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“I have no doubt that she is angry with me since I didn’t return home last night as I promised.”
“You know better than to make promises you might not be able to keep.”
Oliver sighed. “I just assumed I was attending a radical meeting and I would be home in time to sleep in my bed.”
“That was foolish on your part.”
“Do you ever get tired of keeping secrets?”
With a lifted brow, Corbyn remarked, “I do not.”
“My sister hates me, and I have no doubt my wife will follow suit soon,” Oliver confessed. “The only reason why Madalene approves of me is that she learned the truth of us before she married Baldwin.”
“This is what you signed up for.”
“I know, but I must admit that I am growing tired of it all.”
Corbyn eyed him closely as he asked, “Do you want to stop working as an agent?”
“No,” he rushed out.
Adjusting his white cravat, Corbyn suggested, “Why don’t you take some time off and decide what it is that you truly want out of life?”
“I don’t need time off—”
Corbyn put his hand up, stilling his words. “You have been working nonstop since we recruited you out of Oxford. It is time for you to take a break, even if it is only for a week or so.”
Before he could respond, Corbyn hit the top of the coach and it began to slow down. “This is my stop,” he said as he put his hand out the window to open the door, “but my coach will see you to Hawthorne House.”
Oliver watched as Corbyn exited the coach and disappeared into the crowd of people on the pavement.
The coach continued down the narrow streets, and Oliver leaned his head back. Perhaps it would be good for him to take a break and spend time with his lovely wife. He just needed to make one stop before going home.
Chapter Eleven
Emmeline’s fingers dancedover the ivory keys of the pianoforte as her mind continually turned towards her inheritance. She wanted to go visit Lockhart Manor, but would Oliver insist on accompanying her? She hoped not, but the property did belong to him since they were married. Frankly, she had little say in the matter if he wanted to travel with her.
As she played her last note, Harriet’s voice broke through her musings. “Did you hear me, dear?”
Emmeline lifted her hands off the keys and shifted on her bench to face her mother-in-law, who was sitting on a settee. “I did not,” she replied. “I’m afraid I was woolgathering.”
“I assumed as much,” Harriet replied with a kind smile. “I was just saying that you play superbly.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. “My mother ensured that I was proficient at the pianoforte and the harp.”
“Both are fine instruments.”
Emmeline nodded. “That they are.”
Sitting next to her mother, Jane eyed her curiously as she lowered her book to her lap. “You have been out of sorts since you met with your father’s solicitor,” she commented. “May I ask what you discussed?”
Rising, Emmeline walked over and sat across from them on a camelback settee. She took a deep breath before revealing, “I am entitled to a dowry of fifteen thousand pounds, and I inherited a small estate in Whitstable.”
Jane stared back at her in disbelief. “I thought you had no dowry.”
“I thought so as well, but it appears that my uncle deceived me,” Emmeline said. “Most likely, he intended to keep my dowry and estate for himself.”
“How distasteful,” Harriet murmured. “I had always assumed Lord Taylor was an honorable man.”
