Chapter 27 #2
Meg covered her face with her hands. The sob that had been growing erupted, ugly and breathless. She could not pull in air, nor spare herself the humiliation of the moment.
A heavy arm fell across her back, and she was pulled into her brother’s chest, the wetness of her face surely ruining his silk waistcoat.
Tears ran thick, like an ocean held at bay for all the years since her mother had left her.
She cried for the girl she’d been, her innocence broken with the knowledge that her mother lived at the mercy of men’s baser appetites.
She wept for Grace’s theft, for her own dishonesty, and for the pain of wanting to trust James but falling short.
She cried for what she’d lost in betraying Peter.
When at last she caught her breath, she said, “Forgive me.”
“Not at all. What troubles you so? I can see it’s not just Samuel.” He led her to a seat and sat beside her, his gold eyes full of compassion she could not meet.
“I have done terrible things. I don’t think I can mend them.
” She explained everything, including Peter’s identity as her valentine.
“I think I fell in love with him,” she admitted.
“I have cruelly used him. Perhaps ruined Sloan Tailoring in my eagerness to rise. I told myself I was doing it for Samuel, to provide for him.” Her voice caught.
“And I think I was, but my motives were primarily selfish, simply to prove I could, to show I am not…”
“Your mother?”
She nodded, tears wetting her face. “But I’ve showed that I am like her, willing to do anything to gain my desire.”
He offered her a handkerchief. “One might say you’ve done the man a service.”
Meg laughed and blew her nose. “I cannot see how.”
“Peter Sloan is an artist. He does not belong in a tailor shop.”
“True. I have often thought as much, told him so, but it does not change what I have done. He values Sloan Tailoring, and I have harmed him. I was numb to his interests when intent on my own. No thought in my head urged me to consider his feelings or his future. I’ve been selfish.”
“One learns by experience,” James said. “We have all done our share of ill deeds.”
“Except for you, James. You are priestly in your sinlessness.”
His laughter brought the tug of a smile to Meg’s lips. She sat in it for a moment, allowing it to loosen the shame that clutched her, exchanging the heaviness she’d grown accustomed to for a hesitant softening. “What do you suggest I do?”
“I wish Louisa were here to help me console you. But I imagine she would suggest you go to him, tell him how you feel.”
That she could not do. Her actions were unforgivable. The best she hoped for was a gradual easing as they met on the road or passed in church. “I will think about it,” she said.
“Good. Before we return to the parlor, let us speak of Samuel’s future. You have the papers concerning your trust? I’d like to review them with you again.”
Meg tried to explain the futility of reexamining the complicated legal documents, but James insisted until she found the papers, forgotten in the back of a drawer, and tossed them at him.
He returned them to her. “Examine the terms. I’m convinced you are trying not to understand them.”
She took the document reluctantly and began to read. Was he right?
The meaning was clouded in dense, formal language—“hereby agreed and declared,” “accruing interest and dividends,” “residue of monies repaid upon mortgage”—words she and Grace might have ridiculed.
She groaned. “I am no solicitor.”
“You’re more intelligent than any solicitor I have met.” He took the paper and began reading aloud, pausing after each paragraph to ask for her interpretation.
To her surprise, she found she could summarize each one with full comprehension.
In the middle of one sentence, she interrupted him.
“I understand. I own shares of the East India Company and a few other businesses, as well as a portion of the mortgages on one of your properties. There is also a sum of money that earns interest, which I may use as I please, but not the principal.” The full picture was beginning to take form, like a watercolor receiving its final layers of paint.
James read the final few paragraphs. He could not retract, command, or control the funds.
She held them in full possession. Her wealth would extend over generations, remain her own even after marriage.
All this time, she had never truly been beholden to her brother’s whims of generosity.
She had always been free. And she knew that James had arranged a nearly identical contract for Samuel, save for which specific shares he owned.
The picture was finished. “You aren’t paying for Samuel’s tuition. He is paying for it with his own trust,” she said.
“Yes.”
Her shoulders slumped and she pressed the burning from her eyes. “I’m a fool.”
“You are a loving sister.”
“I’ve insisted on distrusting you.”
“You had little reason to have confidence in me, considering our shared heritage.”
“I am a blind creature.” If Samuel didn’t require her money, then she had broken her contract for nothing, destroyed her relationship with the one man who ever saw her clearly.
Not for Samuel. Not for survival. For control.
Her mother had told her to become useful, and Meg had achieved her mother’s objective.
“I want Samuel to live with me.” His presence was almost a requirement. Who was she without him?
“Of course. And I would never oppose that arrangement.”
“You believe he will be better served at school.”
“It’s a path familiar to me. But perhaps no one understands Samuel’s needs better than he. And I know he loves you more than anything.”
The words washed over her like warm water, giving her strength to admit defeat.
She thanked him sincerely for his counsel as they returned to tea and enjoyed the rest of their afternoon together.
When James and Samuel departed, Meg squeezed her little brother with the strength of a mother sending her child away for the last time.
“I’ll be back, Meg.” His eyes were reproachful.
She knew this was true, but her heart stretched to near breaking as she watched him amble away atop his pony. Samuel patted the pony’s neck and spoke to Lord Halverton’s groom with the easy familiarity of a boy who belonged. He did not look back as he rode away.
She had carried him through fevers, slept on floors beside his cot, rationed her own meals so he might eat.
Every scrimped coin, every breach of contract, every lie she swallowed to preserve the illusion that her shop was innocent had been rooted in the certainty that Samuel would return to her.
She’d fabricated a future too small for Samuel.
Her gaze fell to Peter’s windows, where light burned, warm and steady.
In her determination to succeed, she’d dismantled Peter’s trust, sacrificing him on the altar of Samuel’s care when no such offering was required.
Their letters had taken a friendly turn.
Perhaps honesty could renew their friendship in full.
Meg retreated to her office and trimmed a quill.