Chapter Twenty-Eight

Kit slid her finger down the edge of the ledger, adding up the numbers so she could put the totals at the bottom. Her mind wasn’t on the task, though, and after three attempts she gave up and put her head in her hands.

There’d been no word from The Committee, no news from Mrs. Corbet. Nash had sent his man from London to Yatesbury, but if they didn’t find something soon she was going to have to contact Priscilla’s father and tell him what had happened.

Suddenly, a masculine hand smacked a piece of paper onto the desk in front of her.

“Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

She lifted her eyes to see Graham staring down at her. His mouth was tight, with the corners pulled in until they turned white. Red slashed across his cheekbones, dark brows arrowed in until they nearly touched, and his eyes were hard. With anger? Hurt? Both? It was hard to tell what emotion was spread across his face when her only experience of him was a charming, happy, and caring man.

She swallowed hard as she carefully pulled the paper from beneath his hand. One glance showed her it was one of the contracts, but she made a point of looking over it as if she hadn’t a clue what it was. She flipped the page to see the signature of Priscilla’s father. Had the man confessed to his son? If so, why wasn’t Oliver here alongside his friend? Perhaps Graham didn’t really know anything.

Kit cleared her throat and kept her voice quiet. “It would appear to be a contract for the purchase of a chess set.”

Graham straightened to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. “My father bought a new chess set last year. It was a funny thing, though, because he purchased the entire set at once. One piece every so often seems a bit slow, don’t you think? No wonder the man has to charge so much per piece if it takes him that long to carve them.”

Kit’s hands danced across the desk, and her eyes stayed lowered. She had to say something, had to do something. Cutting it off with Graham was something she couldn’t bear to do, but losing this place, putting the women and children at risk, was something she couldn’t allow. At any cost. No matter how much it hurt her. But what could she say to protect them?

As soon as she lifted her head, though, Graham continued.

“I won’t let you lie to me anymore, Kit. You’ll never convince me that selling cheese and trinkets is enough to feed all these people. It wouldn’t be enough to buy Benedict an apprenticeship with even the most generous of master craftsmen.” He laughed, but it wasn’t humorous and it wasn’t uplifting. “Did you get a good laugh from fooling me? When I rode out of here, did you think me a fool for not considering how much money it would take to care for all of these children?”

He stepped forward and planted a finger on the desk. “Because this is how you pay for it, isn’t it?”

Kit lifted her chin. She would not break in front of him. She had to give at least the illusion of strength so he wouldn’t think she would crumble under his attack. And it was an attack. Whether he meant to or not, he was attacking the only thing that kept her from being a horrid shell of a human being.

“Yes,” she said. “The money from the chess sets is used for the children. Coal, food, clothing. Apprenticeships.”

“These contracts . . .” Graham seemed to deflate as he walked a few steps away from the desk and braced his hands on a sofa. “Are they signed voluntarily?”

She could say yes. If she said yes now, it would smooth over a lot of whatever was between them now. But it would be a lie. A lie that was bound to be uncovered, if it hadn’t been already. “No.”

How she hated the softness of her voice as she said that word. Hurt ran through her, sparking every indignation she possessed, and she pushed to her feet in a surge of anger. “No,” she repeated forcefully. “No, they aren’t, and do you want to know why? Because these men would rather push the problem aside, leave their daughters and lovers to die socially and possibly even physically. They have to be forced to care instead of shoving the problem aside and moving on as if it had never existed.”

“Illegitimacy is not a death sentence, Kit.” He didn’t move from his position hunched over the edge of the sofa, and his voice sounded tired. “There are laws in place to make fathers support the children until they can make their way in the world. Plenty of by-blows survive that way without ridiculous contracts and fear-inducing code names.”

“And what about the mothers?”

Graham lifted his head until he was looking her in the eye, but he said nothing.

She crossed her arms and continued. “What do they do? You can’t come back from a ruined reputation. Everywhere those women go, their ruin would be thrown in their face. They certainly wouldn’t find a husband unless they were rich enough to buy one. And what sort of employer wants to hire a woman without skills who also has a newborn baby to care for while she works?”

The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. She saw the face of every man she’d ever faced, from the one who’d threatened her with a fireplace poker to the one who’d curled up on the ground, sobbing at the idea of having his secrets revealed to the world. She saw the face of every woman who’d gotten in Nash’s wagon to ride home, leaving her baby in the arms of someone else because it was the only way to provide a future for the both of them.

She saw them all, and she was livid. Her anger drove her right up to Graham until she leaned up on her toes to whisper into his face. “Where does that leave them, Graham?” Where did that leave her? Where did that leave Daphne? “If men were honorable, women wouldn’t need me.”

“All men, Kit? Is that why you didn’t trust me? Why you felt free to lie to me?” He waved a hand through the air and then pinched his nose. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Just tell me how you get the men to sign.” His voice was quiet. Not a whisper, but soft. As if she were a wild animal and he simply wanted to get out of here alive.

The idea that he was trying to calm her only upset her more. “Fathers who think they can cast out their daughters and men who have no care for the consequences of their actions have to be made to do what’s right. It isn’t hard to make it happen, though. Men who think like that in one area of their life are unscrupulous in other areas as well.”

He dropped his hand, and his face fell flat, expressionless. “You blackmail them.”

“I suppose you could call it that.”

Graham swallowed hard enough that Kit watched the neck muscles move. The flatness dropped from his expression and a bit of an angry growl crawled into his voice. “And what would you call it?”

She gritted her teeth and fisted her hands. He would not make her feel guilty for doing what had to be done. “Vengeance.”

Graham walked around her and moved the desk, picking up the mangled contract. “And what of trust?”

She hadn’t been expecting that question, and she nearly tripped as she turned to face him. “What do you mean? I can’t trust someone so completely without honor that he would turn his back on a woman just because she is the one who can’t pretend an indiscretion didn’t happen.”

Graham said nothing for a moment. When he lifted his head, he looked defeated. “What of trust in God? Isn’t that what you told me? That you were trusting God to keep you day to day? To protect the innocence of children who didn’t ask to be born but came into this world anyway? How is this”—he jabbed one finger against the contract—“trusting Him?”

“It’s doing what needs to be done.”

She. Would. Not. Be. Made. To. Feel. Guilty. Those men were the guilty ones. The society that turned their backs, too. Maybe even the women who fell into indiscretion, but not Kit. Not on account of this.

“It’s trying to control the situation,” Graham countered.

“And what is so wrong about that? What is wrong with wanting to be sure everything turns out the way it should?”

Graham stepped back from the desk. “Because that’s not trust. It’s hard to believe at this moment, but you’re the one who taught me that. Trust means letting someone else have a bit of control over the outcome of your life. The fact that you trusted me with the knowledge of this place, of what you were doing. That you trusted I would be able to return to London and rub shoulders with the very people who turned you away, the very people trusting you to help them through their mistakes. The fact that you trusted me that much was humbling.”

“I do trust you, Graham.”

Graham swallowed. “I know. And that may be the saddest part in all of this. You are trusting me more than you trust God.”

Kit wrapped her arms around her middle. “That’s not fair.”

Graham wondered if the pain that threatened to bring him to his knees was for himself or for her. How did a woman—how did anyone—get to a place where they believed what Kit was saying? “Isn’t it? You’re telling these children something you don’t believe yourself. Telling them to trust and believe in a God you can’t bring yourself to depend on. You think they won’t ever see that? You think they won’t grow up and wonder why their parents were willing to send money but not acknowledge them?”

“They will never know. I will never let them know.” Kit’s hands fisted again as she hugged herself tighter.

And Graham knew the sorrow coursing through his veins was for both of them. For what might have been. For the crumbling of the pedestal he’d foolishly put her on. He’d thought they’d broken down so many walls. She’d told him so much, but then she hadn’t told him what really mattered. The one thing she could have told him that would let him stay, or at least allow him to return quickly, she’d kept to herself.

He didn’t know if he was more angry or hurt or if the two emotions were somehow feeding each other. What they had wasn’t real, just as the woman he’d believed her to be wasn’t real, but he couldn’t simply walk away. Some part of her had inspired the woman he’d created in his head, and it was that woman that he was now fighting for. “And that should be enough to tell you this is wrong.”

“And what would you have me do, Graham? Prayers don’t burn well in the fireplaces. Hymns don’t fill empty bellies and sermons can’t be worn.”

“And faith can’t be limited.” The words surprised Graham even as he said them. As if the more he talked, the more he understood himself. He’d been limiting his own faith in God, floating through life on what was expected and what was normal. But no more. “Have you even listened to the Bible verses you’ve been teaching the children?”

“Daphne does the Bible lessons,” Kit murmured.

“Because you can’t say the words? Does reading the verses make you feel guilty, Kit?” He knew they had to, because he knew how convicted he’d been when Daphne was telling the children about God’s care and provision. When the children talked about the different ways God’s care looked, Graham had been grateful he was sitting down.

When Graham thought of Aaron, Daphne, the children of this house, even Oliver, who would never have the paternal relationship Graham had, he knew that his father was right. “A good man sees what he’s been given and does the best he can to earn it.”

He’d always assumed he had God’s favor because he’d been born to privilege. That those who found themselves in dire straits were there because they’d disappointed God. But life wasn’t like that. Misfortune fell on the righteous as well as the unrighteous. It was what they did that proved whether or not they were faithful.

“I have to make it right, Graham.”

His name on her lips made him wince.

She continued, as if she could convince him that she was right. “I’ve looked in the eyes of women who don’t know what they’re going to do, who know that life will never be the same and they are afraid.”

She started to cry, and Graham was thankful the desk was between them, keeping him from wrapping her in his arms.

“She was afraid.”

The change in sentence made Graham focus more, stop listening to the words and search for the meaning.

“I held her while she cried, and I watched her father throw her away. And the whole time I died inside because I knew it should have been me.”

Daphne. She was talking about Daphne. She’d told him she carried blame for the night Daphne had gotten pregnant, but he hadn’t realized how deep it ran.

“It should have been me, and I couldn’t save her. But I can save them. And with every girl I save, I hope God sees it and forgives me for sending Daphne to a fate that ruined her life. I sent her right into a trap that was supposed to have been mine. If not for me, she’d have married a little country clergyman or something, and all of her brightness wouldn’t be buried out here in the woods.”

Graham couldn’t stop himself. He rounded the desk. “Grace doesn’t work like that, Kit. I know my life’s been pretty easy, and my list of sins wouldn’t make anyone blush, but I’m not perfect and I’ve read the Bible enough to know that grace doesn’t come because of anything you can do. Jesus didn’t die and rise again so you could crucify yourself with guilt.”

“I know,” she whispered, slashing her hands across her cheeks to wipe the tears away. “Because I don’t feel any better about what happened to Daphne. Thirteen women hasn’t been enough. I don’t know how many it will take.”

Graham didn’t know what to say. She was wrong. So wrong. About so many things.

Didn’t she see that life couldn’t continue like this? That everything was going to fall apart? Even if no one else figured it out, even if no one ever started talking openly about The Governess, Kit couldn’t continue as she was. As these children aged, as they went into the world, all of this was going to catch up with her. And these unscrupulous men she was blackmailing? What happened when one of them finally decided to fight back? Did she have any idea the number of threats Nash had probably already received because of his part in the process? He was the only contact they had. No wonder he’d been so cold when Graham and Oliver had visited him.

It was going to fall apart, and as much as Graham wanted to catch her when it did, he couldn’t be a part of this. He was too involved now, too attached to walk away from her mission, from the children who really were going to need protection soon, but he was going to have to stay away from Kit. Seeing her again would weaken his resolve until he excused her actions so he could be with her.

He may have only just realized what faith and trust really meant, what being a man of honor truly meant, but he was going to hold fast to those lessons.

“I want to see Priscilla.” Graham swallowed. “Oliver wants to see Priscilla. He will be one of those honorable men you claim aren’t there.”

“She isn’t here.” Kit’s chin lifted a bit more, and her face hardened until Graham saw the woman the underside of London knew as The Governess.

“But you know where she is. And it isn’t right that she’s hiding out wherever you’ve put her, thinking that her worth is only there because of your ridiculous contract. Oliver loves his sister. He’d never turn his back on her.”

Anger burned in Kit’s face, and Graham felt his own angry fire burn away the hurt, at least temporarily. He couldn’t stop her from what she was doing, but he could get his friend out from under her control.

“What would you have her do?” Kit asked. “Expose herself to the world’s ridicule? They won’t accept her, you know. Even if the father steps forward and acknowledges the child, they won’t accept the mother.”

“And what would you have her do?” Graham stepped in. “She made a poor choice. Perhaps she was coerced, perhaps she wasn’t. Perhaps there’s no need for the whole world to know about it. But you’ve already condemned the men in her life as dishonorable and worthless. Did you even give them a chance?”

“Her father was all too happy to sign the contract. I didn’t even have to blackmail him.”

“Well, her brother isn’t.” Graham turned and walked toward the door but paused at the threshold, his back to Kit, afraid to look at her. Though whether he was afraid to see her grow even colder or afraid he’d see her harsh veneer crack he wasn’t sure. “Make the arrangements for Oliver to see Priscilla or I will put everything I have into looking for her myself. I know enough now to be dangerous, Kit. I won’t mess this up for you on purpose, but Oliver will know where Priscilla is.”

“I don’t know where she is,” Kit said quietly, bringing Graham to a stop in the doorway.

“What?”

Her head dropped forward. “I sent her a letter telling her that Oliver was looking for her. She was living with the Corbets in Yatesbury, but then she left and we don’t know where she went. We’re looking for her.”

A herd of footsteps echoed through the passageway leading to the library. Small voices soon followed. “Mama Kit! Mama Kit! There’s a horse tied up at the side of the house!”

Five children ran into the room, nearly knocking Graham off his feet.

Their concerned cries turned instantly joyous as they started climbing all over him and telling him everything they’d done since he left. There were baby birds in the nest in the stable now, and Alice had lost another tooth.

Graham made himself smile, forced his voice to sound the same, and eventually the innocence of the children soothed him like a balm. He looked over his shoulder at Kit, and the anger fizzled out, leaving an enormous wave of hurt in its wake.

She wiped one last tear away before turning and going out the glass doors of the library, shutting them quietly behind her. He watched her through the glass as she cut across the lawn and disappeared into the woods.

Alone.

He tore his gaze away from her retreating figure and turned his attention to the children. He wanted to give in to their pleas that he stay, to chase them around the large room when it rained, to hoist them on his shoulders once more and hear the squeals of delight. He wanted to take the boys out into the woods and talk to them more about honor and fortitude and all the ideals they were starved to hear.

But he couldn’t.

He couldn’t stay.

So he said good-bye.

And he left.