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Her uncle gently put a hand on her shoulder. “I think in your heart you know what I am telling you is true.”
Tears came to her eyes as she pondered her father’s deceit. Was it possible that her uncle was speaking the truth?
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she admitted softly.
“I know this must be hard for you,” he hesitated, “but I was hoping that you would be open to selling Lockhart Manor to me.”
She shook her head. “I have no intention of selling the manor.”
“I thought you would say that, but it brings us back to the pesky fact that you owe me fifteen thousand pounds since I spent it on your behalf,” he said. “If you aren’t opposed, then you can keep the money and just give me Lockhart Manor.”
“My answer—”
Her uncle spoke over her. “Discuss it with Lord Oliver, and I am sure he will see the merits of this arrangement.” He gave her a pointed look. “I believe I am being more than generous, since this estate is not worth fifteen thousand.”
“Why would you wish to purchase it then?”
He smiled. “For sentimental value.” He walked over to the door. “I shall await your word at The Foolish Oyster Inn.”
“You are welcome to stay here,” she offered.
“Thank you for the kind offer, but I do not wish to intrude.”
“You are family—”
He cut her off. “I appreciate that, but I am more than comfortable at the inn,” he said. “Besides, I enjoy eating their oysters.”
Emmeline realized that she was still holding the receipt and asked, “Would you like the receipt back?”
“You keep it,” her uncle replied, then he departed from the room.
Feeling her legs give out, Emmeline sat down onto the settee as she stared at the paper in her hand. Who was her father in truth? She had only recently discovered he had kept Lockhart Manor a secret from her. What other secrets had he been keeping from her?
Oliver slowed hishorse’s gait as he reached the cobblestone streets of the village. He watched as the children played on the pavement, and he delighted in the sound of their lively chatter.
He made his way towards the mercantile, and Timothy exited the shop to secure his horse. After he dismounted, he extended the reins to the boy and stepped inside of the mercantile.
Constable Philmont stood behind the counter and greeted him, albeit tersely. “How may I help you, milord?”
“I would like to speak to you privately.”
The constable frowned his disapproval as he came around the counter and went to lock the door. “We can speak in my office,” he said, gesturing towards the back.
Oliver followed him to his office and watched as Constable Philmont walked around his desk and sat down.
“Won’t you have a seat?” the constable asked.
“I would prefer to stand for this conversation.”
The constable leaned back in his chair. “Is this about the smugglers again?”
“It is.”
“Proceed, then.”
Oliver’s alert eyes watched the constable closely as he asked, “How long have you been working with them?”
“I beg your pardon?” the constable asked, jerking forward in his seat.
