in the pan. Though Sophia had suggested the color, Ginny had gravitated toward it anyway. It reminded her of the wallpaper in her parents’ bedroom at home. Was it possible she actually missed the place, just a little?
“What’s the saying? A penny for your thoughts?” Steven nudged her with his elbow.
“Glad to know my thoughts are worth so much to you.” The rollers leaned against the wall, so she picked up two and held one out toward Steven.
“Ha-ha.” He took it in hand. “But seriously. You’ve got something on your mind.”
“I was thinking about my family.” She dipped her roller in the paint and told him about the estate where she’d grown up. “I haven’t seen any of them since I came here with Garrett. And we rarely speak.” A light tap of the roller against the pan sent the excess paint dripping off. Ginny moved to the nearest wall. The roller glided across, leaving gorgeous blue streaks behind.
“They must miss you.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Or they’re just mad they missed the chance to marry me off to some wealthy Campbell or Livingston.”
“Hmm. Well, I admire the courage it took to move to a completely new country without knowing hardly a soul.” Steven began rolling paint next to her, covering the higher parts of the wall she couldn’t reach.
The paint fumes began to tickle her nose. “Looking back, it doesn’t feel very courageous. Maybe I was just running away.”
“So why are you staying?”
Ginny’s hand stilled, and her head snapped toward Steven.
He scrunched his nose and studied her. “Don’t mistake my meaning. I’m happy you are.” He held his roller suspended in the air while he talked. A glob of paint slid from it onto the floor, which was covered in plastic. “But doesn’t this bookstore remind you of Garrett? Why subject yourself to the memories?”
She gripped her roller hard and pushed it at the wall. These streaks were noticeably darker than the ones she’d painted just a few minutes before. The old familiar ache rose toward her throat. “Of course it reminds me of him. But I’ve fought so hard for a place to call my own. I won’t give it up so easily.”
Behind them, Sophia flicked on some classical music.
“Is it really giving up when it’s not something you wanted to do in the first place?” Steven re-dipped his roller before starting to paint again.
“I’ve asked myself that a thousand times. But what else can I do? Go home? Then I’ll just end up working for my father in some Bentley-run corporation, never measuring up for the rest of my life, just like the first part of my life.”
She pushed the roller toward the edge of the wall, covering the final patch of white. But it didn’t matter how many layers of paint were put on top. She could try to make it flashy and new, but it would always be the same underneath.
Maybe she was stupid to have tried to change her fate. Maybe she should just go home and surrender to her family’s will, try to bend herself into the mold they’d created for her. Perhaps then she’d finally feel like she belonged, even if the belonging wasn’t totally real.
Fake was better than alone and desperate, wasn’t it?
At that moment, the phone in her back pocket started buzzing. Ginny placed the roller on some newspaper on the ground. Her nail beds were flecked with dried paint.
She snatched the phone and stared at the caller ID.
Mother.
She only called when something was wrong. “Sorry, I need to get this.”
“No problem.” He stood, heading back toward his paintbrush.
Ginny inhaled and answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Virginia Bentley, what is this I hear about a divorce?”
Ginny groaned. With quick steps, she walked down the stairs into the main part of the bookstore, finding herself in the Travel section. How she wished she could charter a flight to anywhere but this moment. “How did you find out?”
“Your husband’s lawyer contacted ours, that’s how.”
“What?” How did Garrett even have their contact information?
“Yes, apparently that no-good man of yours th
inks he can squeeze us for money.”
“He wouldn’t do that.” Ginny massaged her temple.
“He only married you for your money in the first place, darling, in case you haven’t figured it out yet.”
The words sliced through Ginny’s heart. “That’s not true.” No, Garrett had loved her, once upon a time—no matter what he’d said. If he hadn’t, then her life had been a lie for the last five years.
“Regardless, our lawyer informed him that we had cut you out of our will long before this day, unless you decide to come to your senses and move back home where you belong.”
It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her. But still, that her parents were placing conditions on her inheritance felt like they were placing conditions on their love for her too.
And no matter how hard things had become here, she couldn’t return to that.
“I’m sorry he bothered you, Mother. I’ll call him and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“If it does, we’ll sue him for harassment.” Even from thousands of miles away, Mother’s familiar harrumph made Ginny wince.
“I apologize for the inconvenience.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness from her tone. “And I’m doing great, thanks for asking.”
The line went silent, and she could almost imagine Mother rolling her eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Virginia.”
“Okay, then. Well, I need to go. I have a bookstore to paint.”
“You aren’t seriously staying, are you? Why? I thought you’d be coming home now that your pathetic excuse for a marriage is over.”
Ginny gripped the phone so tight she thought she might snap it in half. As much as Mother’s digs hurt, the thing that hurt more was that she’d actually, for a moment, considered doing exactly what her mom had suggested.
It was time for Ginny to carve out a place for herself in this world. She would decide what she needed. She would create a home for herself. By herself.
This time, she wasn’t running.
“I’m afraid you’re wrong, Mother. I have no intentions of leaving.”
The Secrets of Paper and Ink Page 18