Emma sat. Margaret beside her. A server appeared immediately, pouring tea with practiced efficiency. Emma didn't touch hers. Thank you for coming, Beatrice said, her tone suggesting she'd expected nothing less. I'm sure you're wondering why I asked to meet. You made it clear in your letter. You want to warn me away from Charles.
Charles? Beatrice's smile was cold. How familiar. Tell me, Miss Ashford, has he asked you to call him that? Or do you simply presume intimacy that doesn't exist? Emma's jaw tightened. We're old friends. So he's told me. Childhood acquaintances. A girl he knew briefly before her family's disgrace. Beatrice sipped her tea delicately. But friends don't look at each other the way the two of you do. Friends don't disappear into conservatories and gardens and museums. Friends don't, she paused. Kiss on bridges at dawn.
Emma's heart stopped. Beatrice smiled at her reaction. Ah. So it's true. I'd hoped my informant was mistaken, but I can see from your face that he wasn't. Who? Emma's voice came out strangled. Who told you? Does it matter? London is full of eyes, Miss Ashford. Servants talk. Merchants gossip. Someone always sees. Beatrice set down her teacup with a delicate clink. But let's not waste time on recriminations. I didn't ask you here to shame you. I asked you here to offer you something.
What? The truth? Beatrice leaned forward slightly. Charles hasn't been honest with you. He's told you about the engagement. Yes. About duty and responsibility and all the noble reasons he must marry me. But has he told you everything? Emma's stomach twisted. What do you mean?
Has he told you about the debts? The estate that's mortgaged to the hilt? The tenants who will be evicted if the Winterborne holdings are sold? Beatrice's eyes glittered. Has he told you that without my dowry, his family loses everything? Not just the estate, but his mother's home, his sister's dowry, the pensions for 30 elderly servants who have nowhere else to go.
Emma felt the blood drain from her face. I thought not. Beatrice said softly. Charles is very good at playing the martyr. The beautiful son sacrificing his happiness for abstract honor. But the truth is far more concrete. If he breaks our engagement, he doesn't just disappoint his family. He destroys them.
That's, Emma couldn't finish. True. Every word. Beatrice's expression softened slightly, almost pitying. I've seen the ledgers, Miss Ashford. My father showed them to me. The Duke of Winterborne is drowning in his father's debts. Gambling debts. Bad investments. Years of mismanagement. Charles has been trying to save it for 3 years and he's failing.
Emma's hands trembled in her lap. Why are you telling me this? Because I want you to understand what you're asking him to give up. It's not just me. It's not just a marriage he doesn't want. It's his family's entire future. Hundreds of people who depend on the Winterborne name. Beatrice paused. Do you really think your love is worth that price?
The question hung in the air. Brutal and unanswerable. I never asked him to give up anything, Emma whispered. Didn't you? Every time you meet him. Every time you let him touch you. Every time you look at him like he's your whole world. You're asking him to choose you and suffering. Or duty and survival. Beatrice's voice turned hard. And you know which one he'll choose. Deep down you know. Because Charles is a good man. A noble man. And good men don't abandon hundreds of people for one woman's happiness.