Page 4 of The Highland Heist
For some time?
She frowned up at the man. As an amateur sleuth, she’d certainly missed the mark on this one. Not one clue. Not one hint.
Her thoughts paused. Or—or had there been?
Before her marriage, Father had held more closed-door meetings. Whispered conversations with the lawyer. Less frequent visits to town. Cold spread through Grace’s body. Had finances been the reason Father had engaged in a desperate search for a groom for Lillias all along? To secure her future?
She turned to Frederick. And wasn’t her father supposed to provide a third installment of the dowry at the one-year mark of their wedding? Was that lost too?
Had Frederick been hoodwinked by Grace’s own father?
Nausea swelled up through her tightening stomach, and her eyes stung with more ardor. She flipped her attention back to Perkins. “Where is Father now?”
Her voice rasped out the question in the strangest way. Her throat closed. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she sort out her feelings? An ugly, uncomfortable, and unfamiliar ache bruised deep. Was it hurt? Surprise?
Her breath quivered. Betrayal?
She pressed a fist to her chest. No. Surely not something as devastating as betrayal. Didn’t that only happen with strangers and villains? She gave her head a shake as the pain knifed a little deeper. No. In all the stories, betrayal wounded the deepest from those closest and dearest, didn’t it? Her fist pushed against the growing ache.
“I’m sorry, my lady.” Perkins’ words tumbled out. “I know Mr. Ferguson would not wish for you to find out about this situation in this manner. He had me forward mail to your sister’s house until two weeks ago, at which time he wrote to alert me that he was going to visit his sister in South Carolina for an extended period of time. It seems that the living situation at Mrs. Dixon’s home was not … well, your father needed some distance from your sister.” Perkins’ face reddened all the way from his neck to his forehead. “Or … the reverse.”
Could this situation get any worse? Her father and sister at odds. Her family home sold. Her father’s … lies?
Grace leaned back into Frederick’s hold. It was one thing to feel betrayed by a crazy archeologist or a wealthy owner of stolen paintings, but quite another by her own father.
“In reference to the solicitor, I do have some mail we received for you that preceded the solicitor’s visit, but since it was in the midst of all of Mr. Ferguson’s … changes, the mail was misplaced. I only recalled it when the solicitor arrived yesterday in search of you and Miss Lilli—” He cleared his throat. “Mrs. Dixon.”
“Mail?” Grace’s gaze turned back to the man. “From a solicitor?”
“His explicit instructions were that the information be delivered by hand to you or your sister. He seemed quite adamant on me locating either of you.” Perkins nodded. “I have it safely placed with the purpose of driving to town to hand deliver it to Mrs. Dixon tomorrow, but if you will permit me, I can give it to you now. Mr. Barclay is staying in town with the hopes of speaking with your sister, since I told him you were no longer in the country. Allow me to retrieve it, my lady.”
He turned back into the house, leaving Frederick and Grace standing on the doorstep of her own home.
She tilted her head, studying the familiar door.
No, no longer her home. She straightened a little, allowing the warmth of Frederick’s touch to radiate through her and soothe her untamed emotions. Her home was with Frederick now. At Havensbrooke.
She turned toward her husband, the stinging in her eyes intensifying. “I—I didn’t know … about the finances. I promise I didn’t.”
He stared down at her, the tension in his jaw relaxing a little as his palm smoothed her arm. “I know, Grace.”
“If I’d known—”
“It doesn’t matter.” His gaze held hers, deepening his words.
But it did, didn’t it?
She looked back at the door as if it was at fault. They’d spent a honeymoon tour enjoying the financial freedom her dowry provided only to be confronted with the very real possibility they’d lost a third of the promised funds.
Havensbrooke was Frederick’s ancestral home and the place his heart loved. The place that needed continued repairs her money was supposed to provide as part of the marriage contract.
“Grace.” He pulled her attention back to him with a word. “It’s not about the money any longer, darling. We will sort through this.”
His fingers wrapped around hers, and she squeezed his hand, garnering a bit of courage from his beautifully romantic declaration. The stinging in her eyes produced moisture, but to her wonderful surprise, she kept from sobbing, although she felt a few tears slip down her cheeks.
She’d not doubted Frederick’s affection since their first few weeks together, but his legacy and home held amazing power. Could their love prove stronger than all that family history he so often warred against?
She sniffled, took his welcomed handkerchief, and pushed away the doubt. “Why didn’t Father tell me about all of this? I should have known.” And then her mind replayed Lillias’ responses from the week before their wedding. The little comments about Father “being ruined” if the wedding didn’t go ahead. Lillias’ dismissiveness regarding Grace’s ability to understand the financial ramifications of the wedding for their whole family.
