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“You have to believe me when I say that I never wanted revenge. I honestly wanted to help you defeat him, because I could see that he was attempting to curtail your joy, in the same way that he stole my mother’s by cutting her out of the family.”
He saw the doubt in her eyes and it nearly killed him.
“How could you lie to me this whole time?” she asked. “You don’t care about me at all.”
She refused to look at him. All the light had gone from her eyes.
“That’s not true, but I don’t expect you to believe me. He has us over a barrel. I don’t care about my career, but your reputation.” He ground his teeth together. “I won’t allow you to be ruined.”
“It’s not my reputation I care about, but he’s right. If word of my ruination spreads, the ladies league will be tainted by association. I need to think. And you need to leave.” She fled the room and ran upstairs.
He slammed his fist against a chair back. He hated feeling helpless.
Everything was broken. Would he ever regain hertrust? All of this was because of him. Without him, Foxton would have no further leverage over her.
He’d ruined everything.
He had to explain himself to Beatrice. He ran up the stairs after her.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Beatrice lay facedown on her aunt’s bed when Ford entered the room.
He approached warily. “Beatrice? May I say something?”
She didn’t reply, but inched over to the right side of the bed. He sat down next to her on the bed, pulling a pillow into his arms.
She’d rolled onto her side, facing the wall, not him.
“My father’s name is Jonas Wright,” he began. “He was Foxton’s lead carpenter, supervising all of his new construction, earning a good salary in the process. And then disaster struck—the ill star rose. He fell in love with Foxton’s eldest daughter, Joyce, and she returned his affections.”
She’d made no sign that she’d heard him use one of her etymology lessons. He forged ahead. “My parents eloped to Gretna Green without Foxton’s blessing and he ruthlessly cut my mother out of the family, transferring all of his hopes to his second born daughter, Phyllis, the aunt I’ve never met. Over the years he’s remained immovable, refusing to even acknowledge that his eldest daughter exists, with no regard for the lives he ruins and the pain he causes.”
She flipped onto her back, staring at the ceiling.
At least she hadn’t told him to leave yet.
“My father is an honest, hardworking man who can fix anything, build anything. But he was never able to mend the hole inside my mother’s heart that formed when she lost her family, her inheritance, and her very identity. I told you about her misfortune but I wasn’t able to divulge that Foxton was my grandfather.”
“Why couldn’t you tell me?”
“I’ll come to that. My parents built a simple life together in Cornwall, but throughout my childhood I saw my mother smile through half-shed tears. Saw her forced to wear twice-turned gowns, and eat watery turnip soup for supper. Her hands became cracked and red from doing the washing, and her spirit lowered living in the shadow of the great house, when she should have had a fine residence of her own.”
“Her experience must have had some bearing on your own rebellion against becoming one of the duke’s servants.”
“Yes. I wanted more from life for myself... and for my mother. When I was eight years old, she brought me with her to London. We visited a stately house in Regent’s Park. We were admitted into a study and I saw an old man sitting behind a desk. He had the same light gray eyes as my mother. I wasn’t scared of him. I was curious. Why had my mother brought me here?”
Beatrice turned onto her side and looked at him for the first time since he’d entered the room. “Go on.”
“They had a conversation while I explored thestudy, spinning globes and opening cigar boxes. I caught words here and there. At one point they were talking about me so I listened more closely. My grandfather called me a bastard. Said he wanted nothing to do with me. My mother replied that I was his only grandson and asked how he could be so heartless as to extend his censure to me, an innocent child. She asked him to pay my way to boarding school. She said that it was a drought year, that there wasn’t enough to eat, and she had lost another baby. I didn’t understand everything they were saying, but I remember those words.Bastard. Heartless. Drought. Lost baby.”
“Ford.” Her hand drifted onto his forearm. “What a terrible thing to overhear.”
“The next thing I knew, this man behind the desk with the steel gray eyes was waving something at my mother, something he’d written. ‘Take the money, and leave London,’ he said. ‘Never contact me again.’ My mother pleaded with him. I remember I hated hearing the beseeching tone in her voice, one I’d never heard her use before. I rushed to her side and held her hand. I told my grandfather that we didn’t want his stupid old money. Then he turned those cold eyes on me and he told my mother to get the bastard out of his sight.”
Beatrice pulled him down beside her on the bed until they lay side by side. She placed her hand over his heart. He didn’t allow himself to hope. He only had to finish telling her this story; he didn’t know what would happen next.
“My mother took his money and promised neverto contact him again, or even speak his name. She made me swear, after we left, that I would never tell anyone about their meeting and I was never to mention my grandfather, even though we shared a name. As I grew older, I understood the meeting better. I felt the shame of it more keenly. It was wrong to take his hush money. His blood money.”
