The Sapphire Heiress (The Silver Order #1)

4 The Uncertain Betrothal

Chapter Four

The Uncertain Betrothal

“Y our mother?” Mr. Rosewood sealed the last document of the marriage settlement and extended it over his desk.

“Dead too, I’m afraid.” Taking the precious papers, Locke sank back into the leather chair.

“A man with no family. No wonder you are so eager for a wife.”

“Yes, companionship is truly something to be cherished.” Locke suppressed the urge to make his leave at once. All he had to do was sit through a few more odious drinks with the man. That was it.

After exhausting negotiations on the settlement, Locke could hardly stand his presence. He had underestimated the family’s social ambitions. Money wouldn’t do. Rather, it was his large plot of land and this notion that by combining their estates, Mr. Rosewood would have the largest in the county that finally sealed the deal. It had taken two days and all his land, but finally, Mr. Rosewood had agreed to let Locke help handle the mismanaged estate—just the role that would allow Locke to search the place without question.

“I think you should like my darling Clarissa.” Mr. Rosewood gave Locke a wolfish grin that disturbed him.

Like most country men, Mr. Rosewood’s peppered hair was an uncombed, frizzy rat’s nest atop his head. The type of suit he donned reminded Locke of his earlier days in England. No doubt it had gone out of style by now.

In hopes of ending the conversation, Locke gave a nod and rose to leave.

“She is quite accomplished, I’ll have you know.”

“Yes.” Locke sat back down, his eyes flashing to the mantel clock. Why Mr. Rosewood still felt the need to convince him of all this, he had no idea. “I experienced them all last night.”

The singing, the piano playing—it had all been quite exhausting. He had no interest in the woman—who seemed far more like a girl, in his opinion—or any woman, for that matter. All he wanted was access to the estate. But if everything went according to plan, he’d disappear long before they had to marry. He wasn’t sure where he’d go, but he’d have plenty of time to think on it. Wedding arrangements often took months and he planned to drag them out as long as necessary.

“Her governess had a world-class education herself. She’s skilled in almost every subject most useful to the ladies these days, so I’m sure you will find Clarissa readier than ever to run the household. Miss Blackthorne has even—”

Locke sprung forward in his seat, his eyes widening with interest. “Miss Blackthorne?” He gripped the armrest tighter.

“Yes. Her governess. You know the lady?”

So that was why she had been asking questions. He was an imbecile for not realizing it sooner. He thought he’d recognized her face. She was Alastair’s daughter. He should have known. It all made sense, why Mae’s mother was from where she was from.

Alastair had clearly met his wife overseas and brought her home sometime after their partnership had ended. He had even read their names, Tala and Mae, in the papers he had dug up before meeting Ellsworth. He just thought Blackthorne’s daughter would have been married off by now. Given the family business’s downfall, he hadn’t expected she would reside so close, within such easy grasp. He almost could not believe it. Though it made perfect sense .

Locke focused back on Mr. Rosewood. “I knew her father.”

“Ah. The man is dead, you know. Died six winters ago of pneumonia.”

Locke nodded, tapping the edge of the envelope on the armrest in thought. The night prior had played over in his mind a thousand times. It all made sense now. He had been impressed by her quickness. Of course she wasn’t just some governess. In the face of his threats, few had dared express the same fortitude. And her brazen questions! The truth had been obvious from the first.

“Luckily, he died before he could see the girl sink his business into ruin,” Mr. Rosewood went on. “We did her some charity taking her in when we brought the house two years ago.”

“You know how she lost the fortune?”

“Tragic story, that. From what I’ve heard, it all started after her brother, William, had gone missing at sea. He returned sometime within the span of four years, but not soon enough, I’m afraid. Miss Blackthorne trusted the wrong manager. Their shipbuilding business—a longstanding one, have you—fell to the wayside some months later. T’was around that time the brother killed himself.”

Locke had read just that. “What tragedy.”

“Alas, her story is not unique here. Among shipwrights, at least.”

“You mean the bankruptcies?

“Indeed. Several more will likely follow…”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yes, well, regardless, Bristol will always be a port and a port will always need its warehouses.”

“You’re not worried, then?”

Mr. Rosewood laughed. “It’s what attracted me here in the first place.” He waved his arms up. “Plenty of empty estates ripe for the taking.”

“Cheap too, I imagine.”

“They have their history and austerity… ”

Locke drowned out the rest of the man’s words with his thoughts.

Despite Locke’s doubts, Ellsworth was right: Alastair’s heirs hadn’t found the fortune. What was more important, the revelation meant his revenge might still be possible. Since the day Alastair had left him for dead, he had thought of little else. He should be imaging a knife at his daughter’s throat. Instead, he felt a pang of pity.

Chances were, she didn’t know a lick about the crimes her father had committed. Her questions—asked so unflinchingly—had proven this.

She was an innocent. Untouched by the vulgarities of the world. Lord knew he had seen too many. It made her the worst kind of enemy. But an enemy nonetheless.

Now she’d have to get involved. The lady would prove most useful in the ways of finding the family fortune hidden somewhere in the manor. And yet, part of him hesitated. He wanted that way of life behind him. He wasn’t prepared to face this kind of enemy again. After his failures the last time, he did not think he could bear the consequences.

*

Thanks to the household’s first guest in months, rumors of Miss Rosewood’s betrothal spread like wildfire. The following day, Mae could hardly go an hour without hearing the man’s name. Talk of balls, engagement parties, and receptions were already stirring. A new stream of gossip had erupted about Mr. Locke’s background as well.

To some servants, the mysterious man was a successful investor ready to settle down after making thousands speculating on diamond mines. To others, he was the son of a wealthy merchant residing in Australia.

They reminded Mae of the tales the servants told about her own family. The stories of long-lost hordes of Roman coins and gold from shipwrecks. They were really just dreams of how they themselves might attain it.

Compared to her family’s origins, Locke was far more mysterious. Not even Miss Rosewood knew the whole truth of his affairs. And yet, the rumors surrounding Mr. Locke only seemed to heighten the lovesick young woman’s admiration of the man. To Mae’s ears, it all sounded like fanciful fiction.

There had been not a single explanation as to why he thought it fruitful to marry the young lady. Surely, he wasn’t stupid enough to risk disgracing the innocent lady—nor would Mrs. Rosewood have allowed such an opportunity.

They were simply ill-suited. Why didn’t Mrs. Rosewood see that? Their marriage would be a disaster from the start.

Mae had caught him rifling through her father’s things, for heaven’s sake! What he had been looking for, she still had no idea. The truth seemed out of reach. Even the cooks—despite being known for adding fuel to the gossips—had kept quiet about him. Though she couldn’t quite call it bliss, Mae had to live in ignorance.

When Mae retreated to her room for dinner, time seemed to stretch forever. She ought to have been doing something else. Anything else. But as the sun sank reluctantly beneath the horizon, no book could quell her mind. The previous night played over and over: the peculiar way his eyes had burned, the intense heaving of his chest…

In the end, she couldn’t help herself. She was determined to find answers about Mr. Locke, no matter how much he poisoned her mind with dreams far beyond her present reality.

In hopes of learning the latest rumors, she even offered to help with the kitchen duties.

“That is not what you were hired for.” Mrs. Rosewood’s hand stilled over the letter she’d been writing. Judging from the swirls of the letters, it had been some sort of formal invitation .

“You are to focus on Clarissa’s dancing instead.”

“Dancing? What happened to her dance master? Mr….” Mae struggled to remember his name.

“He’s occupied with other families. Regardless. We need to save what we can.” Mrs. Rosewood turned to Mae with a stern eye. “Once Locke officially proposes, a betrothal ball will soon be upon us.”

“No visit to London, then?” Mae felt the blood drain from her face. Were the rumors really true? The notion sickened her. “Miss Rosewood was so much looking forward to her first Season.”

Dropping her pen back into the inkwell, Mrs. Rosewood stood up. Her pale-yellow skirts billowed behind her. “Those engagements are not only costly, but unnecessary. We are lucky to have found Clarissa a match so quickly. One that will add greatly to our estate and reputation, no less. The gentleman is perfect… Well, for Clarissa , that is.”

Mae could not believe her words. Perhaps she’d be able to convince Mrs. Rosewood of a more advantageous match. Not out of jealousy, of course, but for Miss Rosewood’s own protection. Mr. Locke was, after all, as good as a burglar. “Are you sure they are well-suited? Perhaps—”

“Of course I am sure they are well-suited!” Mrs. Rosewood’s mouth fell open in stark horror.

“I didn’t mean to suggest…” Mae sputtered. “I-I just…”

“Tame that tongue of yours!”

Mae bit her lip, stifling the unruly anger that would only serve to get her sacked. She looked down at the black ripples of her skirt.

Mrs. Rosewood let out a breath. “If it’s London you crave, you’ll soon have it when Lenore is out. For her, we’ll accept nothing lower than an earl.”

“Yes, of course.”

“You see, I have a plan. As I said, Clarissa’s fate is already settled.” Mrs. Rosewood released a terse breath and focused on the flames dancing in the fireplace. “Now, go. Do as you are bid.”

Mae nodded as obedient as ever. “Yes, ma’am.” But inside, she was cringing.

Of all the men she had imagined the Rosewoods throwing at their eldest daughter, a man like Mr. Locke was certainly not one of them. She had expected them to force her to marry a much older bachelor or widower. Locke, though, was so young, cultured, and charming… She swallowed, then taking a deep breath, confined the jealousy that threatened to possess her.

For now, she’d have no choice but to obey her employer.

As the days passed by, they began preparations for Miss Rosewood’s betrothal ball. Every other so-called “useless” subject they’d spent years improving upon dissolved away. Dancing and etiquette became their sole focus, subjects Mae hated most of all. Standing over Miss Rosewood’s curious eyes, Mae paced back and forth in the dining room. She debated whether she really needed to refresh her on this one topic.

Miss Rosewood fumbled with a fork. In front of her was every imaginable bowl, plate and piece of silverware she could expect to encounter.

“What is it?” Miss Rosewood entreated.

“I’m not certain, if I…” Mae clasped her hands tightly. “But you do want to make it a success, don’t you? And since it’s often expected…”

“Miss Blackthorne.” Miss Rosewood frowned. “Just tell me. Please. ”

“It’s just that I know you can be rather talkative at times.” Mae cringed, preparing herself for Miss Rosewood’s reaction. “On the night of the ball, however, that might not be wise.”

“Do you fear I’ll forget my steps? But, Miss Blackthorne”—Miss Rosewood blinked rapidly—“you’ve seen how well I dance the quadrille.”

“That matters little. Talking, I’m afraid, as a reminder, should always be kept to a minimum.”

Miss Rosewood’s eyebrow furrowed. “Am I to be utterly silent?”

“For the most part…yes,” Mae replied, struggling to keep her smile. “And do refrain from whispers.”

“But why? If I’m disturbing no one—”

“Because it is unladylike.” Looking away, Mae caught a glance of herself in the polished mahogany of the dining table. Who had she become? Were these not the rules she herself had rebelled against at Miss Rosewood’s age? She remembered how her father had chastised her for riding astride, but she had never obeyed that old-fashioned ideal. Riding that way was needlessly difficult, uncomfortable, and even dangerous. She didn’t care how unladylike it might have been.

Miss Rosewood, meanwhile, gave no rebuke. She simply nodded in understanding.

The young girl, barely eighteen, was eager to have a husband. From the looks of it, she was willing to do almost anything to accomplish the task.

Perhaps Mae should’ve been just as willing. Didn’t they want the same? To escape from this country estate and Mrs. Rosewood, her harsh and emotionless mother?

In that train of thought, Mr. Locke came rushing into her mind. After catching him in her father’s office, his absence was to be expected, but she also couldn’t deny how it filled her with disappointment. She couldn’t forget the feel of his hands on her or the breath of his words against her ear.

“Miss Blackthorne?”

“Yes?” Mae snapped back to reality.

“What if he doesn’t like me?”

“What? Why wouldn’t he like you?”

“At dinner, he barely looked at me. Even when I sang.”

“Sometimes it’s like that at first. First, he needs a chance to get to know you.” The words gnawed at her as she said them. They just didn’t sound right.

“And if he still doesn’t like me?”

“You’ll be stuck with him either way.” Just as Mae was stuck here—a harsh reality to which they both needed to resign themselves.