Chapter 3 - The Cousin Who Needed My Womb Empty
Julian did not confront them immediately.
That made him more dangerous.
He continued attending breakfast.
He continued complimenting Clara's gowns.
He continued appearing at political dinners and estate meetings as though nothing had changed.
But Sebastian noticed.
Julian had always been careless.
Now he was careful.
And careful men, Sebastian had learned, rarely became careful without reason.
The Duke instructed his head of security to watch him.
Meanwhile, Clara wrote to her father's old solicitor in Boston.
The answer arrived three days later.
The letter confirmed what Sebastian's father had suspected.
Clara's mother had owned a considerable interest in Whitmore Atlantic Shipping.
But there was another surprise.
The shares had not been transferred directly to Clara.
They had been placed in a trust.
A trust managed jointly by Clara's father and a London solicitor named Henry Vale.
Sebastian recognized the name.
“Vale was my father's solicitor.”
Clara looked at him.
“Then our families were connected long before us.”
“Yes.”
She studied the document.
“My mother didn't leave me money to spend.”
“No.”
“She left me voting rights.”
“Yes.”
“In what?”
“Several shipping companies.”
Clara stared at him.
“How much?”
“Enough to make you dangerous.”
She laughed bitterly.
“Apparently I've been dangerous my entire life and no one bothered to tell me.”
Sebastian touched her hand.
“I should have.”
“Yes.”
“You're still angry.”
“Yes.”
“I understand.”
She looked at him.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I do.”
“What if I don't forgive you?”
His expression did not change.
“Then I will spend the rest of my life regretting the choice that caused it.”
Clara looked away.
That answer was somehow worse than an argument.
She wanted to forgive him.
But trust, once broken, did not repair itself because the person who broke it looked sorry.
That night, they received an invitation.
A private dinner at Ashford Hall.
From Julian.
Sebastian wanted to refuse.
Clara said yes.
“We need to know what he knows.”
They arrived at eight.
The dinner was small.
Four people.
Julian.
Sebastian.
Clara.
And Lady Beatrice.
The mood was unusually quiet.
Julian raised his glass.
“To family.”
Sebastian did not drink.
Julian smiled.
“Still suspicious.”
“Always.”
Julian looked at Clara.
“You seem well.”
“Very.”
“That must be gratifying.”
Clara smiled politely.
“I suppose.”
Julian's eyes flicked to her stomach.
Then back to her face.
It was subtle.
But Sebastian saw it.
So did Clara.
“Congratulations may soon be appropriate,” Julian said.
Clara's heart began beating faster.
“For what?”
“You tell me.”
Sebastian's glass struck the table.
“Enough.”
Julian laughed.
“You're becoming paranoid.”
“No.”
Sebastian leaned forward.
“I'm becoming observant.”
The dinner ended early.
On the drive home, Clara stared through the window.
“He knows.”
“Yes.”
“He knows about the diagnosis.”
“Yes.”
“He knows I can have children.”
“Yes.”
She turned.
“Then why isn't he terrified?”
“Because he still thinks he can stop us.”
“How?”
“I don't know.”
The answer came the next morning.
Clara fainted.
It happened in the breakfast room.
One moment she was drinking tea.
The next, her vision went black.
Sebastian caught her before she hit the floor.
“Clara.”
She heard voices.
Footsteps.
Then nothing.
She woke in her bed.
Dr. Miles Harrington stood nearby.
He was the family physician.
A trusted man.
Or so Sebastian had believed.
Clara looked at him.
“You nearly collapsed from exhaustion,” he said.
Sebastian stared.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
Something about the answer bothered Clara.
She remembered the sudden dizziness.
The bitter taste in her tea.
She looked at Sebastian.
“I want another doctor.”
Dr. Harrington stiffened.
“Your Grace—”
“I said another doctor.”
Sebastian nodded.
“Dr. Bell from London.”
Harrington's expression changed.
Too quickly.
Sebastian noticed.
“Leave.”
The physician hesitated.
“Your Grace?”
“Leave.”
Once he was gone, Clara whispered,
“I don't trust him.”
“Neither do I.”
Later that evening, the household maid confessed that Harrington had instructed the kitchen to add a sedative herb to Clara's tea.
Sebastian's anger became volcanic.
The physician disappeared before police could question him.
Julian disappeared too.
Now the stakes were clear.
They weren't simply trying to prevent an heir.
They were trying to frighten Clara into leaving.
Perhaps worse.
Sebastian called in an investigator from London.
His name was Thomas Wren.
Thomas had worked with Sebastian before.
He arrived with a collection of documents.
“I found the original trust deed.”
Clara leaned forward.
“What does it say?”
“That if a legitimate heir is born within the first year of marriage, Blackmere cannot be transferred without the mother's approval.”
Clara stared.
“So if I have a child…”
“You become legally essential to the estate.”
“And if I don't?”
“Julian gains control.”
Clara suddenly understood.
Her body had become political territory.
Her womb was being treated as a battlefield.
She looked at Sebastian.
“I hate this.”
“I know.”
“I hate that everyone cares whether I give birth.”
Sebastian knelt before her.
He placed one hand over hers.
“Then let me make something clear.”
She looked at him.
“I want a child because I want a family with you.”
He took a breath.
“Not because Blackmere requires one.”
Her eyes filled.
“I believe you.”
It was the first time she had said it.
Sebastian's face softened.
Then Clara added,
“But I need more than your promise.”
“What?”
“The truth.”
“I'll give you everything.”
“Even if it destroys your family?”
He did not hesitate.
“Especially then.”
That night, Clara found another letter.
This one was hidden inside her mother's old jewelry box.
The envelope had been sealed twenty years earlier.
Her mother's handwriting was unmistakable.
My dearest Clara,
If you are reading this, then the family I feared has finally found you.
Trust no one who tells you your worth depends on producing a child.
And never believe the man who says love requires silence.
Clara read the final paragraph.
Your father thinks I left him a fortune.
I did not.
I left him a choice.
If he gives you this letter, he has chosen you over power.
If he does not, remember that you are your own inheritance.
Clara's hands trembled.
She looked toward the door.
Sebastian had not seen it yet.
Her mother's words echoed in her mind.
If he gives you this letter, he has chosen you over power.
Clara realized something.
She had been waiting for Sebastian to prove himself.
But the proof was not in what he said.
It was in what he was willing to lose.
She folded the letter.
Then she heard footsteps.
Sebastian entered.
“I found something,” she said.
“So did I.”
“What?”
He held out a photograph.
It showed Dr. Harrington meeting Julian.
The photograph had been taken the night before Clara's fainting episode.
Sebastian's voice was quiet.
“I think we finally know who has been paying everyone.”
Julian had been behind it.
But Clara was no longer certain he was the mastermind.
Because her mother's letter had suggested there was someone else.
May you like
Someone closer.
Someone who had been protecting power for twenty years.
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