Chapter 12
Jamie was still pacing when Mrs. Maggie entered.
The study door opened without ceremony, because Mrs. Maggie had never believed the world required her permission before delivering unwelcome news. Jamie turned at once, the letter still in his hand, and for one absurd second considered whether hiding it would change anything.
The gesture died before it began. There was no point in pretending. He crossed the room, turned sharply, and paced back again. The house beyond the study remained silent. Too silent. He hated that, as well.
Mrs. Maggie shut the door behind her and took one look at his face. “That bad, is it?”
Jamie stopped in the middle of the room. “You knew.”
She did not blink. “Yes.”
His jaw tightened. “You knew.”
“Yes.”
He stared at her. The housekeeper folded her hands at her waist with infuriating calm.
“You recommended her,” he said.
“I did.”
“You sent her here under another name.”
“I did.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I said enough.”
He laughed once, sharply and without humor. “You said enough?”
“I did.”
He crossed the room again, too quickly, the letter crinkling in his grip. “You let me welcome her into this house.”
“I did.”
“You let me trust her.”
Mrs. Maggie’s expression hardened. “You did that yourself.”
Jamie stopped so abruptly that pain flared down his shoulder. He ignored it. “Do not speak to me as if I am at fault.”
“You are always at fault when you are furious.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It is the answer you deserve.”
He looked toward the desk, then back at her. “A letter from Baron Lawing arrives in my own study, addressed to Miss Beauchamp. Would you care to explain that?”
Mrs. Maggie did not flinch. “Her father is Baron Lawing.”
Jamie went still. Hearing it spoken made the situation real, and he knew he could no longer avoid it.
“Her mother was my dearest friend,” Mrs. Maggie continued. “The daughter needed work.”
He took a single step toward the desk, then turned back. “You lied to me.”
“I omitted a name.”
“You lied in my house.”
“I protected a good woman.”
His jaw flexed. “From what?”
“From her father’s sins.” She held his gaze without softening. “Six families, my lord. Do you know how many people Baron Lawing ruined when he defaulted?”
“I know the name.”
“Then do not dress this up with outrage,” she said. “The man borrowed recklessly, guaranteed loans that should never have been guaranteed, and left other people to drown when he failed. The Lawing name is poison in some counties, and you know that as well as I do.”
Jamie looked away. He did know. Everyone knew. It was one of those names spoken only after a pause, used to teach sons to be careful with their signatures and their friendships. It sat in his chest now, cold and unwelcome.
“You brought a Lawing into my house,” he said.
“I brought Eloise into your house.”
He gave her a firm, cool look. She did not soften.
“You may be angry about the name,” she said, “but do not pretend you do not know the woman.”
“I know she lied.”
“Yes. She did.”
“Then you admit it.”
“I admitted it the day I recommended her.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“No,” Mrs. Maggie said. “It was not.”
Jamie looked at her with open frustration. The letter in his hand had become nearly useless by then. He folded it once, then again, and still had no idea what to do with the paper except crush it entirely. “You had no right,” he said.
Her eyes flashed. “And she had no right to be born to that man. No right to spend her life under the weight of his ruin. No right to be turned away because she carried the wrong surname. No right to watch her mother hold a household together while her father destroyed it. Do you think she would have taken this place if she had any other choice?”
“You did not tell me.”
“No.”
“You should have.”
“I should have told you she was good with the children. I should have told you she was steady. I should have told you she was the best thing that has happened in this house since your sister died.” Mrs. Maggie did not look away.
“If I had told you the name first, you would have dismissed her before she crossed the threshold.”
He said nothing, because she was right, and the rightness of it infuriated him more than anything else in the room.
She stepped closer. “She did not come here to deceive you for sport.”
“She used a false name.”
“She used her mother’s name.”
“While letting me believe she was someone else.”
“Yes.”
He stared at her in disbelief. She lifted her chin. “What would you have had her do? Walk into this house as a Lawing and hope you remembered mercy before society did? No household in England would hire a Lawing. You know that as well as I do. She could not have fed herself on honesty.”
The words struck more sharply than he wanted to admit. He looked down at the letter, the seal, the handwriting, then back at Mrs. Maggie. “You knew I would be angry.”
“Yes.”
“And you did it anyway.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because I care about that girl. And because you had the chance to get to know her, I believe that you do, as well.”
He could not immediately set that sentence aside. He stared at her. She did not retreat.
“You may be angry with me, if it eases your temper,” she said, with moderated force. “But think before you judge a girl who is trying to make herself free.”
His expression tightened. Her words constricted his chest, and she seemed to know it. She looked toward the door. “I have said my piece,” she said as she opened it.
She paused to glance back. “If you are wise, you will remember that Eloise did not come here wearing jewels or a false pedigree. She came here with a trunk, a desire to work hard, and a spine. That tells you more than a name ever could.”
Then she left.
Jamie remained where he was. The letter sat on the desk. The room felt hotter than it had a moment ago, or perhaps that was only his temper. He dragged a hand down his face, turned abruptly, and paced again.
A false name. The words repeated themselves with infuriating clarity. He had told her things he had not told anyone else. He had sat with her in the library and spoken of the explosion. He had given her the names of the men. He had trusted her, and she had been a Lawing the entire time.
His hand curled into a fist. The worst part was not the deception itself.
It was the feeling that followed it. Not only anger.
Not only betrayal. A humiliating sensation that he had made himself vulnerable for the first time in years and had done so with a woman who had not even given him her true name in return.
Mrs. Maggie’s words made a great deal of sense, and they would not be forgotten. But neither would the fact that Eloise had lied, or the betrayal that came with that fact.
A knock came at the study door.
“Enter.”
Eloise stepped inside. He had known she would come the moment he saw the letter. She looked pale and frightened. Her hands were folded tightly at her waist. Her posture was straight.
He lifted the letter. “Would you like to explain this?”
Her gaze flicked to the envelope, then back to his face. She did not pretend not to understand. “No,” she said.
A muscle in his jaw jumped. “Perhaps you will explain anyway.”
She took a slow breath and walked farther into the room until she stood opposite his desk, only her folded hands betraying the tension beneath it.
“You know who wrote this,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Addressed to Miss Eloise Beauchamp.”
“Yes.”
“Would you care to explain why a letter bearing Baron Lawing’s crest is addressed to a woman who calls herself Beauchamp?”
The color in her face deepened. She did not look away. “My father is Baron Lawing. My mother’s name was Beauchamp. I took it for the position.”
“Why?”
“Because no household in England would hire a Lawing.”
The answer was plain. Not bitter. Simply fact.
“The man ruined families,” Jamie said.
“Yes.”
“Your family as well?”
A faint tightening crossed her mouth. “Yes. Not only ours. Six others that I know of. My father borrowed from friends. He guaranteed loans. He made promises he could not keep, and when the debts came due, those families lost everything.”
“He did not mean to ruin them,” she added, when Jamie said nothing.
“That does not make the damage disappear.”
“No,” she said immediately. “I know that.”
The truth was written plainly across her face, and he believed it instantly. The anger in him softened, and the relief of her denying nothing was overwhelming.
“You let me think you were someone else,” he said.
Her chin lifted. “I used my mother’s name.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No,” she said. “I know that too.”
She did not ask for forgiveness. She did not ask for understanding. She only stood there and let him look at her, and that made his temper considerably harder to sustain.
“Why did you not tell me?” he asked at last.
Her gaze dropped, only briefly, then returned. “Because I did not expect to be offered the chance to tell you at all. When Mrs. Maggie wrote to me, she said the position was desperate. I had no reason to believe anyone would employ a Lawing. Not even here. Especially not here.”
Jamie stared at her, recalling his first thoughts when he saw the letter with the name Lawing on it. Would he have given her a chance if she had been honest with him? Would he have sent her away without the opportunity to learn what a warm, compassionate, bold woman she was?
“And I was right,” she added, when he said nothing.
The words struck. He looked at her sharply. She did not soften them.
“I came because I needed work,” she said. “Because my mother’s name could open a door my father’s had closed. Because I wanted to earn money honestly and send it home. I did not come to mock you. I did not come to trap you. I did not come to take advantage of your household.”
Her voice did not break, but the strain in it was now visible, if one was looking. He was looking.
“I understand if you dismiss me,” she said.
The words came plainly and without theatrics. She was not asking. She was making an offer he might refuse.
“Only do not blame Mrs. Maggie,” she said softly.