Chapter 6 - Ravensworth House
Beatrice entered the library before either Cordelia or Julian could release the other’s hand.
Her gaze dropped to their joined fingers.
Cordelia pulled away.
Beatrice’s mouth hardened.
“How efficient.”
Cordelia’s embarrassment instantly became anger.
“What are you doing here?”
“Preventing a catastrophe.”
Julian descended from the gallery.
“This is my house, Mrs. Ashworth.”
“And she is my niece.”
“She is twenty-six.”
“I am aware.”
“Then I fail to see how her decisions require your prevention.”
Beatrice ignored him.
She faced Cordelia.
“You need to return home.”
“No.”
“Thornwood requires you.”
“Thornwood apparently requires my land.”
Beatrice went pale.
Cordelia held up the settlement.
“You knew.”
Beatrice sat.
For the first time in Cordelia’s memory, her aunt looked defeated before an argument had begun.
“You found it.”
“You hid it.”
“I protected it.”
“From me?”
“From Vale.”
Cordelia laughed once.
“You arranged for me to marry him.”
“Because circumstances changed.”
“What circumstances?”
Beatrice looked toward Julian.
Cordelia understood.
“You will not speak in front of him?”
“He is not family.”
Julian’s expression gave no sign whether that offended him.
Cordelia folded her arms.
“He stays.”
Beatrice studied her.
Then she looked suddenly tired.
“When your father died, Thornwood owed money everywhere.”
“I know.”
“No, you do not. Charles was proud. He borrowed to keep servants he could not afford. Bought horses after the income disappeared. He believed every bad year would be followed by a good one.”
“That does not explain my trust.”
“Your mother’s land was protected. Charles refused to touch it.”
“As he should.”
“And then Vale arrived.”
Cordelia’s skin prickled.
“He offered refinancing. Your father refused. They argued.”
“The night before Father’s accident?”
Beatrice looked sharply at her.
“How do you know?”
“I remember more than you hoped.”
Beatrice looked away.
“Yes.”
Julian stepped closer.
“Did Vale cause the accident?”
“I do not know.”
“Did you suspect him?”
“Yes.”
The answer chilled the room.
Cordelia stared.
“You suspected the man might have killed my father and still arranged my marriage to him?”
Beatrice flinched.
“Fourteen years is a long time.”
“Not long enough for murder to become acceptable.”
“I had no proof.”
“You had fear.”
“And hunger!” Beatrice snapped.
Her cane struck the floor.
“You speak as though poverty is noble because you have never had to choose which servant’s child does not receive wages. I sold jewelry. Furniture. Land that belonged to me. I borrowed. I begged.”
“You also lied.”
“Yes!”
The word echoed.
Beatrice breathed hard.
“Yes. I lied. Because every time I told Charles the truth about money, he found some grand plan instead of facing it. After he died, I decided nobody would destroy Thornwood through pride again.”
“So you controlled everything.”
“I saved everything.”
“Except us.”
Beatrice’s expression faltered.
Cordelia continued.
“Edmund grew up believing sugar was wealth. I thought a warm bedroom was extravagance. You told me my existence was a debt.”
“I was angry.”
“You were cruel.”
Silence.
Beatrice looked toward the windows.
“I did what I knew.”
“That is not the same as doing right.”
“No.”
Cordelia had never heard Beatrice admit fault so simply.
It unsettled her.
Beatrice reached inside her reticule.
“I came because Vale visited after you left.”
She placed a key on the table.
“Your father kept a private strongbox at Thornwood.”
Cordelia stared.
“You said everything had been sold.”
“Not this.”
“What is inside?”
“I never opened it.”
“Why?”
“Charles made me promise.”
Cordelia nearly shouted.
“Fourteen years?”
“He said if Vale ever came for Eleanor’s land, I was to give the key to you.”
Julian’s voice became dangerous.
“Vale is already coming for it.”
“I know.”
“Then why now?”
Beatrice closed her eyes.
“Because I thought marriage might end the matter without reopening what Charles discovered.”
Cordelia stared at the woman who had raised her.
“You thought giving me to Vale was safer than learning the truth.”
“I thought alive and wealthy was better than proud and endangered.”
“You never asked what I thought.”
“No.”
The admission hurt.
Cordelia took the key.
“When is Vale expecting my answer?”
“Three days.”
“Not eighteen?”
“He accelerated the deadline.”
Julian frowned.
“He cannot.”
“He can if the contract contains the clause I believe it contains.”
Westcott returned with papers.
Within minutes, he confirmed it.
A default provision allowed Vale to demand immediate settlement if the guarantor attempted to transfer interest in the disputed property.
By investigating her land, Cordelia had triggered it.
“Convenient,” Julian muttered.
Cordelia looked at the key.
“Then we return to Thornwood tonight.”
“No,” Julian said.
She turned.
“No?”
“It is dark.”
“I have traveled in darkness.”
“Someone entered this house to threaten Edmund.”
“That is exactly why we cannot wait.”
He stepped closer.
“And exactly why I will not let you ride into an unguarded property at midnight.”
Cordelia’s eyes flashed.
“Let?”
Julian closed his eyes.
Wrong word.
He knew it.
“I withdraw that.”
“You had better.”
“I suggest.”
“Still irritating.”
“Cordelia.”
“Julian.”
Beatrice watched them.
Something almost amused crossed her face.
Cordelia noticed.
“Do not.”
“I said nothing.”
“Your face did.”
Julian coughed suspiciously.
They left at first light.
Four riders accompanied the carriage.
Cordelia resented them until she saw Edmund sleeping safely beside Mrs. Finch and realized pride was less important than his safety.
At Thornwood, the strongbox sat beneath loose floorboards in Charles Ashworth’s old study.
Dust covered the iron lid.
Cordelia inserted the key.
It turned.
Inside were deeds.
Survey maps.
Letters.
And a small leather journal.
Cordelia opened it.
Her father’s handwriting covered the first page.
If anything happens to me, Percival Vale is responsible.
Cordelia’s knees weakened.
Julian caught her elbow.
She continued reading.
Charles had discovered Vale bribing agents to alter debt documents.
He had learned of valuable coal beneath Eleanor’s land.
He had planned to report everything to a magistrate.
The final journal entry was dated the morning of his riding accident.
Vale requested a meeting at Blackwater Bridge. Beatrice thinks I should refuse. I will go because this must end.
Cordelia could not breathe.
Beatrice whispered, “I begged him not to.”
Cordelia looked up.
“You knew where he went?”
“Yes.”
“And you told everyone he was simply riding?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of Vale?”
Beatrice’s eyes filled.
“Of what he would do to you.”
Before Cordelia could answer, glass shattered downstairs.
Julian drew a pistol from beneath his coat.
“Stay here.”
A shout followed.
Then smoke.
Cordelia ran to the window.
Flames were rising from the stable roof.
A rider galloped away across the field.
Julian cursed.
“It is a diversion.”
“For what?”
A crash sounded behind them.
The study door slammed open.
A masked man rushed inside.
He was not looking at Cordelia.
Not Julian.
Not Beatrice.
He went straight for the strongbox.
Julian tackled him.
The two men crashed against the desk.
Cordelia grabbed the journal.
The intruder struck Julian and broke free.
Then he reached inside his coat.
Metal flashed.
Cordelia saw the pistol before Julian did.
“Julian!”
May you like
The gun fired.
And Julian fell.
