by Abby Ayles
Francis nodded his thanks.
“Well, let us get down to it,” Grant said. His expression was still relaxed and pleased, but his eyes had turned calculating and watchful. “I assume that you already know why I wanted this meeting.”
It was not a question, but Francis nodded in response anyway.
“I do, my lord,” Francis said, trying to make his smile as relaxed as his father-in-law’s.
“Are you ready to give me your answer?” Grant asked. “Will you take Rosaline as your bride?”
Francis did not break eye contact, but his mind raced. Was there nothing he could say?
“Has she not found herself a suitable match at the balls this Season?” Francis asked.
Grant held his gaze as well, but his smile slipped a bit.
“I have no doubt that there are many men vying for Rosaline’s affections,” Grant said, his voice cooling. “But the only match I see as suitable for her is you.”
You mean my business, Francis thought bitterly. Were it any other man in his position instead of him, Francis knew that Grant Brentwood would be pushing Rosaline toward him.
Grant was only interested in helping himself, and he would make sure that he did, no matter what Rosaline wanted.
At last, Francis relented. He knew what his answer must be, and he was at last resigning himself to his fate.
“Give me until the end of the week to make some arrangements,” Francis said, defeated. “We will discuss all the details then.”
The elderly earl smiled widely. He rose from his chair and extended his hand to Francis.
“I knew you would see reason,” he said, shaking Francis’s hand fervently. Francis allowed him, not returning the handshake, but his father-in-law did not seem to notice.
With a nod, Francis turned and walked out of the office. He had no idea what he had just done, but he did know that he had not had a choice.
Emma was gone, and she was a thief besides, and his business depended on his marriage to Rosaline. There really was nothing left to decide.
***
Francis spent a great deal more time with the children in the following days. Every day, he took a couple of hours to play tag with them throughout the grounds, act out plays with them, careful to avoid anything involving Shakespeare’s works or read to them until they fell asleep.
He took all his meals in the dining room with the children, even though he ate less and less. He had also stopped drinking during the day, even though he desperately wished for a drink each time he thought of Emma.
He had never felt such a strenuous combination of pure rage and utter heartbreak at the same person, and he began to wonder if it was going to be the death of him.
When the day arrived to see Grant Brentwood once more to discuss the details of his marriage and wedding, Francis’s heart felt heavier than ever.
For one insane moment, Francis considered taking the children and fleeing to another part of the country, somewhere where Grant could never find him to blackmail him into marrying his niece.
But Francis knew that that would be foolish, more so than refusing to marry Rosaline. So, with no enthusiasm, he slowly dressed and headed for the stairs.
“Papa,” Rowena said, rushing to her father, her eyes wide.
“What is it, sweetheart?” Francis asked, concerned.
Rowena was out of breath. Had she come from the children’s room? She should not be breathing so hard if she had.
Francis gently placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Calm down, Rowena, darling,” Francis soothed. “Are you hurt?”
Rowena shook her head.
“No,” she gasped. “Winston and I were in Margaret’s room, and…”
“What were you doing in there?” Francis asked. “You know it is not polite to enter an adult’s room without them in there.”
“Margaret was playing in there with us,” Rowena said. “But then, one of the servants came to get her and said it was urgent, and she told us she would be right back.”
Francis nodded slowly.
“Alright, so what happened? Is something wrong with Margaret?” Francis asked. “Is she alright?”
Rowena shook her head.
“I do not think so, Papa,” she said, at last slowly catching her breath. “Something must be very wrong with her because I found this on her desk.”
Francis took the object his daughter was holding. He nearly dropped it when he realized what it was. Caroline’s wedding ring.
“I know that it is not Margaret’s, because Mama used to let me try it on when I was little,” Rowena said. “I think that Margaret must be very confused and think that it belongs to her. I am worried about her, Papa.”
Francis’s heart pounded. His daughter’s innocence was heartbreaking, and this revelation was stunning. If Caroline’s ring was in Margaret’s room…
“Will you take me and show me just where you found this?” Francis asked.
“Am I in trouble, Papa?” Rowena asked, suddenly timid.
“No, sweetheart,” Francis said, trying to give his daughter his best reassuring smile. “I just want to understand why Margaret might have had this.”
Rowena smiled.
“I know you are worried about her, too,” Rowena said, taking her father’s hand. Worried is not exactly what I am, Francis thought to himself as his daughter led him to the nanny’s room.
The moment Francis stepped through the door, his blood froze. Sitting there, in plain view of anyone who happened to be looking, was the candelabra that had belonged to Caroline.
Winston looked at Francis, his expression solemn. Francis thought that Winston might know, or at least suspect, what it all meant.
Francis knew he would need to explain everything to them soon. For now, however, he needed to confirm what he believed he saw.
A more thorough search of the nanny’s room turned up the missing paintings, as well as the silver and other things that had gone missing.
Francis stood staring at the items, his mind spinning. Not only did he have to figure out how to handle this, especially with the children there to bear witness, but…
“Milord?” Margaret’s voice came from the doorway.
Francis turned slowly to face her, and he saw that she was trembling violently.
“What are you doing in my room?” she continued. Francis thought she was trying to sound indignant and violated, and rage vibrated through him.
“Children,” Francis said. “Go ask Johns to have a couple of the servants play tag with you outside until I have finished speaking with Margaret.”
Rowena opened her mouth to protest, but Winston took her firmly by the hand and shook his head. At last, Rowena followed her brother out of the door.
Francis waited until he heard the children descend the stairs before speaking again. “Explain yourself. Now,” he said.
“Milord,” the nanny stuttered. “I am sure that I have no idea how any of this got here.”
“I do not give multiple chances, Margaret,” Francis said, his jaw tightening. “Tell me the truth. Why do you have these things in your room?”
“Please, milord,” Margaret begged. “I do not know how the pictures or the silver or Lady Ashfield’s ring came to be in here.”
Francis dropped his head, slowly opening his hand and exposing the ring.
“Then how did you know that the ring was in here when I hold it in my hand?” Francis asked.
All remaining color drained from Margaret’s face.
“W-what are you doing in my room in the first place?” Margaret asked, her voice now hollow rather than offended.
“May I remind you that this is my house, and I will go where I please?” Francis asked, feeling his blood boil.
“This room is only yours because I allow you to use it. But it is still in my house, and I will not be questioned as to why I go anywhere in my own home.”
Margaret covered her face with her hands and began to cry. Francis was unmo
ved, but it reminded him so of his confrontation with Emma, so he thought carefully before he next spoke.
“It would seem as though I made a terrible mistake,” Francis said.
Margaret raised her head, hope beginning to settle on her features.
“You believe me?” Margaret asked, her entire body trembling violently.
“I believe that I fired and exiled an innocent woman,” Francis continued, as though Margaret had not spoken. “Furthermore, I believe that there is more to all of this than meets the eye.
“If you value your freedom, you will explain yourself to me now. Otherwise, you will spend a great deal of time in prison, and you will never work in the ton again.”
Margaret collapsed to her knees, her sobs renewed.
“Please, do not send me to prison,” she begged.
“Tell me why you have my wife’s things,” he said, his voice rising. “Or I will have no choice.”
Margaret buried her face again, struggling to regain her composure. After a moment, she raised her head, but she would not meet Francis’s gaze.
“Alright,” she said, slowly rising to her feet. “I will tell you.”
Francis folded his arms across his chest and motioned for Margaret to continue.
“I took the items,” Margaret admitted. Francis winced at the implications of her statement, but he pushed away the thought. He nodded again for Margaret to keep speaking.
“I took them because… because someone made me do it,” she said.
“Who?” Francis asked.
Margaret shook her head. Francis stepped toward her.
“Who is making you steal from me?” he asked. “Are they worth the time you will spend in jail?”
Margaret’s eyes grew wide and she shook her head.
“No, milord, certainly not,” she said. “But, if I tell, he will ruin my family.”
Francis realized at once what she was saying. Whoever was behind this was blackmailing her.
He struggled to restrain his anger and soften himself toward Margaret.
“If you tell me what is happening,” he said, lowering his voice. “I can make it alright, whatever it is that this person is threatening.”
Margaret seemed to consider his words. She wrung her hands in worry, and Francis wondered what it was that this person was threatening to do to her family to frighten her enough to make her steal from a very rich and powerful man, and her employer.
After a moment, Margaret nodded.
“It was Lucius Rowley,” Margaret said.
She flinched immediately, as though she expected the man to enact his plan for blackmail the moment she uttered his name. Francis could see how terrified she was of the man, and he felt sorry for her.
The theft could not be excused, but if there was a mastermind behind it, Francis would rather have that person behind bars instead of an innocent pawn.
“It is alright,” Francis said. “If you are in trouble, I will help you. I just need to know exactly what he is doing.”
Margaret nodded, seeming to understand that Francis was now less angry with her.
“I do not know why he is making us do this,” Margaret said.
Francis stopped her.
“What do you mean, us?” he asked.
“I am not the only person he is blackmailing,” Margaret said.
“Who else?” Francis asked, a feeling of sick dread forming in his stomach.
Margaret averted her gaze again.
“Margaret,” Francis asked, becoming desperate. “I really must know. Who else is he blackmailing?”
“It seems that he does this to household help all throughout the ton,” Margaret said. “I was told that, if I did not steal these things and smuggle them out to him, and pin the act on someone else, he would ruin my family.”
The room began to spin. Pieces began falling rapidly into place.
“And that someone else was Emma, was it not?” Francis asked.
Margaret nodded and began to cry again.
“Please, milord,” she begged. “Do not fire me. I need my job. My family is in trouble enough as it is.”
Francis knew he could not deal with her tenure at his home just then.
“Calm yourself, Margaret,” Francis said. “I understand that this was not your fault. We will figure this out later. For now, go see to the children. We will discuss things further soon.”
Margaret nodded, leaving the room before Francis had to ask her again.
Dizzy with the sudden revelation, Francis sat in a nearby chair. Thoughts swirled round in his mind, rapidly forming a very clear picture in his mind.
This went much further than just his wife’s things. This Lucius person was probably behind the recent thefts in the households of his friends in the ton, since it seemed to always be the nannies and governesses taking the fall for the crimes.
And why not? No wealthy, titled person would care about the fate of a servant. Nor would any of them believe the word of the help over a well-known businessman.
With a sickening jolt, Francis realized that Emma had not been behaving like a thief. She had been behaving like a woman who was being blackmailed.
She had been truly terrified to talk about her brother, not just secretive. It must have been because of Lucius.
“Oh, god,” Francis said aloud, the full impact of the situation and the realization hitting him all at once. This was a mistake for which Emma would surely never forgive him.
“What have I done?”
Chapter 33
After her visit with Rosaline, Emma was more conflicted than ever.
She was overjoyed that Marcus looked so well and had received such wonderful news from the doctor. She wanted to be just as thrilled about Marcus being so seemingly happy with Rosaline. However, try as she might, she could not bring herself to be glad for him.
Rosaline was a good match for him, sure. And it did seem as though Rosaline was just as smitten with Marcus as he was with her. But Emma knew, as she suspected that Rosaline did, that there were no other options for Rosaline except for Francis.
Rosaline’s uncle would see to that, of that Emma was certain. Emma could not pretend to be happy for her brother when she knew that he would only get his heart broken.
In truth, she also could not forget that Marcus would not be the only one devastated by Rosaline’s marriage to Francis. Despite the way Francis had treated and spoken to her, she could not force herself to let go of the love she had begun to feel for him.
She fervently wished that those feelings were as easily dismissed as she had been from his employ, but her wishes were all in vain. She also desperately wished that she still had friends within the ton.
She could very much use a trip to visit one of her dear friends. However, after her family fell into such poverty, everyone gradually stopped even writing to Emma.
That was why, when Emma saw a letter come in addressed to her, rather than to her father or Marcus, she almost opened it without checking the sender. However, as she went to open it, her hand froze.
The sender was, in fact, Francis. She stared at the letter for several long moments, her heart pounding and her face heating up.
What could he possibly want? Did he really think that she was not still angry with him for accusing her of being a thief? Or, was he writing to gloat about having sufficiently ruined her chances of working in the ton?
She tossed the letter in the bin, without bothering to read it, cursing Francis for daring to taunt her so. She also found herself feeling refreshed fury with Lucius.
It was his fault that she was in this position in the first place, but there was little she could do about it.
That was not the last letter she received from Francis, however. Over the course of the next several days, she continued to receive at least one a day.
She continued to throw them in the bin, barely sparing them a glance. However, each time she did so, she felt her heart break a little more.
She had thought
that banishing Francis from her life as he had banished her from his would give her some amount of comfort. However, she was wrong.
The following week, there was a knock at her door. Emma stormed from her study, fully expecting to see Francis and prepared to tell him to never return. However, when she opened the door, she gasped.