Page 16 of The Duke of Fire
“Octavia, please. Just let me—”
Before she could even finish, Finch barged in. His eyes were blazing as he took in his wife standing by the doorway and his half-sister by her desk.
“What is going on again?” he demanded as he quickly entered the room, putting himself between the two women.
“Amelia has been lying to us, Finch!” Octavia wailed. “She pretended to be sick so that she could get away from helping me feel better. Now, I know she has been rushing to her room to earn money behind our backs. Tell me, Finch, what kind of lady works a trade?”
The viscount approached Amelia’s desk and picked up some of the scattered pages. Frowning, he perused each of them. Amelia’s body trembled and her heart pounded as her half-brother pored through her writing. Then, he looked back at her and shook his head in disapproval.
“Is what Octavia said true?” he asked, brows furrowed. “You have been working behind our backs?”
“I translate books. I use a male pseudonym. So, do not worry. Nobody else knows that I am working,” she said in a rush, hoping that the family’s reputation was his only concern. They could always spin the story that the maid’s daughter needed employment, just like her mother.
“So you have been earning your own money all this time?” Finch closed the gap between the two of them, a sinister smile on his face. “Where do you keep your savings, then, Amelia?”
She had not even been able to nod when he strode toward her wardrobe. Without asking permission, he rummaged throughthe drawers. He even tore open the seam of her mattress. There, he found a small pouch of coins that she had been carefully saving.
Amelia could feel all the blood drain from her body. At first, she could not move, except for her pale, trembling fingers. Even before it happened, she knew what was to come.
Finch held the pouch up with one hand.
“I will take your savings and add them to your dowry. You do not seem to plan on marrying anytime soon. So, I can keep your money safe for you,” he said, his eyes taking on a glint she did not like.
“No!” Amelia cried, finally able to move. “You have no right to do that! I earned it myself. It is mine! I need it, I—”
Sobs wracked her body, trapped within her chest. She needed to let them out, but she could not. It was like watching her life unfold before her eyes, and she could not even do anything about it.
“I haveeveryright. In case you have forgotten, Amelia,” Finch snapped. “You are living in this household. Everything you have—food, clothes—comes from me. Do you think you can earn a living like a man and hide your money behind our backs?” he asked, sounding as pompous as he had been of late.
“She is just like her mother, Finch. She works for her money like a commoner, or so she believes she should,” Octavia added, her eyes dancing. “Next thing we know, she will try to climb her way in society like that harlot.”
“Do not speak of my mother!” Amelia shouted, finally losing control. She could endure Octavia’s daily jabs and her constantbelittling, but notthis. She would not have her talk about her mother like that.
The slap came fast and hard, making her stagger backward. Her hand quickly reached to touch the stinging flesh.
“Octavia is right. Your mother was a servant, a maid! Most of all, she was a whore who seduced my father into marrying her so she could rise above her station. I would not be surprised if she had you on purpose. You are just like her.”
‘We cannot wish for more than we are given.’
Her mother’s words echoed in her ears, as if she had risen from the grave. Another feeling rose from her chest, as thoughts of the duke came unbidden. Would he still find her fascinating if he knew about her? She chided herself quickly. Of course, he found her fascinating. She had not been in his bed yet.
Amelia’s cheek burned. For a moment, the room swayed. Her world had turned upside down. She had been so close to earning the chance to leave this house. So close.
Tears formed in her eyes, but she would not cry in front of them. She had done that enough times the past few years, under Finch’s rule.
Husband and wife left her in her room, their backs straight with triumph. Amelia sank to the floor as the gravity of her situation fell on her. Her savings were all gone. She did not believe for one bit that the money would go to her dowry. Whether she liked it or not, she had to find another way to leave—and soon.
The next morning, Amelia went straight to the publisher’s office, each step a scream her body refused to voice. Sleep had eluded her. Food had no taste. She was a body moving by instinct alone, held together with threads of desperation. It was not until she had rehearsed what she would say to him a hundred times.
She brought along the only thing still left with her—a partial translation.Unfinished work.Normally, she would never set foot in the publisher’s place without finishing her work. She had her pride, but now she was desperate.
“Mr. Geoffrey Fox,” the man addressed her using her pseudonym. His eyes were unreadable, but his voice dripped with disappointment. “You missed your deadline by a few days. That is not acceptable.”
“Please consider the situation, sir,” she begged. “I apologize. I had not been well. Remember that I have delivered timely, excellent work before.”
“I am sorry,Mr. Fox. You are no longer considered reliable. Publishing follows a strict schedule. Our clients have expectations, and so do our readers.”
This time, he did not seem to want to look at her at all. She looked at him, hoping that he would meet her eyes, but she felt it was his way of remaining firm with his decision.
