After Being Falsely Accused of Stealing From the Estate, She Handed the Duke Her Resignation — But He Tore It Up Before the Entire Household, Then Risked His Family’s Name to Prove the Governess He Couldn’t Let Go Had Been Framed

PART 6

Charles’s smile lasted exactly long enough for William to see it.

“Leave us,” William said.

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Surely the household scandal concerns the household — ”

“Leave.”

The single word emptied the warmth from the room. Charles inclined his head and disappeared into the corridor. Mrs. Grant followed, after one worried glance at Emily.

William shut the door.

“I will have a denial sent to London tonight.”

Emily folded the newspaper carefully. “A denial will repeat my name in every drawing room between here and Mayfair.”

“Then I will state publicly that you were assisting me, at my request.”

“Which confirms the dependence.”

His jaw tightened. “You have done nothing wrong.”

“That has never prevented society from enjoying itself.”

Rain tapped softly against the windows. William crossed to the fire, then turned back, unable to remain still.

“Beatrice arrives in three days.”

“I remember.”

“There is no engagement.” He flinched almost imperceptibly. Emily hated that she noticed. “Not yet.”

“Her father’s capital could stabilize Blackwood. The settlement would refinance the remaining debt. It would protect the tenant lands.”

“Then you should consider it.”

“Do you mean that?”

Emily’s fingers pressed into the newspaper. “I mean that Blackwood should not suffer because people have decided a governess sitting beside you is more interesting than missing money.”

He came closer. “That is not what I asked.”

She looked at him for one dangerous moment. The Duke disappeared beneath the tired man who had remembered the shape of her written C — who had listened while she described a school no one else had thought worth hearing about.

“No,” she said quietly. “It is not.”

Neither moved.

The fire cracked. William’s hand lifted a fraction — then stopped at his side.

“Emily — ”

“Don’t.” Her voice barely carried. “Not while you are considering marrying another woman to save your estate.”

His face tightened. “You are right.”

The fact that he stepped back hurt more than if he had argued.

By evening, the scandal had traveled through Blackwood faster than smoke. Two maids stopped speaking when Emily entered the servants’ corridor. Finch watched her with renewed confidence. Charles was unfailingly courteous.

At breakfast the next morning, Lucy pushed aside her tea.

“Are you leaving because people are saying wicked things?”

Emily set down her cup. “Who told you that?”

“No one. Which means everyone.”

Emily nearly smiled. “I have not decided anything.”

Lucy’s eyes filled. “You always say a person should not surrender because someone else behaves badly.”

“I also say wisdom requires knowing which battles belong to you.”

Later, Emily found something that made the decision harder.

A supplier’s letter had been misfiled among schoolroom receipts. It referred to cash returned to Finch after inflated timber payments — and included one line. Mr. C. Harrington requests that the eastern accounts remain divided until His Grace signs.

Proof not complete. Close enough to make Charles dangerous.

She carried it toward William’s study. Voices stopped her outside the half-open door.

“Lady Beatrice,” Charles was saying. “Harberry clears the debt. This ridiculous gossip disappears. Blackwood survives.”

“And Miss Carter?” William asked.

“Dismiss her with a generous reference. She will recover.”

“You forged her name.”

Silence. Emily stopped breathing.

Charles laughed softly. “Careful. Finch altered the books, but he does not have the imagination for eighteen months of concealment.”

“You knew my father’s debts,” William said. “You knew which properties could be sold. And you knew I trusted you.”

Charles’s expression hardened. “Can you prove that?”

A pause. “Perhaps you should consider what proof costs. Accuse me publicly, and every creditor who remembers your father’s finances will descend on Blackwood. Harberry will withdraw. Beatrice will disappear.” Charles’s voice dropped. “Your tenants may lose far more than a few cottages.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Advice from family.”

Emily pushed open the door. Both men turned.

She held up the supplier’s letter. Charles’s face changed before he could prevent it.

“This might help with your proof.”

William took the page. His eyes moved across it — once, twice — and then rested on his cousin like a stone settling.

Charles reached for his gloves. “A discarded letter, found by the woman whose reputation depends on blaming me. Convenient.”

“Sit down,” William said.

“I will not be arrested with a governess’s scrap of paper.”

“No,” Emily said. “But the merchant who wrote it may be less easily dismissed.”

Charles stopped. Emily watched calculation replace charm behind his eyes. He looked at her — really looked — and inclined his head.

“You believe he will choose you?”

William went still.

“Over Blackwood,” Charles went on, letting each word land. “Over a title that has carried his name for four generations. He admires you, Miss Carter. He may even think he loves you. But when the creditors come — and they will come — you will be the first thing he learns to do without.”

“Get out,” William said.

Charles smiled. “Gladly.” At the door he paused. “When he must choose between Blackwood and you — do not mistake admiration for love.”

The door closed behind him.

William crossed the room so quickly that the air moved. “He is wrong.”

Emily looked at the letter trembling slightly in his hand. “About which part?”

He opened his mouth. Emily shook her head.

“Not yet. Not until you know what you are willing to lose.”

She walked past him before he could answer.

That night she wrote another resignation. She did not deliver it.

By morning, three carriages were approaching Blackwood Hall through the mist. Lady Beatrice Langford had arrived early — with the Marquis and Marchioness of Harberry behind her.

Emily watched from the schoolroom window as William descended the front steps to receive them. Then Charles emerged beside him, smiling as though nothing had happened.

Lucy came to the window.

“Who is the beautiful lady?”

Emily watched Beatrice place her gloved hand in William’s.

“Possibly,” she said, folding her resignation inside her pocket, “the woman who can save Blackwood.”

Behind them, the schoolroom door opened.

Finch stood there with two unfamiliar men.

“Miss Carter.” His voice was almost pleasant. “These gentlemen have come regarding the money you stole from His Grace.”

Finch’s smile disappeared when William’s voice came from behind him.

“On whose authority?”

Everyone turned.

William stood in the corridor, Lady Beatrice and her parents several steps behind him. His face revealed nothing — but Emily saw his right hand close slowly at his side.

One of the strangers cleared his throat. “Mr. Finch informed us that regular payments were authorized under Miss Carter’s name, Your Grace. We were asked to examine the matter.”

“By whom?”

“Mr. Charles Harrington.”

William looked past them. Charles was approaching from the staircase.

“Excellent,” William said, and his voice was very quiet. “Then we can settle this before everyone.”