Page 23 of What the Heart Knows

Scarcely a week remained before the new moon. The plan to feed her laudanum was easily countered. With Father and Brookbank, she’d pretend to eat by dropping food into her napkin. She’d find a way to sneak food from the larder and pantry into her rooms and eat only that.

More worrisome was the lack of time to give the information she learned to someone who could act on it. Even less time, if Brookbank’s Yarmouth prelate arrived sooner than later. Communicating what she’d learned quickly was crucial, but how?

Father and Brookbank would watch her every move to prevent rebellion against the marriage. They’d no doubt watch Amanda and anyone else in the household she spoke with. Save for Cook and the butler, most of the servants would refuse to help her out of fear for their jobs. Others might be truly loyal to Father or Brookbank. She’d have to seek help from the two senior servants.

If only Kit was not so completely inaccessible. His attempt to save her from potential drowning at Trout Creek may have been misguided, but he’d seen a problem and acted on the information available. He was thoughtful and considerate of superiors, subordinates and equals alike. Kit listened carefully, only taking action after considering options and consequences. Just look at their conversation about the various properties he’d toured. He’d considered her comments but didn’t jump to agree or disagree. Instead, he invited her to drive out with him and re-visit those properties as a means to consult her further. At the time, the invitation had warmed a small empty space in her chest. She enjoyed Kit’s company, and his request implied he might share those sentiments.

Then Father returned. That small flicker of affection nearly winked out. She’d enjoy no ride with Kit. He’d defended her to Father but also agreed not to approach her. She’d been left with a confusing mess of feelings and the clear possibility that she’d imagined any affection on Kit’s part. Contacting him would be entirely too forward, but he would help, regardless of what he did or didn’t feel for her personally.

However, Father made communicating with Kit impossible. She felt trapped, more so than any of the times when Father locked her in her rooms for some imagined offense. Thank heavens he’d not yet decided she must be confined.

However, she had no obvious recourse. How could she derail Brookbank’s plans without endangering herself or others? The solution must rest in something less than obvious. An action so ordinary as to be completely above suspicion.

That’s what I must do. Continue about my daily routine and seize the first opportunity to disguise a request for help as something else entirely.

An idea began to form. She felt sure enough of success she immediately penned the message for Kit. Ringing for Amanda, she dressed, put the sealed note into a pocket, and descended to the breakfast room.

Father sat reading his newspaper. Brookbank indulged in a plate laden with ham, eggs, and several pastries. He ate with astonishing speed and stood to refill his plate from the buffet when he saw Meg in the doorway.

“Good morning, Miss Fenneman. May I fill a plate for you?”

“Thank you, no.” She moved into the room pouring coffee from the urn and taking a small muffin onto her saucer before sitting. “I breakfasted in my room earlier. I’m here out of courtesy to our guest. Where’s Mr. Sousman, Father?”

Father had looked up when Brookbank spoke to her. While she’d served herself, he’d folded his newspaper.

“Good morning, dear Meg. Ahm. Brookbank has something to tell you.”

Meg frowned at her father. He shifted in his chair and clutched his hands together. He seemed positively nervous.

“Miss Fenneman,” Brookbank began as she sat. “I regret to tell you that Mr. Sousman was so dismayed by your behavior yesterday, he withdrew his offer and left, refusing to remain under the same roof with a woman who would insult his excellent and honorable proposal.”

Meg sipped her coffee. Of course, Brookbank would attempt to shame her into believing Sousman’s departure was her fault. If she were ashamed, she might be more likely to accept Brookbank. What surprised her was that he had Father’s support. Though given the changes in Father since returning from the war, perhaps she should not have been surprised. Either way she was far from ashamed, she was proud. She’d stood up for what she believed to be right and proper. She wouldn’t be forced into a marriage she didn’t want. Especially with a man she knew to be a criminal tyrant.

The clerk resumed his seat opposite Meg. “Ahem. He cleared his throat. Think you, Squire, I should tell Miss Fenneman the good news?”

“Well, perhaps…” Father hesitated.

Over the rim of her cup, Meg watched the exchange. Brookbank’s expression hardened, and Father blanched.

Brookbank’s foot is firmly on Father’s throat.

“Why, of course,” Father agreed. His smile forced.

Brookbank did not seem to care.

“Daughter, I am pleased to say your future’s assured, despite your recent ill-considered behavior.”

She set her cup down, resting her hands on either side, and blinked. “Whatever can you mean, Father?”

“He means, my dear…” Brookbank reached across the table and captured her hand. “You and I shall marry within the fortnight—as soon as the prelate arrives from Yarmouth.”

“Y…you do not wish Vicar Taylor to perform the ceremony?” She fluttered her lashes and tugged her hand away.

He held his grip for a moment before releasing her. A silent communication of his pending power over her. Power he obviously imagined he already held.

“As interesting as this news is…” She brightened her smile while feeling sick to her stomach. “I’ve still a household to run. Please excuse me gentlemen, I must consult with Cook on today’s meals and what supplies might be needed for the wedding breakfast.”

“Of course, daughter,” Father murmured and resumed his newspaper.