Chapter 11 The Reveal
Chapter eleven
The Reveal
Aubrey could sit up now.
Not easily—it still required careful manoeuvring and sent pain lancing through his hip—but with enough pillows arranged behind him, he could maintain an upright position for an hour before the discomfort became unbearable.
Which meant he could review the household ledgers Eleanor had brought him.
He had expected competence. Eleanor was clearly organised, methodical in her approach to household management. But this...
Aubrey turned another page, his surprise growing with each entry.
The accounts were not merely competent—they were exceptional.
Every expense was categorised, cross referenced, tracked with meticulous precision.
Eleanor had negotiated better rates with suppliers, identified inefficiencies in household spending, and reallocated funds with the strategic mind of a seasoned estate manager.
She had saved the estate nearly three hundred pounds in the past year alone without compromising the quality of goods and services.
More than that, she had expanded the charitable contributions. Regular donations to St. Catherine's Orphanage, of course, but also to the parish poor fund, the local school, the widows' relief society. Small amounts, carefully tracked, that added up to a substantial investment in the community.
Aubrey found himself genuinely impressed. This was not the work of a woman merely passing time or performing perfunctory duties. This was someone who cared deeply about the estate, about the people who depended on it.
Someone who had been building a life here while he wasted his in London.
He turned to the section marked "Personal Charitable Contributions" and began reviewing the entries.
Then stopped.
His blood went cold.
Rose Beaumont - ￡5 for new wardrobe and child necessities
Rose Beaumont - ￡10 monthly for rent and groceries
Rose Beaumont - ￡5 for medical expenses (Doctor Hartley, lying-in care)
Aubrey stared at the entries, his mind refusing to process what he was seeing. Rose. Rose Beaumont. With payments dating back nearly two years, made regularly every month without fail.
And a babe.
Rose had a child.
He flipped back through the pages with trembling hands, finding the first entry. September 1866. Just after she had left London. Just after his parents had paid her family to relocate.
Rose Beaumont - ￡30 initial settlement for relocation expenses
The amounts weren't small. Thirty pounds was generous—more than a lady's maid would earn in an entire year. Five pounds monthly was substantial support. And medical expenses...
Lying-in care. The term used for a woman giving birth.
Rose had been pregnant when she left London.
Aubrey's mind reeled. She had told him his family and his betrothed were forcing her out. She had wept in his arms about the injustice of it all.
She hadn’t mentioned a babe.
And then she had taken his parents' money, Eleanor’s money, left town, and given birth.
Whose child?
The dates... he counted back rapidly. If the baby had been born in the summer of 1867, it would have been conceived three months before her departure... while they were courting.
But that was impossible. He had never… they had never…
Had Eleanor been lying after all? Had she known about Rose all along? Was this guilt money, some kind of payment to keep Rose quiet about... about what?
Or was there another explanation? One that made Eleanor look less like a villain and more like a saint.
He needed answers.
Aubrey reached for the bell pull and rang it. A maid appeared within moments. "My lord?"
"Send for Lady Madeley. Immediately."
"Yes, my lord."
The minutes stretched interminably while Aubrey stared at the ledger entries, his mind churning through possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last.
Finally, the door opened. Eleanor entered, her expression cautious. She must have sensed something in the summons because her hands were already clasped tightly at her waist, her shoulders tense.
"You wished to see me, my lord?"
"Yes." Aubrey's voice came out colder than he intended, sharp with suspicion and confusion. "I have been reviewing the household accounts."
"Yes?"
"There are regular expenses listed for someone named Rose Beaumont." He kept his eyes fixed on her face, watching for any sign of deception. "Twenty pounds a month for wardrobe and baby necessities, rent, groceries, medical expenses. Substantial sums. Can you explain these entries?"
Aubrey's hands stilled on the ledger. His heart began to pound, a sick feeling spreading through his chest.
"Rose Beaumont. She was my lady's maid for eight years. My companion, really. We were friends." Eleanor's voice was carefully controlled. "She left my service just before our wedding. Said she needed to return to her family urgently."
"What?" The word came out barely above a whisper.
No.
No, that couldn't be right.
He stopped, his mind racing back through every conversation, every stolen moment with Rose.
She’d met him at his family’s London house, always appearing with letters in hand.
She’d claimed to be the companion of a distant relation visiting in the neighbourhood, merely running errands or delivering correspondence on her mistress’ behalf.
She’d always been so secretive about which household she belonged to, brushing off his questions with a shy smile and a new topic.
Always.
He'd thought it was discretion. But it was because she was the servant of his betrothed. His wife’s voice drew him out of his whirling thoughts.
"She... she found herself in an unfortunate situation. Got herself with child by a man who had promised to marry her, then abandoned her." Eleanor's voice was quiet, matter of fact. "She went away to have the baby. Her family disowned her. I have been supporting her since."
Rose had been with Eleanor, had dressed her. Fixed her hair. Helped her prepare for her wedding to him. All while secretly courting him. While accepting his declarations of love. While letting him believe she was being threatened by his wicked fiancé, a stranger.
"She lives in the countryside now," Eleanor continued. "Hidden away from prying eyes, as these things must be. I send her funds monthly to ensure she and the baby are cared for."
Aubrey stared at Eleanor's face, trying to reconcile what she was saying with what Rose had told him. "You support her out of what? Guilt?"
"Compassion." Eleanor's voice held a hint of hurt. "She made a mistake. She trusted a man who betrayed her. I would not see her and an innocent child starve simply because society deems them unworthy of assistance."
"Whose child is it?" The question burst from Aubrey before he could stop it.
Eleanor blinked. "I do not know. I did not pry, and Rose did not volunteer the information. It seemed... indelicate to ask."
"When exactly did she leave your service?"
Eleanor’s eyes widened with concern and a hint of suspicion. "Late August of 1866." Eleanor's brow furrowed. "What is the matter? Why are you asking these questions?"
Aubrey ran his hand over his face. He couldn't look at her. Couldn't face her while he confessed how thoroughly he'd been deceived. How he unwittingly had an affair with her friend and maid. How willingly he'd believed the worst of a woman without giving her the chance to defend herself.
He was an utter imbecile.
"Rose Beaumont,” he began, his voice hoarse, “is the woman I had courted during our betrothal."
The silence that followed was crushing.
The colour drained from Eleanor's face so completely that Aubrey feared she might faint. She swayed slightly, reaching out to grip the back of a chair.
"Rose?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "My friend? My lady's maid?"
"Yes." Aubrey felt sick as he stared at his wife’s pale face. She couldn’t fake her shock this well, could she? And if she wasn’t lying that must mean…
"But... but that is impossible. She never..." Eleanor's eyes were wide. "She was helping me prepare for the wedding. She was with me nearly every day that summer. When would she have—how could she have—"
Aubrey's mind was racing through memories now, reordering them in light of this new information. "She came to my family's London house in late spring. To deliver correspondence to my mother."
Eleanor nodded slowly, her face still ashen.
"That is when we met. In my family's entrance hall. She was..." Aubrey closed his eyes, seeing Rose’s pretty face in his mind as fury mixed with grief. "We began talking. And then... we continued talking. She would find excuses to return with messages. I would arrange to be there when she came."
He opened his eyes to find Eleanor staring at him with an expression of absolute devastation.
"So, the entire summer," Eleanor said slowly, "while I was planning our wedding, my own lady's maid was secretly courting my betrothed."
The words hung in the air, damning in their simplicity.
"We did not—it was not intended to hurt you—" Aubrey stopped. Because that was a lie, wasn't it? He had known Eleanor would be hurt purely by the fact that he was courting someone else. He’d been driven by her pretty face and innocence and the intoxicating feeling of forbidden courtship.
Eleanor's attention suddenly snapped back to him, her grey eyes sharp despite their brightness. "Does that mean she has your child?"
"What? No!" Aubrey was appalled by the suggestion. "Good God, what kind of man do you take me for?"
"The kind who courted another woman while betrothed to me!" Eleanor's voice rose. "The kind who married me and then abandoned me! Forgive me if I do not immediately trust your assurances of propriety!"
"We courted for five months," Aubrey said, forcing himself to remain calm despite the anger toward Rose and confusion churning in his gut.
"Five months of stolen conversations and walks and carefully worded letters.
I had no plans to marry her at the time.
I was still betrothed to you. I needed time to convince my parents to break the engagement. "
"How romantic." Eleanor's voice was bitter.
"I am sorry. I know I hurt you and don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt, but please believe me. I did not bed her."
Eleanor's expression was openly sceptical.
"And I have not been intimate with anyone since our marriage," Aubrey continued, his voice tight. "I may have been a terrible husband in every other respect, but I upheld that aspect of our vows. I have been faithful to you, even if I haven’t been a husband in any other way."
The silence that followed was crushing.
Eleanor stood gripping the chair, her face a mask of barely controlled emotion. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
"Eleanor—" Aubrey's voice softened. "I am sorry. I never meant for you to learn about Rose this way."
"My lady's maid," Eleanor’s voice cracked, "secretly carrying on with the man I was about to marry."
A single tear escaped, tracking down her pale cheek.
Aubrey felt something twist in his chest, a pain that seemed to rise from deep in his core. "Eleanor, I’m so very sorry."
She stopped. Pressed her hand to her mouth as though physically holding back a sob.
"I wish..." Aubrey found himself saying words he had never expected to speak. "I wish I could hold you. Comfort you. I know I have no right to even suggest such a thing, but Eleanor, I am sorry. I am so desperately sorry for hurting you."
Eleanor looked at him then, and Aubrey saw in her eyes the full measure of what he had done. Not just this fresh betrayal; this new wound layered atop all the others, but the abandonment of the past two years.
"I need..." Eleanor's voice was barely audible. "I need to be alone."
She turned and fled from the room, her footsteps quick and uneven in the hallway outside.
Aubrey sat among his pillows, the household ledger still open in his lap, staring at the entries that had just shattered what remained of his certainty.
The fury toward the woman he had loved rose from deep within and threatened to combust. He had comforted Rose, defended his actions, while punishing his innocent wife. And in the meantime, Rose had lain with another man and was taking money from his wife.
Aubrey closed the ledger and pressed it against his chest, closing his eyes against the wave of self-loathing that crashed over him.
He’d been such a fool.
Such a complete, utter, unforgivable fool.
And Eleanor—generous, kind-hearted Eleanor—had paid the price for his foolishness at every turn.
The question now was whether there was any possible way to make amends for the damage he had done.
Or whether some wounds were simply too deep to ever heal.