Please acknowledge receipt of this demand within one fortnight.
Salutations,
Quimbly
Another notein what Lila now recognized as Keenan’s handwriting.
Paid in full, 30 August.
But this made no sense at all!
She traced back events in her mind. Blakely had called off his betrothal to her in June of 1825 and shortly afterward, her father had moved their family under what had seemed to be havey-cavey circumstances up to Bryony Manor.
Apparently, her father had negotiated some sort of devil’s bargain with Pemberth’s brother last summer.
But if Keenan had paid the debt in full, then why had Pemberth been forced to marry her?
She frantically began searching through the accounting journal once again. She needed to figure this out. Something was not right.
What if her Pemberth had married her under false pretenses?
What had really happened to Keenan?
There must be more here! She began opening drawers and checking for any files she might have missed. At the bottom of the lowest left-hand drawer, she noticed something odd. The drawer appeared shallow in depth.
Feeling like something of a sleuth, investigator, orspy, she located the knife she normally used to open envelopes and began wedging it around the wooden bottom.
Pop!
It lifted off. And beneath the false drawer, a small stack of papers sat innocently beckoning her to peruse.
Certificate of Death
She skimmed over the information.
Keenan David Timothy Saint-Pierre, Died 8 September, Year of our Lord 1826.
And then her eyes moved to the next line.
Cause of death: Suicide
“Has the desk finally consumed you completely?” Pemberth’s voice had her slamming the drawer shut and jolting up. He obviously had not intended her to discover the death certificate. He would have informed her of the hidden papers if he’d wanted her to know.
Wouldn’t he?
Something cold took hold of her heart at the information she’d discovered earlier. Why had he married her if the debt had been paid?
What has Father done now?
“Oh, um. Not yet.” And then she forced a smile. “You’re back early.” Should she ask him now? He looked more handsome than ever today, dressed somewhat formally in a waistcoat and black jacket. He’d been visiting their neighbor on the north, an elderly man who wanted to thin his herds. Vincent had hoped he might be able to strike a bargain.
He did not keep a valet and so she’d tied his cravat earlier that morning. She blinked at the illogical notion that each day he did, indeed, appear even more handsome to her than he had the day before.
More lovable.
“Lord Oakley is willing to sell me the sheep on credit.” He appeared quite satisfied with himself. She’d requested a subscription toThe Observerand the first of the papers had arrived two days ago. He’d been quite right in that there was more profit in sheep than potatoes. “Come here and perhaps we can celebrate.” His smile hinted at his lusty intent.
And without fail, her body was his to command.
