He asked for the opportunity to explain why he had come at all.
He did not ask her to forgive him.
Emily read the letter twice and set it beside the cracked porcelain washbasin.
Downstairs, her father’s voice thundered through the breakfast room.
Arthur had apparently recovered from the shock of meeting a duke.
He had also discovered a new use for his eldest daughter.
When Emily entered, he pushed a sheet of paper across the table.
It contained a list of names, addresses, and instructions for an elaborate luncheon.
At the top stood the name of His Grace, the Duke of Westmere.
“You will write to him today,” Arthur announced.
Emily remained standing.
“Why?”
“Because you have somehow made an impression on the man.”
Lady Harrington lowered her cup with deliberate care.
“Your father means that you behaved unusually well during a difficult evening.”
“You called me a burden and offered me to him as a joke.”
Clara gave an impatient sigh.
“Must you repeat every unpleasant thing anybody says?”
Emily looked at her sister.
“Only the things people pretend they never said.”
Arthur’s fist struck the table.
“You will not take that tone in my house.”
Emily glanced toward the windows, where rainwater had stained the plaster beneath a leaking cornice.
She had spent years calling the building her home, even while her father reminded her that she owned nothing within it.
Now she understood how carefully those words had been chosen.
“His Grace knows about the mortgages,” she said.
Arthur went still.
Lady Harrington’s fingers tightened around the handle of her cup.
“Every gentleman knows another gentleman’s affairs,” Arthur replied.
“Does every gentleman know that the estate may be taken from us?”
Clara’s spoon fell against her plate.
Arthur rose so quickly that his chair scraped the boards.
“Get out.”
Emily left without touching the invitation.
In the corridor, Higgins waited beside the servants’ stair.
He had a narrow face and watery eyes, but his hands were steady now.
“Miss Emily,” he whispered, “there is something you ought to see.”
He led her to the old morning room, which had been closed since her grandmother died.
Dust covered the furniture, and a sheet had been draped over the piano.
Higgins unlocked a cabinet with a small brass key.
Inside lay an account book bound in blue leather.
“Your grandmother asked me to keep this safe,” he said.
Emily opened it and found pages of payments recorded in a neat, unmistakable hand.
