A few Years Later
Langham Hall
Emma rolled the leaded crystal paperweight between her hands, the rub of the cut edges soothing in her palms. With each movement, reflected light bounced from the crystal and cast rainbows that darted from one end of the library to another. She wasn’t certain how long she’d been sitting at the mahogany table, but long enough for the hall clock to have struck the hour at least three times.
Papers and favorite books covered every inch of the surface. Today’s issue of The Midnight Cryer, the most popular gossip rag in all of London, lay open before her. Two lines on the second page had stopped her cold. Keith Mahon, the Earl of Aulton, sought a new countess after three months of mourning.
The words lit a blaze of loathing inside of her.
She ignored the clutter surrounding her and concentrated on the letter she’d received from Lena’s lady’s maid, Mary Butler, three months ago after Lena’s death.
Dated July 8, 1813, the letter was from Lady Lena Aulton, the previous Countess of Aulton, to her unborn child. She had written every conceivable piece of wisdom and life lesson she thought would protect her child from the harsh reality of life as a woman.
And certain she was delivering a baby girl, she’d named the child Audra.
My dearest Audra,
Our time together may be measured in minutes or years. Fate never reveals her hand. However, over the course of months as my belly has swelled, you’ve become a part of me that is as vital as the air I breathe. If I never have the chance to hold you in my arms, know that you’re loved.
If I’m robbed of that joy, there are things I must share with you. Lessons designed to teach you that a life lived to its fullest is a life worth living. With a determined mind and an uncompromised spirit, you can rule the world.
Tired of the grief, Emma skipped to the second page before she lost her battle against the barrage of tears that threatened.
I have a dear friend who epitomizes this spirit. She inspired and taught me about the joy and glory of womanhood. Lady Emma Cavensham is my inspiration. Try to find your Emma, too.
As you travel through life, you will need a purpose. Help women who need protection, or perhaps friendship. You’ll receive great rewards for your efforts.
Carefully choose a husband. Otherwise, you risk all freedom. A wife’s position is tenuous in this world. The truth is harsh. If a husband tires of his chosen bride, he can cast her aside in some remote cottage on the edge of the Outer Hebrides without any repercussions. If he doesn’t want to feed and clothe her, that’s his prerogative. A rabid dog receives more respect than an English wife. Remember, only you have your best interests at heart. I’ve set money aside so you can more easily live the life you are destined.
The only disgrace in fear is not facing it. It’s a strong ally, for it whittles down wants to needs.
Raising her head, Emma stared blindly at the wall. Her friend’s haunted words echoed her own thoughts. Why should she marry—ever? Why be subjected to a life where she might be considered nothing more than a piece of property or a nuisance, or worse yet a punching bag? She’d seen enough in her life, even before Lena’s death, to confirm the truth. A woman subjected to a hard-hearted husband was a fate worse than spinsterhood.
Today’s announcement that Aulton wanted a new bride demanded immediate action. Emma couldn’t wait anymore and neither could Lena. Her friend would receive retribution, and who better to serve it up than a woman like herself, a woman who planned to never marry. Over the months, she’d sought information and made plans. Several years ago, Lord Somerton had informed her Mr. Goodwin’s real profession was selling information. The revelation had been invaluable. Over the last month, with Goodwin’s help, she had discovered that Mary Butler, Lena’s maid, still worked for the Earl of Aulton. Once Emma brought Mary to London to testify against him, no other woman would suffer at his hands.
“Mind if I join you?” Emma’s cousin, Claire, stood before her with a book clasped to her chest. With auburn hair and dark green eyes, she favored her late Scottish mother, the previous Duchess of Langham. To Emma, Claire was more than a cousin. The word didn’t adequately describe their relationship since they were as close as sisters.
“Please.” Emma moved some journals and books from the chair closest to her. Relief at having company, particularly Claire’s, lifted Emma’s mood—a little.
Increasing for the second time, her cousin sat gingerly. The baby would be Claire’s third child. She and her husband Alex were the proud parents of twins.
Precious and perfect, the children could do no wrong in Emma’s eyes. Of course, as their godmother, her ability to notice any misdeeds or wrongdoings was severely hampered. The rest of the family shared the same affliction, too.
Emma reached over and squeezed Claire’s hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Besides wonderfully happy and quite large? My life is perfect.” Claire caught Emma’s hand and pressed it against her belly. “The baby just kicked. Do you feel anything?”
She shook her head. How do you politely tell a mother-to-be that her baby feels like a round rock?
With an innate sense of humor, Claire grinned. “I suppose it doesn’t feel like much to you, but to me? It’s nothing less than a miracle.”
“I’m thrilled for you and Alex. You’re marvelous parents.”
Claire laid her book down and surveyed the table.
Letting out a silent but long-suffering sigh, Emma waited. Her cousin’s ability to ferret out problems was uncanny, particularly when it came to her. Her Bentham exploit three years ago was proof. Claire had been the one to discover she’d gone to buy the book.
“How are you?” Claire asked. She picked up the paperweight and carefully put it out of Emma’s reach. “That’s to keep you from fidgeting. I understand you’ve been sitting here for hours.”
She nodded, fearful if she disclosed anything, she’d collapse into a watershed of sobs that would have them both crying. But it was unlikely. She’d hardly cried at all over Lena’s death. What kind of a friend didn’t shed tears at such a loss?
One who found it hard to look in the mirror every day.
“Darling, don’t you think it would help to talk about it?” Claire had leaned so close, the worry lines etched around her eyes were clearly visible.
Perhaps it was time to share a little. Or a lot. She wasn’t certain what, if anything, could lift the constant cloud of melancholy and guilt that followed her. She suffered as much now, if not more, than when she first heard of her friend’s death.
Emma took a deep breath for fortitude. This wouldn’t be easy, but when she discussed Lena’s death and her own duplicity, she deserved the pain.
“I … I don’t know where to start.” Without the paperweight, all she could rely on were her fingers. Before she tangled them into knots, Claire took her hand and laced their fingers together.
“Use me for strength?”
Emma nodded. Claire would help her get through this and steer her in the right direction. “Whatever I say to you stays between us. I must have your word, or I can’t start.”
The open honesty of Claire’s face almost blinded Emma in its purity. “Em, not even Alex?”
“Will he tell Father or Mother?” she whispered. Though Claire was trustworthy, she would always take the path she thought right. Her actions the night of the Bentham fiasco proved that point clearly.
Claire shook her head. “Alex won’t say a word if I ask him. I won’t know if I’ll need his advice until I hear what you have to say.”
“Fair enough.” She took in the view of Langham Park out the library windows. It always provided succor, a peacefulness Emma found nowhere else. Today, it stood as her support, a fortress she desperately needed. “I suppose it’s best just to lance the wound as they say.”
Claire smiled affectionately as if she knew how excruciatingly painful this was for her.
“Lena directed her maid to send me all her correspondence before she passed.” Emma waved at the pile of letters in front of her. “There’s one for her brother, my letter, and one to her unborn child, Audra. When Mary Butler, Lena’s maid, posted them to me, she included her own note. She didn’t say it per se, but I could read between the lines.”
She glanced at Claire, who nodded for her continue.
“Aulton murdered Lena. I don’t know the how or why, but I know he did it. He’d been beating her, Claire. I saw the bruises myself when I visited.”
“I thought Lena fell down the steps and the baby was stillborn?” Claire squeezed their hands together, encouraging her.
“She was the most graceful person I’ve ever known. I can’t believe she’d have lost her balance.” Instead of lessening, the pain increased with each word she spoke. Still, she couldn’t cry.
Maybe she never would. That’s how empty she’d become.
“A week before she died, she invited me to visit. By then, she was close to delivering. I received her letter three days before the Langham annual garden soiree. When I asked mother if I could go, she said ‘after the party.’ She needed me here.” Emma found enough courage to look Claire in the eye as she confessed her sin. “Lena never said outright, but I think she feared Aulton. She wrote that she needed me by her side. I believe she knew he was going to hurt her. She was in fear for herself and probably terrified for the baby.”
“Oh, Emma.” Claire’s shock was evident, but she didn’t let go of Emma’s hand.
She needed her cousin’s strength as she tried to purge the rest of her misery.
“I didn’t go. I stayed here. I had a chance to save her, and I didn’t.” She stole one last glance at the park. “Mother’s party was on a Wednesday. The next morning, we received word of her death.”
Claire gently pulled her into her arms. Still, the tears refused to come.
“It’s perfectly reasonable you’d feel that way, but I don’t agree with it.” Claire’s voice held no judgment. “It wasn’t your responsibility.”
Emma shook her head emphatically. “She couldn’t leave him without me. Where would she go? Her brother Jonathan is in France fighting the war. If she left by herself, Aulton would have hunted her down.”
Pensive, Claire studied her. “What could you have done if you’d been there? You could have been his next victim.”
“I don’t know. Nothing maybe. Nevertheless, perhaps I could have stopped him or brought her here. Father would have protected Lena.” Her father and Claire’s uncle, the Duke of Langham was renowned for his political acumen. No one, not even Aulton, would dare challenge him.
“I don’t know if it would have made any difference.” Claire examined their entwined hands and took a breath. “You’re not going to like what I have to say—”
“Please, just say it.” She closed her eyes, ready for the condemnation that was surely forthcoming. She deserved it and so much more.
“I’m glad you weren’t there to experience any of that. It leaves scars.” Claire lifted her chin. “My own grief over the carriage accident that caused my parents’ death … even though I survived, paralyzed me on so many levels. But one thing I found is that if you can channel your grief into something beneficial for others, it helps relieve the heaviness.”
Emma nodded. “Over the last several months, I’ve been toying with an idea. I’m thinking of an institution that would allow women a means of creating financial independence. Allowing them a freedom so many are denied. A place where people like Aulton could never breach the walls.”
“What are you thinking?” Claire scooted up to the edge of her chair as best she could.
“A bank for women run by women. Based upon my research, I believe it’ll be wildly successful. I’ve prepared a prospectus including plans for repayment of the money I’ll need. Would you read it and give me your thoughts?”
“How remarkable. Of course I’ll review it.”
Emma nodded and let out her breath. An heiress in her own right, Claire possessed an acute business sense. If she thought the idea had merit, a tremendous weight would be taken off Emma’s shoulders.
Working hours on the plan had been a pleasant task as she considered the details. The population of London was experiencing a rapid growth, based upon her research from the 1811 census. She’d even attended “hiring fairs” where servants tried to find new employment. It helped gauge the need for such a bank. It wasn’t surprising to discover working-class women had little resources for escape when subjected to violence in the workplace or at home.
Emma couldn’t expect to be taken seriously unless she could present a precise and detailed proposal of its operation and the expected impact. The hardest task had been thinking of the possible objections her parents would have and her own counterarguments when she presented the idea.
“Perhaps, I’ll contribute to your bank. Truly, I love the idea.” Claire leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“Your time and thoughts mean the world to me.” Though the sentiment was unoriginal and timeworn, her family’s support could help her through this grief. She’d bear the onus of the hardest part, the guilt, then find a way to learn how to work through her own culpability.
Her first step to healing required she visit Lena’s maid, Mary Butler. If Mary confirmed her suspicions, Emma would bring her to London under her father’s protection to testify against Aulton. With Mary’s testimony and her father’s influence, Aulton would answer for Lena’s murder.
Her bank would be the next step to healing. She’d help others escape from brutal men. What she didn’t do for Lena, she would do for other women.
“Now, I want to discuss something else,” Claire said.
For the first time today, Emma found herself grinning. “You’ve listened to me all morning. It’d be my honor to return the favor.”
“Aunt Ginny and Uncle Sebastian are considering a marriage proposal for you from the Earl of LaTourell.” Her cousin blurted the news in an uncharacteristically hurried manner. “Next week—”
“Stop.” She held up her hand. Couldn’t she find any peace in her own home? “I refuse to discuss it. My feelings haven’t changed.”
“Emma … it’s best to be prepared,” Claire chided.
“My, it’s stuffy in here.” Ignoring her cousin, Emma rose from the chair and opened the French doors into the courtyard. The chill of the autumn wind swept around her, and she tilted her face to the sky. The sun refused to give up its warmth to autumn, a gentle reminder she never forget Lena or her own hopes and dreams to make a difference in this world. She’d not waste her time on marriage nonsense.
At the sound of deep masculine voices, Emma turned. Her oldest brother, Michael Cavensham, the Marquess of McCalpin and her father’s heir, strode into her personal domain, the family library. Behind him came Claire’s husband, Alex.
“Em, we’re going for—” McCalpin’s words stopped abruptly. He stood by the table and studied the letters she’d been reading. An undeniable pity darkened his gaze, but when he directed his attention to her, it was gone.
“Come with us on a walk with the twins.” Alex delivered a slight smile. His gray eyes flashed silver as he clasped an arm around Claire’s waist and drew her close.
After a rocky start to their marriage, Alex and Claire had to be one of the happiest couples in all of England. Proof miracles did exist if only under the rarest and most auspicious occasions—much like a Rose Moon.
“My son and daughter will revolt if their favorite godmother isn’t beside them after we promised them your company,” Alex prompted.
“I’m their only godmother.” Emma regarded Alex with a tentative smile. “Thank you, but I’d rather stay here.”
Claire took her hand in hers and squeezed. “A little air would be good for you.”
“Come with us, Em,” McCalpin coaxed. “I’m leaving in a couple of days for Falmont.”
She cast one last glace at the letter to Audra. Emma owed it to Lena to enjoy her freedom and as much of life as she could. “Let me get my coat and gloves.”
But more, she owed it to Lena to bring Mary back to London. Now, after discovering that Aulton hunted for a new wife, it was more important than ever. Goodwin’s Book Emporium would be Emma’s first stop tomorrow. The bookshop’s owner, Mr. Goodwin, had sent a note. He’d found Lena’s maid in Portsmouth.