“When did you have time to paint twenty-eight canvases, decorate this house, be a governess, and manage the color and designs of wool at a textile mill?”
“There is not much else to do living alone.” She did have more free time than any other wife simply because she didn’t have a husband or children living with her. At least, not until recently. “My mornings are spent painting, visiting the mill, and in the gardens. In the afternoon, I instruct Melcombe’s nieces. If it is light enough when I return, I will paint some more. In the evening I attend to household duties.”
“From what I can see, you have done your best to save and earn a small fortune.”
“I have tried.”
“Yet, that wasn’t enough that you also had to embezzle from the household accounts.”
“I did no such thing,” she argued.
“I compared your accounts to the amounts in the creative way you keep the household ledgers, and they match, such as Mrs. McGraw’s salary for the last two years has been paid to you.”
Charlotte wanted to disappear. Victor likely hated her now, and for good reason. She had lied to him and kept secrets, but she had her reasons, and she was certain that he could not possibly understand.
“It is not for the reasons that you believe.”
He turned and stalked to the door. “I knew that you kept secrets, at least the one about being a governess. It never occurred to me that there was so little trust. And worse, that you didn’t think I could or would provide for you.” He glared. “No, what is worse is that the servants, whom I employ, kept your secrets as did Melcombe and Harwich, who I once considered friends.”
Before she could answer, he exited, slamming the door behind him.
It may be a relief to no longer have secrets, but she had also just ruined any chances of having a real marriage.
If only she could make him understand, though a gentleman like Victor could never appreciate the precarious position her father had put her in by making them marry.
Victorstaredatthepainting that hung in his chamber. The one he had admired that first day, then he stepped closer. It had been painted by Charles Thorn. “Of course.”
He turned away, not wishing to look at it any longer and considered taking it down.
His anger hadn’t lessened.
He was also hurt if he were to be honest with himself. He had thought Charlotte a friend more than a wife for so many years. He thought her better than those women he encountered in Society who connived to get what they wished. He had felt lucky that he hadn’t needed to look for a wife amongst them because he already had a sweet and kind wife waiting for him in Willanton.
Except, she had schemed better than those who had trained for Society since birth and had managed to secure the silence of her activities from so many.
Did the servants laugh at him behind his back? Did his friends?
Worse, Melcombe and Harwich deliberately said nothing to him about being part owner, and they had done so at the bidding of Charlotte.
Humiliation didn’t begin to describe his emotions. Did they also know about her paintings and that she took the position as governess to increase her wealth?
He’d get no answers standing in his bedchamber, but he would at the mill.
After stalking from the house, he had his horse saddled and then he rode to the mill, except neither gentleman was present. Therefore, he rode directly to Melcombe’s estate and demanded that he see him immediately.
The butler ushered him into a sitting room where he found not only Melcombe, but Harwich and their wives.
“I’d like to speak to the gentlemen privately,” he informed them.
“What is this about?” Melcombe asked, coming to his feet.
“It is a private matter.”
Melcombe looked to his wife then back to Victor. “Does this have anything to do with your wife?”
Victor glared at him.
“Is it because she is our governess?” Lady Melcombe asked, also standing. “I had thought you knew, but Charlotte recently informed me otherwise.”
