At one time, it would have hurt her pride to know she had been abducted and married for the sole purpose of having some lingering remnants of wealth taken from beneath her nose. But now that she had fallen in love with the very man who may have orchestrated it all… another shudder of fear and heartache swallowed her insides.
Turning in place, she looked around her chambers; she might not know what to do with Dorian, but she did feel that it was best to avoid him for a while.
Being away from him might help her straighten her mind out, and she felt guilty as well. She should have been with Harriet from yesterday morning. Her cousin had just had a traumatic night, she should have been there. Instead, she had quite possibly thrown herself at a man who cared little for her and more for her purse, like some wanton, desperate lady, trapped in a fairytale.
After packing a bag, she headed to Dorian’s study. Hovering at the threshold, she steadied her nervous breaths, forced a blithe look on her face, then stepped in to find him in his shirtsleeves, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Smiling weakly, she went to him and kissed his cheek. “I’m heading to Victoria’s to spend the night with Harriet. I think I need to be with her tonight, because I know if what happened at Vauxhall had happened to me, she would be right by my side.”
He canted his head to the left, his eyes narrowing. “Are you all right?”
“No,” she shook her head, half-lying. “I feel guilty about not being there for my cousin.”
His shoulders fell. “I understand. Safe journey, and send me notice when you’re ready to return.”
She rested a trembling palm on his jaw and whispered, “Get some rest, my love.”
CHAPTER 27
Amillion thoughts swarmed relentlessly through Evelina’s head. Curled in the arm of one of Victoria’s couches, she silenced them and reached for her cup of tea. “Did the constables ask you about the men who attacked you?” she asked.
“No,” Harriet replied softly. “No one has come to me but Benedict. When he returned from the meeting with your husband, he told me the men were not aiming to harm him. They had come for me.”
For the second time that day, Ellie felt shock root her to where she’d sat. Her hands began to tremble—why had Dorian not told her that? Her heart soured at all the deceptions and omissions. Did Dorian think she was too weak to understand what was happening?
She swallowed. “Harriet. Do you know if my father truly left me a dowry? Did… did Aunt and Uncle know and deliberately withhold it from me?”
Harriet furrowed her brows at the sudden question. Then, she shook her head. “I do not know, but I do know that mother and father did go to the bank the night after you were taken from us and the day after you’d married Beaumont. They’ve been having arguments all week with mama cursing your husband’s name to around the world and back.”
That was answer enough. The bitter feeling that lurched up her throat made her want to cry and purge her stomach’s contents. Why did no one love her for who she was, and only for what she had?
“When I was a child, I wondered every day why I could not live the life I wanted,” Ellie began to murmur. “Why I had to be at lessons every hour of the day, why my only refuge was with you on the odd Saturday or at balls.
“Now I know,” she finished, ducking her face in melancholy. “I was nothing but a means to an end.”
“No, you’re not,” Victoria shook her head profusely. “Not to us. Please do not say such silly things again, Ellie.”
Setting the tea aside, Ellie wrapped her arms around her middle. “I just cannot stomach the continued lies after lies. It is starting to feel as though my whole life has been a lie.”
The sun was setting, and amber rays turned the wooden coffee table into striations of burnt sienna. A footman knocked on the door, and Victoria turned to him. “Come in.”
He obeyed, then went to bow before Ellie, before extending a silver platter to her. “A letter came for you, Your Grace.”
Curious, Ellie took the letter and unfolded it while Victoria made a cup. “Who is it from?”
“I haven’t the faintest.”
Dearest Evelina
This humble servant of yours would like to let you know that your darling husband is not the righteous man you think he is. Upon my honor, I will tell you that the only reason your husband, Dorian Beaumont, married you, is to steal the large inheritance your late father left for you.
You may have no knowledge of this, but his merchant business was unlike any other that London has ever known. His business, subsidized by many of the ton, brought about many a delight to the patrons. He did not die a pauper as you were always told. Far from it. He managed to leave you a tidy inheritance of five hundred and fifty thousand pounds.
Your husband, just like your aunt and uncle, knew of this, but I doubt he has mentioned it. He knows many other things too. He knows you are looking for your precious Ash.
Has he told you that the cottage in St. John's Wood used to be Ash’s home until he forcefully ejected the boy from the place and took it for himself? I’d wager you he did not, did he?
You are probably asking yourself if any of this is true. I can give you all the proof you desire, but you will have to come to me. I cannot come to you. You can find me at this location; The Dewy TeaHouse in Covent Garden. A few friends and I will be there until midnight. I hope I will see you there… unless you are not interested in knowing about the boy he killed.
