Page 6 of Lady of Providence
"Your grandfather did as he saw best. All that you are proposing to Elizabeth would undermine the very principles upon which he built this bank, and for you to suggest that she might do anything other than what she feels is right is ridiculous. When was the last time you attended a church service, child? For your grandfather was there, sitting in the front pew every Sunday, and when God told him to provide for those in need, he certainly did so — through the bank as well as through his own personal means. You would do well to learn from such lessons. Apologize to your cousin. For she doesn't deserve your idiotic words."
Henry fixed his astonished gaze to his grandmother, before turning it to Elizabeth and finally to his own mother, who had come to join them after obviously hearing such a commotion from their corner of the room.
"Henry," she said politely. "Perhaps do as your grandmother says, and then we might have a word just the two of us?"
Elizabeth had no strong feelings regarding her Aunt Betsy. She had always meekly followed along with her husband, and once he was gone, she had always done what she had always felt was in Henry's best interests.
"Apologies, Elizabeth," he muttered, and then led his mother away from them.
Justine turned to Elizabeth and brought her cool hands to Elizabeth's cheeks. She wore no gloves, having never considered herself requiring dress much more intricate than that in which she had been raised.
"Thomas knew what he was doing, darling," she said, her eyes flicking over Elizabeth's face. “You are the only one he trusted, and I know you are entirely capable. You can do this."
Elizabeth nodded, but in reality, she wasn't so sure.
CHAPTER3
Exactly one week after the reading of her beloved grandfather's will, Elizabeth was sitting at her vanity once more, contemplating the night's upcoming events.
Attending her grandfather's funeral was not a practical idea. It was certainly not a proper one — for a woman, that is. And it was, with all certainty, nothing that the Lady Elizabeth Moreland of even two weeks ago would have even contemplated.
But she was now more than Lady Elizabeth Moreland. She was Elizabeth Moreland, granddaughter of Thomas Clarke, and now the senior partner of Clarke & Co., the largest bank in England. She walked with a target on her back, and yet she was well aware that if she didn't attend an event such as this, it would only provide her cousins — particularly Henry — with more credence as to why all should be taken from her. How they would do it, she had no idea, but they had certainly vowed to do so.
After the nightmare that was the reading of the will, Elizabeth had remained stunned during the meal, in which most of her family simply stared at her, most with loathing. Her mother was all smiles, of course, though the moment they had entered the carriage, all she could speak of was how wonderfully wealthy they would soon become, and when did Elizabeth think she could begin to earn income?
Elizabeth told her mother that unfortunately, she had no idea, but that once an acceptable period of time had passed — perhaps, she asked politely, after her grandfather's funeral had taken place? — she would visit the bank and ask all the questions required.
"But—" her mother had begun to say, but Elizabeth quelled her question with a look that requested her mother's silence — for the moment, at least. Her father, a man of fewer words than her mother (although most people were), looked rather smug as he sat with his arms crossed, finally providing the only advice that seemed to permeate his thoughts.
"Hire the people you can trust, then take yourself out of there. Keep your share, of course, and collect the funds from it. By all means, do not involve yourself in any operations, Elizabeth. That would only cause utter scandal."
That very night, Elizabeth began to itemize her possessions in order to determine what was, in actuality, hers and what was her parents’. She had thought about it long and hard and had decided that she couldn’t ignore what her grandfather had given her, which was the responsibility and the position that he knew she would love with her very soul. In order to move forward, she needed the freedom to come and go as she pleased, to not have to be greeted by her parents and their multitude of questions every time she walked down the stairs.
Such as at this moment. Elizabeth had waited until her father had left, and she hoped to avoid her mother, who certainly wouldn't be attending the parade to the church nor the service itself — no, it wouldn't be at all proper for an English lady to do so, which was certainly how Elizabeth's mother presented herself, despite the fact that she had been raised in the home of Thomas and Justine Clarke, who had come from modest beginnings.
Well, Elizabeth may be a lady, but tonight she was going to be true to her grandfather and what he would expect from her. As he had often told her, he cared little for the nobility and their rules, nor did he believe in what was always referred to as a lady’s sensitivities. So now, as his successor and the senior partner of Clarke & Co., Elizabeth was going to the funeral, whether her mother liked it or not.
Elizabeth looked out the door of chambers and tiptoed down the steps, cringing as the black crinoline rustled with each step she took. Drat this damn material, she thought as she rounded the stairs, pulling her cloak tighter around her. Her mother would be sitting in the drawing room at the front of the house, and Elizabeth only had to get past the door to the outdoors, where she could go around to the mews and have a carriage prepared.
"Elizabeth Moreland, where do you think you are going?"
Elizabeth had been so close — only footsteps away from the door — when her mother appeared in the entrance of the drawing room. The woman could have been a Bow Street Runner, the way she knew anything and everything that was happening not only in her house but amongst all of her acquaintances. It was part of the reason that Elizabeth had to leave as soon as possible, in order to see to her own affairs.
"I am going to Grandpapa's funeral, Mother," she said, holding her head high, and her mother, who looked so like her with her auburn hair pulled back, her sharp, pointed nose, and somewhat hollowed cheekbones, stared at her incredulously.
"You cannot be serious! Elizabeth, what are you thinking? What if someone were to see you?"
"That is the point," Elizabeth said calmly. She and her mother may look alike, but their countenances were entirely different. While they both kept hold of their emotions when out in public, at home her mother was known to frequently cry out in rage or despair. She loved the attention. "Grandpapa would have wanted me to go," she said more gently now, before changing to a tack she was sure her mother would understand. "Besides that, if I do not go, it is only one more opportunity for the rest of them to convene against me, for them to find a reason to declare me incapable of the position, or Grandpapa's will invalid."
Elizabeth's mother tilted her head and sighed. "You do, unfortunately, make a valid point. However, your father will be there, as will Terrence. That will be good enough."
"No, it will not," Elizabeth said in even tones. “Neither Father nor Terrence is the senior partner of Clarke & Co. And more importantly, Father did not know Grandpapa as I did and Terrence was always rather… busy. I wish to pay my respects to Grandpapa, Mother. I loved him, very much."
Her mother sighed and waved a hand in the air.
"You spent far too much time with him in that dratted bank," she said. "You should have been furthering your education instead."
"If you are referring to needlepoint and watercolors, then I am afraid I would have failed either way," Elizabeth said with a chuckle to which her mother seemed to take exception. "Besides, Mother," she continued, "I do not need your permission."
