“You are correct, my love,” she said with a weak smile. “Giving back what he took was the right thing to do, whether it harms us or not. But some will only see the sin, not our attempt to remedy it, nor our innocence in the initial act.”
“People like Nora’s mother,” Juliet whispered.
Marianne tried not to show her pain and anger. “Yes, I’m afraid so. There are consequences to what Papa did. They will be visited on us, it seems, since he is no longer around to pay them.”
“Is that why Cousin Samuel is asking us to leave the house in a month?”
Marianne froze. It seemed her sister had beenverybusy finding out information she’d been trying to keep a secret. “How did you hear that?”
Juliet cast her eyes away in guilt. “I…I listened a little after you asked me to leave the room when he came to supper two nights ago. I didn’t hear everything, but he was very angry, wasn’t he?”
Marianne let out her breath in a long burst. “Samuel inherits Papa’s title now, and with what our father did, he’ll have a long road to walk to bring the name Martingale back to any kind of respectability. He believes having us away from London, out of this house, will help people forget.”
“He thinks it’s our fault?” Juliet wailed.
“He’s a blustering blowhard who only cares about himself,” Marianne burst out, shaking her head. “That he would cast a child out onto the—”
She stopped herself, for she saw the fear light in Juliet’s eyes.
“Mari?” she whispered.
Marianne caught her hands. “I am making arrangements, my love. We have a little money from Papa’s estate.” A very little, but she didn’t mention that. “And we will find a happy spot where we can live together. With time, people will forget about what our father did and it will all be…fine.”
She said the words, but didn’t believe them. But from the way Juliet’s eyes lit up with faith and hope, it was clear her sister did. Juliet launched herself into Marianne’s arms.
“You’ll fix it, Mari! I know you will,” Juliet whispered. “May I go up to see Miss Bennett?”
Marianne smiled at the mention of Juliet’s beloved governess. “Of course. I’ll see you later, dearest.”
Her sister left the room, her troubles abated for the moment. Marianne’s, of course, were not. The settlement she and her sister would be allowed thanks to their cousin was hardly enough to pay for their own expenses. She would not be able to retain Miss Bennett, who was the light of her sister’s young life. In truth, she might not even be able to retain her own maid.
She rubbed a hand over her eyes and got to her feet, fighting the nausea and anxiety that rose up from deep within her. She stumbled from the breakfast room and down the hallway toward her father’s office. There she had collected all her financial documents and some inquiries she’d made about a new residence. Perhaps if she looked them over again, she could stretch the funds just a little further, for her sister’s sake.
She entered the office and tears leapt to her eyes. This place still held the spirit of her late father inside its walls. She smelled the scent of his tobacco still on the air. She could all too easily picture him in the leather seat behind the desk, smiling up at her.
She was angry with him. But she had loved him. She still loved him.
“How could you leave us like this, Papa?” she murmured as she walked to his chair and sank into its soft cushion. “How am I to carry on?”
She let herself sit like that for a moment, eyes closed, the smoky scent of the air filling her lungs. Then she pushed her shoulders back and focused on the papers strewn out in front of her. The numbers on them were terrifyingly stark. They wove a tale of the desperation she was trying hard to tamp down.
She searched the desk for a quill, but frowned when there was none to be found. An ink bottle, yes, but somehow the quill was no longer where she’d left it.
With an exasperated sigh, she began to open drawers on her father’s desk, digging through his disorganization for the one thing she sought. In the third drawer she opened, she blindly pressed her fingers toward the back of the drawer and smiled. She felt them brush a long, thin handle of some kind, probably a quill crushed back in her father’s distracted hurry. She tugged, and to her surprise, she did not bring forward a pen, but there was a tiny click and a hidden door inside the drawer itself slid partly open as it caught on the myriad of papers on top of it.
She snatched her hand back and stared at the tiny sliver of an opening beneath the obviously false bottom of the drawer. Her heart began to pound as she lowered a shaking hand to push the papers aside and examine the opening more closely.
She could only think of one reason why her father would have such a hidden space in his desk. Only one reason he’d want to hide something.
Because he’d stolen it.
“Please don’t be something horrible,” she whispered as she pressed the opening wider and looked inside. There was a box there, like something that might contain jewelry. She drew it out and set it on the desk, staring at the tiny thing like it might bite and feeling the accusation of its presence even before she dared to open it.
At last, though, she couldn’t escape the drive to see what was inside. To open that box and hope she would find something innocent.
Her fingers shook as she unhinged the tiny clasp on the front of the box, then pressed it open. What she found made her catch her breath. It was a brooch. Beautifully made in ivory and gold. The lady whose profile it depicted had dainty features. Marianne drew the piece out, feeling its weight in her palm, the coolness of the metal back against her skin. Slowly she turned it and realized it was engraved:
Happy birthday, Anne
