“This is not for my benefit.”
“No? For whom? Some tiresome charity?”
“I wish to establish a dowry for Harriet Smith.”
He gaped like a fish. “That colored woman? You cannot be serious.”
“I am quite serious. As the money does not come to me, it will not impede your effort to drive me out.”
“What would people say? We would be laughingstocks!”
“John, please. It is my money. Papa willed it to me. I should be able to do with it as I wish.”
He smiled broadly. “Fortunately, I administer the funds. Foryourbenefit. As this demonstrates, women are incapable of financial judgment.”
“Why do you argue? If I have fewer resources, it will only aid your ability to seize Hartfield.”
That made him squint. He plodded through the implications. “I have anobligation to protect your interests. If you become destitute, Isabella will insist you live with us.”
I gave a dry laugh. “Is that my interest you protect, or yours?”
“It happens that they align,” he said snidely.
My smile was sweet. “I have a legal right to make requests of my guardian. If you find the prospect of assisting Harriet so offensive, then I am sure you do not wish this to be a public petition before a judge.”
His eyes widened. “Are you threatening me?”
“I amasking. Please.”
He wiggled the pipe stem. “I will consider it. A hundred pounds would make the girl prize stock for some pig farmer.”
I gritted my teeth until I could speak. “Her dowry shall be fifteen thousand pounds.”
“What?” he shrieked. “Are you insane? That is half your fortune! You would ruin our family. That is madness. Get out.”
I swallowed. “That is the amount I wish.”
“Has she cast African witchcraft on you? Or… you are scheming together! She will marry a Caribbean slave and slip you the money.”
“There is nothing false about my request. You may make it as legally exact as you wish.”
“You are under aspell.” He reached for the five-pound notes in my hand. I pulled my hand away, and he scowled. “Give those to me.”
“No,” I said.
He grabbed my wrist and turned, shoving his back into my face and trapping my elbow between his arm and his side. My nose ground against his smoky coat. Bones grated in my forearm. I felt him pry at my clenched fingers, then a yank and tearing paper.
Release was so sudden that I stumbled, my chest heaving and my heart pounding. My elbow hurt like fire. My wrist and hand crawled where his fingers had clutched like I was coated with fetid slime.
He buttoned his coat, sniffing in irritation. “I am protecting you from yourself. Good day.”
The driver hadthe coach door opened and the step lowered before my second boot left my sister’s threshold. I slowed as I approached him, then stopped. “I have decided on an adventure.”
“Ma’am?” he said politely.
“Mrs. Darcy’s suggestion seems conventional. Where would a daring tourist stay in London?”
He frowned. “Not Mivart’s, then?”
