Page 2 of A Deal with the Rebellious Marquess
Apparently, one could live on anger, at least for four days. While Emma and Antonia had stayed in with their grief at Mrs Parnaby’s, Fleur had gone out, channelling her rage into walking the muddy, ruined streets of Holmfirth. She helped with the recovery effort from daybreak to sunset. She helped rehome those who’d lost everything. She sat on the committee charged with collecting funds to distribute to those in need—of which there were many when the realisation set in that the river had destroyed homesandjobs. There was no work to go back to, no income to earn. In the evenings, she wrote copious articles to the newspapers Adam owned, sharing first-hand testimonies of survivors and reports of the developing situation. She instructed the editors to send artists to draw pictures. She wanted lithographs printed, she wanted word spread far and wide about the depth of tragedy in Holmfirth.
Anger could only go so far, though. It kept her fuelled and busy. But it could not change the fact that Adam was gone. ‘We’re widows now. Widows before the age of thirty,’ Fleur ground out, pacing before Mrs Parnaby’s fireplace. The woman had been a generous hostess, taking in three women who were only supposed to have been dinner guests.
Emma spoke up as if reading her thoughts from across the room. ‘I think it’s time to go. There’s nothing more we can do here.’
Fleur raised an eyebrow in challenge. Nothing more to do here? There was plenty to do here. She couldn’t possibly leave now. But of course, Emma would be thinking about concerns with Garrett’s estate and his investments. She would need to be in London. Antonia nodded agreement, citing the need to take over the reins of Keir’s department store project. That was a bold move on Antonia’s part. Fleur was aware of Antonia’s gaze on her as her friend asked, ‘Shall we all travel together as far as London?’
Fleur shook her head, not daring to look at her two closest friends. They would argue with her. They’d not been out in the streets and seen what she had seen. ‘No. I think I’ll stay and finish Adam’s investigation. There are people to help and justice to serve.’ She would take rooms at an inn if Mrs Parnaby needed her privacy back.
Emma’s face showed disagreement. ‘Do you think that’s wise, Fleur? If this disaster was man-made, there will be people who won’t appreciate the prying, particularly if there’s a woman doing it. You should think twice about putting yourself in danger.’
‘I don’t care,’ Fleur snapped. She loved Emma, but they often butted heads, both of them stubborn. ‘If Adam died because of carelessness or greed, someone will pay for that. I will see to it and I will see to it that such recklessness doesn’t happen again.’
Emma’s gaze dropped to her waist and Fleur snatched her hand away from her stomach. She’d been unaware she’d put it there. But it was too late for Emma’s sharp eyes. ‘And Adam’s babe? Would you be reckless with his child?’
Fleur reined in her anger, softening her voice. ‘I do not know if there is a child. It is too soon.’
Emma relented with a nod. ‘Just be careful, dear friend. I do not want anything to happen to you.’ Emma rose and came to her, Antonia joining them. They encircled each other with their arms, their heads bent together. This would be their private farewell. ‘We’re widows now,’ Emma echoed her words.
‘We have lost much,’ Fleur murmured, ‘but we are still friends. Whatever else changes, that will not, no matter where we go, no matter what happens.’ She looked at the pale faces of her friends, her resolve doubling. For Garrett, for Keir, for Adam, for Antonia, for Emma, and for herself, there would be justice for them all.
Chapter One
London—
May 1853, fifteen months later
There’d been no justice, just a vituperative, albeit sincere, outpouring of extreme dismay from the Government Inspector over the negligence surrounding the construction, maintenance, and oversight of the doomed Bilberry Dam. If one thing had been made clear in the investigation, it was that the dam had been plagued with misadventures from the start on all levels.
Sympathy and outrage were not enough for Fleur. It had not been enough last February when the inquiry concluded with a call for increased legislative oversight to prevent future disasters and it was not enough now, fifteen months later, which was why Fleur had scheduled a morning meeting with Government Inspector Captain R.C. Moody at theNewcastle Forge, one of the Northumberland papers owned by the Griffiths news syndicate. Owned byher.
It was one of the myriad changes that had occurred in the past year. Adam’s empire was hers now, hers to look after in his place, although it was not a role she would have chosen for herself. Being a newspaper magnate had been Adam’s dream, not hers. She’d wanted to be a storyteller, nothing more. Running the syndicate was a daunting task, but one that offered her the leverage to continue to pursue justice for the dam accident.
If the truth wouldn’t come to her, she would go to the truth. So, here she was, in Newcastle upon Tyne, sitting in Adam’s regional office, surrounded by Adam’s things, sitting behind the desk in the chair Adam used to occupy when he was in town. The company might be hers, but the office was still very definitely his. She took strength from that, from feeling his presence. Before her on the desk were the documents regarding the dam accident. How many times had she read them in the hopes that she might uncover something new? She tapped her fingers, impatient for Captain Moody to arrive. A glance at the small desktop clock encased in masculine walnut indicated her impatience was not warranted. Moody wasn’t even late yet. There was no basis for it except her own eagerness.
She’d met Moody before during the inquest. He’d been a perfect gentleman, considerate and well spoken, aware that his task as the Government Inspector was not only to investigate the cause of failure, but also to ensure the region recovered. He’d been sensitive to the rawness and depth of loss the people had experienced. In those days, she’d been just another widow, angry and grieving. Today, she was a businesswoman at the helm of a newspaper empire. She could not be handled with platitudes and consolation. Today, she wanted accountability and truth.
A knock on her closed door was followed by the paper’s receptionist announcing Captain Moody’s arrival. Fleur rose and ran a smoothing hand down her bodice and her green tartan skirts before straightening her shoulders. She would be politely charming, personally enquiring and, above all, professional. The past months had taught her the merits of such decorum when dealing with Adam’s testy board of directors who hadn’t liked change when it came in the form of a woman. ‘Send him in, Miss Grant.’
She could hear Miss Grant in the outer office. ‘Mrs Griffiths will see you now, Captain.’
That was her cue to come around the desk and extend a hand in greeting as the Captain entered the room,her domain. This was her space; she was in charge here, despite it being marked with Adam’s effects. ‘Captain, it’s so good of you to come. I know you’re a busy man these days overseeing the Royal Engineers in Newcastle.’ She smiled. ‘And somewhat recently married, too, I hear. Congratulations.’
He smiled the smile of the newlywed bridegroom, part-blissful enchantment, and part-bashful humility as if he couldn’t quite believe his good fortune. ‘Yes, Mrs Griffiths, you’ve heard correctly. Mary and I were wed last July.’ Quite the marriage it was, too. Fleur had done her research. The Captain’s wife was the daughter of an extremely wealthy industrialist and, rumour had it, already expecting their first child—not that she would bring that up.
‘Please, have a seat.’ She gestured to the leather club chair set on the guest side of the big, polished desk. She crossed to the matching console where Adam’s Baccarat decanters and a silver coffee urn were displayed. ‘It is probably too early to offer you a drink, Captain, but I have hot coffee and fresh rolls.’
‘Coffee, thank you, Mrs Griffiths.’ He took the seat, sitting with evident military bearing. ‘How have you been?’ he asked as she passed him a warm mug of coffee and a pastry plate, his question a reminder of how differently the year had treated them. Her marriage, her hopes for a family, had ended while his had begun.
She took her own seat behind the desk, a hand slipping surreptitiously to the flat of her stomach. There’d been no child. Perhaps there never had been. Perhaps all that had ever been in her belly was hope: hope for a child, for the type of family she’d been denied growing up, hope to redirect a marriage she’d sensed was coming to a volatile head between two strong-willed people who wanted different things. Instead of new life, she’d got death.
‘I’ve been well, thank you.’ It wasn’t quite a lie. She’d been busy and she supposed that was as close to well as she’d get these days. Busy enough to not miss Adam every waking minute. Busy enough to not be entirely eaten up with the regret and the guilt that surrounded that fateful night in Holmfirth. Busy enough to convince herself she was indeed moving on, that she was making progress in a man’s world with a board of directors who’d sooner oust her than support her. Some days she actually believed in that progress.
She took a sip of her own coffee and got straight to business. ‘I’ve asked for this meeting because it’s been over a year since the inquest delivered its verdict on the dam and nothing has been done. There has been no preventative legislation introduced and now I fear that momentum has been lost. The public has forgotten the urgency behind the issue.’ But she had not. She would never forget the horror of Holmfirth and the terrible days that followed when she’d roamed the streets helping survivors, grappling with the loss of Adam and all it meant.
Captain Moody gave a slight nod, but it was a nod of empathy, not agreement. She hoped he would not condescend to her with pity, which seemed to be a man’s default when dealing with a widow. ‘Mrs Griffiths, you were there when the verdict was read, and prior to that, when my own conclusions were presented. Even now, I will still stand by every word of my statement. While there was proof of gross negligence and ineptitude of such capacity that it turns my stomach to think of it, there was no one person or firm who could be charged with the irresponsibility that led to the dam’s demise. This made it impossible to render the charge of manslaughter,’ he explained patiently. ‘Truly, I understand how disappointing such a finding must be for you.’
Disappointment did not encapsulate the entirety of her feelings in that regard. She knew the words of those findings by heart. She’d heard them spoken out loud at the original presentation of the jury’s verdict. She’d read them over and over when the report had been published.
