“No.”
Amelia smiled faintly.
“Progress.”
“Do not become unbearable.”
“Too late.”
Augusta looked toward the fire.
After a while she said:
“Your father would have fixed it.”
Amelia went quiet.
“No.”
Augusta looked up.
“He intended to.”
“That is not the same.”
The sentence hurt.
Augusta stared at her daughter.
Where had both children learned this infuriating precision?
Probably William.
Ironically.
Augusta whispered:
“He was not a thief.”
Amelia softened.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“He was desperate.”
“I know.”
“He thought he could repay.”
“I know.”
“Then why does everyone speak as though—”
Amelia interrupted gently.
“Because he did something wrong while desperate.”
Augusta stopped.
“You do not have to make him evil to admit it.”
There.
The sentence Augusta had been unable to construct.
She cried afterward.
Privately.
Amelia pretended not to see until pretending became insulting.
Then she sat beside her mother.
No advice.
Good daughter.
The legal accounting continued for six weeks.
Clara attended every substantive meeting with Pritchard or Mr. Gray.
Julian attended with Harcourt counsel.
Augusta attended only twice.
The first time she argued about every figure.
The second time she brought a box.
Inside were letters from William.
Clara stared.
Augusta placed them on the table.
“I found these in his private desk.”
Julian looked toward her.
“When?”
“Years ago.”
His expression hardened.
“How many?”
“Eight.”
“You kept them?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Augusta’s voice sharpened.
“Because he was my husband.”
Clara opened the first.
William’s handwriting.
Augusta,
I have used another portion of Bellamy’s securities. I know what you will say. There was no other immediate credit without surrendering Grosvenor Square.
I will replace it after Michaelmas.
Burn this.
Clara looked up.
“You did not.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Augusta stared at the table.
“I was angry.”
That surprised Clara.
“At him?”
“Yes.”
“For taking it?”
“For telling me to burn proof.”
Silence.
Augusta continued.
“I told myself I kept the letters because a wife should know the truth of her husband’s affairs.”
“That was partly true.”
“What was the other part?”
Clara asked.
Augusta looked at her.
“In case I someday needed to prove I had objected.”
Clara sat back.
There.
Not noble.
Not monstrous.
Human.
The later letters showed William repeatedly promising repayment.
One documented Augusta selling jewelry.
Another described a planned sale of land.
One contained a sentence that changed the accounting.
I have instructed Harris to credit Miss Bellamy with four percent on the diverted principal from the date of each withdrawal, whether the estate earns it or not. She must not bear the cost of my necessity.
Pritchard read twice.
“That helps.”
Julian looked toward Clara.
“Considerably.”
The estate’s own documents recognized the obligation.
No need to argue whether the money had been a gift or capital loss.
The question became amount and method.
Final agreed balance:
Twenty-eight thousand six hundred pounds.
Clara stared at the figure.
She had lived on an annual allowance of three hundred pounds.