Patience pulled her arms under head. “Assets have nothing to do with theMinerva. Stay focused.”
Could people like the St. Maurs think of Hope as an asset?
Would they be so callous as to term my child that? My soul wrenched and twisted about my middle, wringing like a rag on a washboard. Daniel said they were slaveholders. Of course they’d call my beautiful Hope, with her dark skin and eyes, chattel.
Jerking at a drawer, I found it wouldn’t open. “Ashbrook locked his desk this time. None will budge. How are we to get it open?”
Patience yawned, “If I were the duke, I’d shoot the lock.”
“That’s not helping.” I looked at Daniel’s desk and smoothed my fingers along the face of the drawers. Then I fingered the dustless underside of his desk and struck a piece of brass. Daniel was a creature of habit. I freed the key.
Patience turned over on the sofa. “Smells like coffee was spilled here. That’s a nauseating scent.”
My friend wasn’t herself. “You keep resting.”
Jabbing the key in the lock, I twisted and opened the drawer. I could rifle through Daniel’s things—his papers, his letter, more half-written drafts to Phoebe Dunn, to me.
Pushing them away as if my touch would make them ash, I dug deeper until I found my marriage contract to Cecil. Scouring each word, I searched for a provision for children, something to confirm that I had a child, evidence of Hope.
Nothing.
I slammed my hand on the desk. Pain shot to my wrist.
“Jemina?”
My face was wet and hot. “The answer should be here. It’s not.”
“You’re crying, Jemina. Crying and burglary don’t mix.”
“Tonight they do. Why can’t I find proof, something that mentions my daughter?”
“Jemina, you have to calm.”
“The contract. There’s no mention of minor children, no mention of any provision, just my dower, a dower of four thousand pounds. Four thousand pounds is not twenty thousand pounds.”
“No, that is correct.”
Pushing the paper closer to the candle, I hunted for an explanation. “Why would Ashbrook give me a draft for twenty thousand pounds when it says my dower should be four thousand?”
“I saw the draft, Jemina. You definitely are in possession of twenty thousand pounds.”
“It’s not St. Maur money, it’s Ashbrook’s.” Everything broke inside. I started to gasp and swatted my stinging eyes. “Another secret between us.”
“A generous secret, Jemina. Generous. He’s been protecting you from the beginning.”
Collecting the pieces of my spirit, my broken belief that my heart and my circumstances hadn’t been manipulated, I picked up the contract.
Then I saw it.
Saw it plain and in the open. One of the witnesses to the marriage agreement was M. Willingham. I jumped up and shoved the paper at Patience. “Is it too much of a coincidence that my Mr. Willingham, my aggressive suitor, witnessed this document? He knew me before as Cecil’s wife. He’d know about Hope.”
Patience folded her arms over her stomach. “I never liked him, even if he’s tall.”
“He knew who I was and courted me.”
“If this Willingham is your Willingham, I wonder why he would act as if he were newly meeting you?”
“A man. Lying. I think I see a pattern.”
