Chapter Nineteen
The findings arrived five days later, and they were worse than anyone had anticipated.
Mr Hartley presented his report in the study, with Sebastian, Cecilia, and the Dowager in attendance. His expression was grave as he arranged the documents he had brought.
“Miss Ashwood,” he began, “your father’s estate was not consumed by debt, as you were led to believe.
Sir Edmund Ashwood died possessed of modest but sufficient resources—approximately three thousand pounds in investments, together with the contents of Thornfield House, which were sold when the entail transferred the property to Sir Horace Ashwood. ”
Cecilia stared at him. “Three thousand pounds?”
“Yes. The sum was placed in trust for your care and maintenance, to be administered by Mr Grimsby until you attained your majority or married.” Mr Hartley paused.
“According to the records I have obtained, Mr Grimsby disbursed the whole of that money to Sir Horace and Lady Ashwood—quarterly payments of one hundred and fifty pounds—purportedly for your support.”
“They took my inheritance.”
“They took your inheritance,” Mr Hartley confirmed. “The final disbursement occurred six months ago, at which point the trust was exhausted.”
Cecilia felt as though the floor had dropped away beneath her. Three thousand pounds. Enough to have secured independence, to have given her choices—an entire future stolen while she kept accounts, dressed hair, managed lessons, and was told to be grateful.
“There is more,” Mr Hartley continued. “I have obtained correspondence between Lady Ashwood and Mr Grimsby which suggests a—collaborative understanding. Lady Ashwood appears to have persuaded Mr Grimsby to misrepresent the state of your father’s affairs, arguing that you need not be informed of your inheritance since the money was, in her words, ‘being applied to your benefit’. ”
“She lied to me.” Cecilia’s voice emerged flat, emptied of feeling. “For five years, she lied to me.”
“She committed fraud,” Mr Hartley replied. “And Mr Grimsby appears to have been complicit. Both may face legal consequences—civil, at the least, and potentially criminal, depending upon the judgment of the court.”
“What consequences?” Sebastian asked.
“Repayment of the funds, certainly. Damages for the injury sustained. And if we press criminal charges—” Mr Hartley hesitated. “Transportation is improbable, but imprisonment is not beyond possibility. Fraud of this nature is regarded seriously.”
Silence fell. Cecilia tried to comprehend the scale of the betrayal—the years of deprivation that need never have existed.
“What of the rumours?” the Dowager said. “The lies Lady Ashwood has been circulating?”
“Defamation. Actionable, should Miss Ashwood elect to pursue it. Combined with the fraud—” Mr Hartley allowed himself a small, contained smile.
“Lady Ashwood has placed herself in a most precarious position. If this information becomes public, her own reputation will be ruined far more completely than any reputation she sought to injure.”
“Then we make it public,” Sebastian said.
“Wait.” Cecilia lifted a hand. “I must think.”
“What is there to consider? She stole from you—lied about you—attempted to destroy your name—”
“I know precisely what she did.” Cecilia’s tone was sharper than she intended. “But I also know what public exposure would mean. Not only for Lady Ashwood—for Georgiana, for Dorothea, for everyone attached to that household.”
“They are not your responsibility.”
“Perhaps not. But I am not Lady Ashwood.” Cecilia met his gaze. “I will not wreck innocent lives in order to punish a guilty one. There must be another course.”
Sebastian was silent for a moment; then he inclined his head.
“What do you propose?”
“I wish to speak with her—face to face, with this evidence before us. I will give her the opportunity to set matters right before we turn to the courts or the newspapers.”
“You would grant her a chance—after all she has done?”
“I would grant myself one,” Cecilia said quietly. “The chance to act with dignity, rather than descend to her level. For five years, I had no power. Now I do—and I intend to use it wisely. If she refuses, we shall proceed legally. But I will not begin with destruction when negotiation may suffice.”
The Dowager, who had been silent until now, gave a curt nod.
“The girl is correct. Vengeance is satisfying—but disorderly. A negotiated settlement, with restitution and formal retraction, would answer our purposes without scandal.”
“And if Lady Ashwood refuses to negotiate?” Sebastian asked.
“Then we destroy her,” the Dowager replied, calm and unflinching. “But we shall offer the alternative first. It is the civilised course.”
Sebastian looked at Cecilia for a long moment, then exhaled.
“Very well. We shall do it your way. But when you confront her, I go with you.”
“Thank you. I would not have it otherwise.”
***
They travelled to Thornfield three days later.
The journey felt almost unreal—she returned now as a guest rather than a captive, to the house that had once been her childhood refuge and, later, her prison. Cecilia gazed through the carriage window as the familiar countryside unfurled before her, recalling the girl she had once been.
She was not that girl anymore.
Sebastian helped her down from the carriage, his hand steady around hers.
“Are you ready?” he asked.
“No. But I shall do it nonetheless.”
They were admitted by a servant who stared openly—astonished to see the poor relation in grey returned as a well-dressed lady on the arm of a duke. The housekeeper was summoned, then at last, unwillingly, Lady Ashwood.
She appeared in the doorway of the drawing room, her expression a mask of brittle composure.
“Cecilia. Your Grace.” The words were courteous; the tone was not. “I was unaware that you intended to visit.”
“We did not send word,” Sebastian said coolly. “We thought a surprise might prove—informative.”
“Indeed. You must forgive the state of the house. We were not prepared for callers.” Lady Ashwood moved farther into the room, positioning herself behind a chair as though it were a rampart. “To what do we owe this… honour?”
Cecilia stepped forward and drew several folded papers from her reticule.
“I know what you did,” she said quietly. “I know of the trust. Of my father’s three thousand pounds. Of the quarterly payments you received while assuring me that I ought to be grateful for your charity.”
Lady Ashwood turned white.
“I have no notion what you mean.”
“Then allow me to clarify.” Cecilia laid the documents upon a nearby table. “Bank records. Correspondence with Mr Grimsby. A full accounting of every penny taken from my inheritance while I was employed in your household as unpaid labour.”
“Those papers— you cannot have obtained them lawfully—”
“They were obtained by the Duke of Ashworth’s solicitor in preparation for legal proceedings,” Cecilia replied, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “Fraud, Aunt. Guardians who plunder their wards’ resources are not regarded kindly in court.”
Lady Ashwood’s composure cracked.
“I did nothing wrong. That money was used for your support—your lodging, your food, your clothing—”
“My servant’s room? My meals taken below stairs? My grey gowns, all purchased second-hand?” Cecilia gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Three thousand pounds over five years is six hundred a year. Do you truly expect anyone to believe such a sum was spent upon me?”
“I provided for you. I took you in when you had nothing—”
“You took me in because you wanted free labour and access to my inheritance. You exploited a grieving girl. You stole her future and made her thankful for scraps.”
Lady Ashwood’s expression shifted to naked desperation.
“What do you want?” she whispered. “Money? I can arrange repayment—given time—”
“I want three things.” Cecilia raised one finger. “First: full repayment of the three thousand pounds, with interest. The solicitor will provide the precise figure.”
“I cannot command so large a sum—”
“Then you will sell something. The estate has assets.” She raised a second finger. “Second: a written retraction of every falsehood you have uttered about me. You will write to each correspondent—Lord Jones among them—and acknowledge that your accusations were false and born of spite.”
Lady Ashwood’s mouth tightened. “You would have me humiliate myself—”
“I would have you speak truth—for the first time in years.” Cecilia lifted a third finger. “Third: you will never speak of me again. No gossip, no insinuation, no whispered speculation. I shall be as invisible to you as you tried to make me for five years.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then we proceed to law.” Sebastian spoke for the first time, his voice cold and precise.
“The full weight of Ashworth’s resources brought to bear against you and Mr Grimsby.
Criminal charges for fraud. Civil suits for damages.
A very public trial in which every detail of your treatment of Miss Ashwood will be laid before the court—and the world. ”
“You cannot mean to carry matters to such an extremity—”
“I would relish it.” Sebastian’s smile was thin and dangerous. “But my betrothed is more merciful than I. She offers you an opportunity to preserve what remains of your dignity. I advise you to seize it.”
Silence followed—long, heavy, suffocating. Lady Ashwood looked from Cecilia’s composed expression to Sebastian’s unyielding one, and something in her seemed to fracture. Realisation, at last.
“Very well,” she whispered. “I accept your terms.”
“Excellent.” Cecilia gathered the papers with steady hands. “The solicitor will arrange the repayment schedule. The retractions must be sent within the week. And Lady Ashwood—”
The older woman lifted her gaze; her face looked years older.