Chapter Eleven
It took everything Henry had to look Rose in the eye and renounce her. His stomach turned and his hands were shaking with anger as he spoke, but he did not allow himself to slip. Mrs. Morton had to believe he thought Rose the thief. If she didn’t, then the plan he had concocted all of twenty seconds ago would fail before it had even begun.
But the sight of Rose—pale and trembling, her eyes wide in desperation—nearly broke him. Before she could say his name again, plead in that quivering voice of hers, he turned and strode from the room.
A half hour later, he still could not calm himself enough to sit. He’d found himself in his mother’s room, not entirely certain how he’d gotten there. He paced, waiting for word from Frampton, his eyes going to the jewelry box on the vanity with every turn of his feet. It was empty, as Mrs. Morton had claimed. When she had first spoken those words, those horrible words accusing Rose, he was ashamed to admit he had given in to a moment of doubt. Was Rose capable of such a thing? She had known about the mirror, after all. He had told her himself. He knew she needed the money. Was she truly that desperate?
But why would she have sold her mother’s necklace if she had planned to steal the mirror? It made no sense. And one look at her was all it took to remind him of who she was. She was sweet and kind, endearingly cheerful and unendingly optimistic. His doubts had fled in the space of a breath, and a new realization took hold in his mind. If Rose had not done it, that could only mean that Mrs. Morton had. And that was something Henry would not stand for.
When the butler finally slipped soundlessly into his mother’s room, Henry looked up at him sharply.
“Well?” he demanded.
“All is as you ordered.” Frampton came closer, his voice low. “Charlie is watching Mrs. Morton, and the constable should arrive any moment.”
“Where is Mrs. Morton now?” He could barely speak her name, so thick was the rage inside him.
“Belowstairs, in the kitchen.”
“Good.” He moved without hesitation to the door.
“My lord, should you not wait for the constable?”
Henry turned back. “I’ll not leave Rose in torment any longer. Send the constable in when he arrives, and inform me if Mrs. Morton comes near the library.”
Frampton nodded. “As you wish, my lord.”
* * *
“You mustn’t panic,” Rose whispered to herself for the thirtieth time in as many minutes. “You did not do this. Henry will see the truth.”
But the lies she told herself were becoming harder to believe. The minutes ticked past and still no one came back into the library to tell her this had all been a terrible mistake. No, this was not a mistake. It was her horrifying reality.
What was the punishment for such a theft? Would she be sent to prison? What would become of Papa when he no longer had anyone to pay for his food and fees?
Rose sank back into her chair, throwing an arm over her mouth to stifle the sobs that forced their way up her throat, her eyes burning with tears.
How could Henry think she had done this? He knew her better than that. Had she not proven herself honest and dependable in all their time together? His trust in the world could not be so broken that he would believe the worst of her this easily. And yet she could not rid herself of his hardened expression, betrayal burning in his eyes.
Amidst her tears, she barely heard the door open across the room. It must be the constable. She scrambled to her feet, swiping away the tears from her cheeks. Should she try and look innocent? But how could she look anything but innocent when that’s what she was?
Her thoughts came to staggering halt. It was not the constable stepping into the room, but Henry. He closed the door firmly behind him and turned to her with an unreadable expression. Her heart sank.
She swallowed hard, stepping forward. “Henry, you must know I would never do such a thing. I promise, I have never so much as entered your mother’s room—”
“I know.”
She blinked, her next words catching in her throat. “You—you what?”
“I know, Rose.” He crossed the room before she could take two breaths and stopped before her. “I know you would never betray me like that.”
His grey eyes looked at her with such softness, such tenderness, that she took a step back. “But you said—”
He grimaced. “I am sorry for what I was forced to say. But I had to if I wanted Mrs. Morton to think I did not suspect her.”
She stared at him. Was she imagining this? Were the desperate hopes of her heart influencing her mind? Her hands were shaking uncontrollably. “You do not believe I did it?”
He shook his head, taking her trembling hand and holding it against his chest. “No, I do not. But I do believe you know something about what happened. I need to know everything.”
Rose’s mind was spinning, but relief swelled within her, forcing out the dread that had taken root there. She suddenly felt weak, the whirlwind of the past hour taking its toll on her, and only once Henry had seated her again and repeated the question did she find her voice.
“Last night,” she began. “I was outside when I heard Mrs. Morton speaking with a man.”
“A man?” he asked sharply. “Did you recognize him? Was he one of the servants?”
She shook her head. “I never saw him, just heard his voice, and I did not know it. He spoke of acting quickly, before it was too late and something was moved. And Mrs. Morton said they needed to avoid suspicion, and that she had a plan in place.” She closed her eyes briefly. “It wasn’t until Mrs. Morton was accusing me that I realized they were talking about the mirror. I was going to tell you this morning, but she came before I could.”
She looked up at him, searching his face for any signs of mistrust. But she saw only determination in his steely eyes.
“What are you going to do?” she whispered.
“Whatever I must,” he said. “I will not allow that viperous woman to succeed. I have a footman watching her every move and the constable is on his way. I intend to inform him of everything, and then let him proceed with the investigation as if you truly were guilty.”
Her hands went cold and her insides jolted. “What?”
His face softened, his eyes apologetic. “I am sorry, I did not mean to frighten you again. But if we want Mrs. Morton to lead us to both her accomplice and the mirror, she needs to think we have no doubts as to your guilt. I promise I will not allow any harm to come to you.”
He took her hand again and pressed it to his lips, and it was difficult to feel anything but the rush of emotion that overwhelmed her senses. His lips were soft on her skin, and she wanted nothing more than to slip into his arms and let the world go on without them. But that was not so easily done as said. He lowered her hand and watched her intently, waiting. She took a steadying breath.
“Tell me what I must do.”