William always believed the next year would be easier.
Next harvest.
Next lease.
Next maturity.
Next settlement.
Tomorrow.
Julian turned pages.
“By 1814, Father had restored five thousand pounds.”
Augusta nodded.
“I sold jewels.”
Clara looked up.
Julian stopped.
“What?”
Augusta’s face hardened.
“Your grandmother’s emerald necklace.”
“The ruby drops.”
“Two bracelets.”
“I sold them privately.”
“Seven thousand three hundred pounds.”
Julian stared.
“You told Amelia they were lost in Paris.”
“I told Amelia many things when she was twelve.”
“Why?”
“To replace part of the trust.”
Clara watched her.
“Why not tell my aunt?”
Augusta laughed bitterly.
“What would that have accomplished?”
“She had been asking for accounts for five years.”
“She accused William of theft.”
Clara’s eyes sharpened.
“Was she wrong?”
Augusta looked toward the ledger.
“No.”
That answer surprised all three of them.
Augusta breathed.
Then corrected.
“She was wrong about some things.”
“William did not intend permanent theft.”
“He believed he was borrowing.”
“He entered obligations to repay.”
“He paid interest when he could.”
“He kept the entries.”
Clara said:
“He also refused my aunt a full accounting.”
“Yes.”
“He told her the trust suffered war losses.”
Augusta looked toward Julian.
He had found those letters too.
Of course.
“Yes.”
Clara’s voice became quieter.
“That was false.”
“Yes.”
Augusta swallowed.
“He believed if Lydia knew the money was tied to Harcourt, she would bring proceedings immediately.”
“Would she?”
“Yes.”
Clara almost smiled.
“Then he understood her.”
Julian looked down.
Augusta continued.
“The estate would have collapsed.”
Clara stared.
“My inheritance was used because your estate mattered more.”
Augusta opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
That was exactly how it had functioned.
Intentions did not change priority.
Julian spoke.
“Father mortgaged her future to preserve our present.”
Augusta turned.
“And your present existed because he succeeded.”
“Mine.”
Julian said it calmly.
“Not hers.”
Silence.
Clara looked toward him.
That mattered.
Augusta saw.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Recognition.
Julian continued.
“When Miss Bellamy turned twenty-one last month, the trust should have transferred.”
Clara’s chin lifted.
Augusta knew the law.
An unmarried woman of age could control property settled outright to her unless the instrument imposed further restrictions.
Edward Bellamy’s settlement had not.
William should have delivered securities and final accounts.
William was dead.
Julian, as executor, inherited the duty to account.
“How much?”
Augusta asked.
Julian looked toward the papers.
“Depends how interest is treated.”
“Do not give me a solicitor’s answer.”
“It is a solicitor’s question.”
“How much?”
Clara answered.
“Mr. Pritchard estimates between twenty-six and thirty-one thousand pounds remains due.”
Augusta looked toward her.
“You have counsel.”
“Of course.”
“Who?”
“Nathaniel Pritchard.”
Augusta froze.
William’s former clerk.
The man dismissed in 1815 after arguing with him over trust accounts.