Chapter Twenty-One
Matthew had died and gone to heaven.
Jasmine had been perfect. Everything he wanted, so much greater than he ever imagined. She hadn’t balked at anything he asked. She fit perfectly in his hands, fluttered under his tongue, and delicately begged his name.
He would send flowers. Roses. And sweets—he would buy her a bakery!
After seeing her safely home, he returned to the factory, but he couldn’t sleep.
Not with her scent on the bedclothes and her taste on his lips.
More energized than he had been in years, he spent the morning in the training room skipping rope and shadow boxing.
Afterward, he whistled his way through inspections, promoted an apprentice, and gave each employee a ten percent raise.
Bright-eyed, he opened the door to his office. “Good morning!”
“Is it?” a gruff voice answered from within.
Matthew searched the room for the unfamiliar tone, and found Zeke at his desk.
Towering stacks of paperwork scattered over the surface, haphazardly leaning off the edges.
His white shirtsleeves were wrinkled and covered in ink.
He lifted his brown eyes, shadowed by purple bags, and narrowed them at Matthew.
“Felicitations,” he grumbled.
“Felicitations?” Matthew raised an eyebrow. “For what?”
Seth entered the room, yawning.
“Good morning, gentlemen.” He glanced over Zeke and let out a low breath. “Good Lord, Zeke, you look on the brink of death.”
“I didn’t sleep.” Zeke’s nostrils flared and he jabbed at finger at Matthew. “Blame Lord Lincolnshire.”
“What did I do?”
“You forgot that I too work late,” Zeke hissed. “And I too have quarters here—right next to yours!”
Matthew gasped. “Oh Zeke, I am so sorry.”
“Not as sorry as I am! I can scarcely look at you.” Zeke tore his eyes back to his desk and blushed a vibrant red. “How am I supposed to speak to Lady Jasmine?”
Seth looked from Zeke to Matthew and back again. “Did I miss something?”
“I didn’t!” In a flurry of agitated movement, Zeke shoved his papers into a leather satchel. “I’m leaving. I can’t work under these conditions.” With his eyes downcast and a flushed neck, he stormed out of the office.
Seth gawked at Matthew. “You angered Zeke?”
Matthew opened his mouth to explain, and then shut it. He couldn’t tell Seth he had stolen Jasmine away to a storage closet after bloodying him for the same sin. Did it make him a hypocrite? Absolutely. Was he sorry?
Not in the slightest.
And Seth didn’t need to know everything.
“We were both here after hours.” Apparently. Matthew’s blush deepened. He changed the subject before Seth could ask questions. “You left the meeting early yesterday, but negotiations with General Ortiz are proceeding favorably. They said they would reach out when they made a decision.”
“That explains the letter.” Seth stepped forward and handed him a folded piece of ivory paper, sealed by scarlet wax. “This was delivered to the house this morning—from Lord Dorchester.”
“That was faster than expected. Addressed to the three of us?”
Seth shook his head.
“Only you.”
Matthew froze. Heart pounding, he repeated, “Only me?”
“The footman said it was urgent.”
As steadily as he could, Matthew slid a knife below the seal. He opened the letter and read the neat script inside:
Attend me at once.
We need to discuss your recent actions.
—Dorchester
Blast it! They were caught! But how? He returned Jasmine home undetected—he was sure of it. But what if he forgot something at the mansion the night before?
Like my mind!
“Recent actions?” Seth read over his shoulder. He pursed his lips for a second, then smiled. “Perhaps he’s going to give you permission to propose?”
Matthew frowned. “Doubtfully.”
“Why not? You’ve done everything right.” Seth clapped him on the shoulder. “Come now. You’re allowed to show some optimism.”
“We’ll see.” Matthew shrugged off Seth’s hand, then sighed. “No use in putting it off. I’m heading out. The factory is yours today.”
As Matthew turned to leave, Seth snapped his fingers. “Wait, before you go…”
He moved to Matthew’s desk and opened the top drawer.
He reached inside, and tossed Matthew something small.
Catching it mid-air, his fist closed around a familiar leather box.
Though slight, it was the heaviest item he owned.
Hands shaking, he opened the lid to reveal a rose-cut emerald on a gold band.
The ring that used to grace his mother’s left hand.
Seth grinned at him.
“It’s time to start carrying that.”
Not trusting his shaking hands to grip the reins on his phaeton, Matthew took the family coach to the Sinclair Mansion.
Haze-grey fog permeated the air, chilling him and dampening his clothes.
All through the ride, questions rose in his mind.
He hated going into debates blind, especially with the man who taught him how to shield his emotions.
Considering the timing of the letter, there was only one forgone conclusion.
But what if Seth was right?
What if today’s the day I propose?
Every step closer to Lord Dorchester’s study felt like a walk to the gallows. A mousy-haired footman opened the door as he approached.
“He’s been expecting you, my lord.”
Matthew took a steadying breath and stepped into the study. The door closed behind him with a dull snap.
Like a sentinel in the center of the room, Lord Dorchester sat behind his desk in a grey suit.
His eyes lifted, but gave nothing away. A neat stack of papers sat on one side of his desk, and a half-empty glass of amber liquid on the other.
Brandy. Matthew had never known the man to indulge during the day.
He was half tempted to ask for a glass of his own.
Lord Dorchester pointed to the chair across from him.
“Sit down.”
Matthew sank into the chair. He held onto the wooden armrests and waited for the other man to speak.
Lord Dorchester clasped his hands together on his desk.
“I wish to start by commending you in your courtship. Jasmine is clearly smitten, and you’ve managed to impress my wife—neither of those are easy feats.
Last night, Valentine asked me to allow you to propose early.
And I agreed.” Matthew allowed himself to hope—and then Lord Dorchester’s voice lowered.
“But I cannot allow that until you’ve forgiven Lord Rothwell’s debts and released his estates. ”
Matthew blinked. His mouth fell open and his mind struggled to comprehend the ultimatum. Once he did, a flare of fury burst in his chest.
“I’ll happily release his estates for the price I paid for them—with interest,” he gritted out. “He has a week until I foreclose, and then they’ll be my estates.”
“Set aside your pride,” Lord Dorchester said. “Do you think you have done right by Jasmine? Unfavorable comments are circulating. Once again, you have placed us in a difficult situation. Now, do the honorable thing—”
“Honorable?! That man attacked Jasmine in your hallway! He’s fortunate I left him alive. Have you seen your daughter’s wrist?”
Lord Dorchester averted his eyes and his brows knit for a second—long enough for Matthew to lose all respect for him. Either Lord Dorchester knew and did nothing, or he didn’t know at all.
Both made him complicit.
“He bruised her. You might turn a blind eye to her mistreatment, but I refuse. I’ll not allow his offense to go unpunished.”
“Marquesses do not have the luxury of revenge, Lord Lincolnshire, nor do viscounts. And a father must balance emotion with reason.” Lord Dorchester straightened his spine.
“You cannot pick up a pistol or a pen and smite your foes as you see fit. Where do you believe this cycle leads? Wash your hands of it. Make this right before it gets worse.”
“That teaches him that he can get away with it.” Matthew’s voice rose. “He hurt Jasmine, and you would have me reward that with a clean financial slate?”
“Matthew,” Lord Dorchester warned. “Control yourself.”
“No! You don’t understand! Men like Rothwell don’t stop after the first attack!” He was shouting, but he couldn’t stop. “They bide their time, hiding in alleys and parks! And just when you’re happy—” he choked. “They ambush you at night!”
When he closed his eyes, he stood in the middle of a hedge maze in the darkest winter, where Sir Reginald held a pistol to Cassandra’s temple.
Time had slowed then, like it slowed now.
He had hidden in the shadows, waiting for a clear shot—a sure shot.
And when he squeezed the trigger, he had only one thought in his mind.
Never again.
Never again would he spend months looking over his shoulder, waking at every sound—waiting for a beast to attack. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
Better to have a man under his thumb than at Jasmine’s throat.
“Evil men don’t stop. They have to be stopped,” he finished coldly. “And if I have to be the one to do it, so be it.”
Lord Dorchester’s eyes narrowed.
“One detail you seem to forget is that not only is Jasmine joining your family, you are joining mine. You will not step into my house with mud on your shoes. I’m suspending your courtship with Jasmine.”
“Suspending?!”
“You may resume your courtship once you’ve resolved this matter,” Lord Dorchester said pointedly. “Until then, you are not to see or speak to my daughter.”
“You would keep her from me over this?” Matthew hurled himself to his feet and thrust his arms wide. “Uncle Edward, I love her! I’m doing this for her!”
“As am I.” Lord Dorchester’s expression hardened. “I stand by my words and actions, as you do yours.” He pointed to the door. “We’ll speak again when one of those changes.”
***
Jasmine was woken by a hand shaking her shoulder. Disoriented, she peeked open her sleep-heavy eyes. Light drifted through the curtains of her canopy, landing directly across her face. She squinted against it and groaned, burying her face in her pillow. The hand shook her shoulder again.
“Wake up, slugabed,” Mama teased. “It’s almost eleven.”