Page 12 of To Tempt Lady (Victorian Outcasts #10)

eleven

Emma should learn not to make promises she couldn’t keep, especially if the promises were out of her hands. She’d told Marcus that Papa would help him. How wrong she’d been. She’d been wrong about many things.

The verdict of the preliminary inquest wasn’t in Sir Albert’s favour.

He was considered the only one responsible for the bridge’s collapse.

Sir Horace had left his hotel in Newport-on-Tay to return to London immediately after the pronouncement of the inquest, leaving Sir Albert alone to deal with angry people and journalists ready to pillory him.

No one seemed to care that the inquest wasn’t definitive.

Everyone had already condemned and executed Sir Albert.

She paced in Papa’s study after he told them he’d asked Sir Albert and Marcus to leave.

“Papa, we can’t abandon Marcus and his father in a moment of need,” she said, glancing at the window.

Marcus and Sir Albert had ordered a coach to take them to the station, and it should arrive soon. Too soon. A choking sensation wrapped around her chest at the thought of Marcus being disappointed by her lack of help. She’d promised, and instead he’d been thrown out of her house.

Trevor stood next to the fireplace, an elbow on the mantelpiece, and his silence worried her. Why didn’t he take her side?

“We can and we must take our distance from Sir Albert,” Papa said. “His negligence caused the loss of many lives. I can’t let him drag me into a scandal.”

“A scandal?” She stopped in front of him, chest heaving. “Sir Albert was wrongly accused. He needs help to clear his name in the next inquest.”

“Help I can’t provide.” Papa shook his head.

“Is that why you told them they must leave Thistle Hall before dusk?” Her voice cracked at the injustice.

“I had no choice.” Papa’s eyebrows knit together.

“One day, you’ll understand that having responsibilities means making difficult decisions.

I’m sorry for what happened, but Sir Albert and Marcus need to leave.

Besides, they must return to London anyway and talk with their solicitor. So must I, actually.”

“Papa, please.” She tried once again. “At least talk with the journalists and tell them you believe in Sir Albert’s innocence. Your public support will change how people see him.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Emma, you must trust me. I can’t get more involved than I already am in Sir Albert’s problems. I have messages from my solicitors urging me not to do anything until I speak with them.”

She turned to Trevor, desperate to find a compassionate voice in her family. “Marcus is your friend. Don’t you have anything to say?”

Trevor scrubbed the back of his neck. “I believe Sir Albert when he says Sir Horace did the inspection. But—”

“But what?” she said.

“But there’s no evidence!” Trevor raised his voice. “It doesn’t matter what or whom we believe. What matters is what Sir Albert can prove. And there’s nothing, not a shred of evidence, to support his claims, aside from a generic entry in his journal. His name is on official papers.”

“I can’t believe you’re so heartless.” She held her tears with effort.

“This is business!” Father’s angry tone reverberated in the wide room. “I have employees to think of, as well. What happens to me affects them.”

“What would Mother have done?” she said. Silence thickened in the room. “She would have wanted us to help Sir Albert, to stand for what was right, no matter the consequences.”

Father’s harsh expression softened, but only for a moment.

“Sir Albert is accused of killing more than seventy people. In the best of cases, he’ll be imprisoned for life.

I can’t have the name of our family associated with him.

And that’s all. Had there been hope to prove Sir Albert’s claim, I would have helped him. This is a lost cause.”

Clamping a hand over her mouth, she hurried out of the room.

How could Papa be so cold when Sir Albert’s life was at risk?

Sobs shook her chest. Papa refusing to help him hurt too much.

Never would she have thought that Papa could be so heartless.

He’d married a woman his family and society had disapproved of, but now he cared about his reputation more than a man’s life.

He’d raised her with principles of justice and fairness, and they’d been a lie.

She waited in her bedroom to collect herself before seeking Marcus. The least she could do was apologise to him.

The house was quiet, but in her ears, the thunder of the storm still echoed. She paused on the threshold of his bedroom. The door stood ajar, and she took a peek inside.

He was finishing packing his luggage. Even across the distance separating them, she could tell he radiated anger and sorrow so strongly she might choke on them.

She took a tentative step into the room. “I’m sorry, Marcus.”

He gazed up from his bag, and for a moment, his features softened. “It’s not your fault.”

“Papa doesn’t want to see reason. His reputation is the only thing he can think about.”

“I understand.” His tone was flat, but a muscle of his jaw ticked.

“I don’t. He defied society by choosing to marry my mother, and now he’s a completely different person.”

He gave her a sad smile. “Now he’s a father and is worried about you and Trevor.”

A weak excuse, in her opinion. “May I help you?”

“No, thank you. I’ve finished anyway.” He paused, watching his luggage. “My father feels responsible for the tragedy because he didn’t go to inspect the bridge and sent Sir Horace instead, and because no one believed him. He thinks he deserves the punishment.”

“Why is Sir Horace lying about that?”

He squared his shoulders, looking outraged. “He’s a coward. Because of his cowardice, my father risks being hanged.”

“I hope…” She couldn’t finish the sentence as another sob broke her voice.

He straightened to his full height, but instead of looking imposing, he gave her a sense of protection. “I understand. Truly.” His tone said otherwise as if he only wanted to reassure her.

On instinct, she hugged him, squeezing him tightly. His response was immediate. He hugged her back with desperation. A sound like a stifled sob reverberated in his chest.

She’d never realised how comforting his arms could be or how much she wanted him to be happy. Although it should be the other way around. She should console him, but she had no words of comfort for him. Not after her papa disappointed her.

He held her gently but firmly, reassuring her at the same time.

He released her slowly, and she missed his warmth. “Goodbye, Emma.”

“Goodbye? We’ll see each other soon, won’t we?” She stepped away from him as panic spiked her pulse.

He fastened the flap of the bag with a snappy gesture. “I don’t know. It wouldn’t be good for you and your reputation.”

“I’m not like Papa.”

He flashed her favourite crooked smile. “Thank you, Emma.”

Her heart stuttered at that moment.

She followed him as he went down the stairs in silence. His father was waiting for him in the entry hall, pale and slouching.

She couldn’t speak, not even to wish them a safe trip.

Trevor and Papa came to the entry hall, sad but as implacable as executioners.

“I wish you all the best.” Papa shook hands with Sir Albert and Marcus.

Anger swelled with a few comments she had to keep for herself. Papa wished them the best when he could do something to make that wish come true. He’d become a stranger to her.

Trevor did the same but with less vigour than Papa.

She waved at Marcus from the threshold as he climbed into the carriage that would take him to the station. He raised a hand in farewell and smiled only for her. She wanted to see him again.

She wasn’t like Papa. Not at all.

Marcus didn’t look out of the window during the drive to the station, not wanting to catch a glimpse of Thistle Hall or the front pages of the newspapers lynching his father.

He’d been so close to realising his dream and courting Emma after the conversation with her father that the pain of having lost the opportunity was too big to ignore.

It was selfish of him, considering his father’s predicament, but in the midst of everything that had happened, the missed opportunity with Emma didn’t help his morale.

And he doubted he would see her again.

Father didn’t say a word. He didn’t even shout or vent his anger against Sir Horace. He didn’t seem to care about what the journalists said. He’d retired into his own pain as it’d happened after Mother’s death.

When they boarded the train for London, Father barely talked. He sat in their compartment with his head hanging, staring at his hands in his lap.

“You must react,” Marcus said as the train sped up towards London. “I’m sure that once we talk with our solicitor, the situation will look better.”

“Better?” For the first time in days, a hard glint flickered in Father’s eyes.

“People died. I retrieved the body of a child from the water. I held him in my arms before delivering him to the undertakers. He was a small, precious thing, no older than one. Do you know what I thought at that moment? I hoped his parents were dead, too, so they would be spared the pain. How can it look better?”

“I understand what you’re going through, dammit!” He thumped the seat.

“Don’t use that tone with me.” The scolding was worth it just to hear Father’s tone strong again. “I feel responsible for those deaths. I am responsible for those deaths.”

“Sir Horace is responsible.”

“Don’t you understand? Horace and I share the company, but I’m responsible for everything.

When he returned from the inspection, I should have been more insistent and asked him more questions about the bridge’s condition and to see the papers to check that everything was right.

Instead, I was so busy that I accepted the scant report he handed me.

I didn’t care about the fact my name was on the official document, and that was it. ”

“Because you trusted him.”

“Because I didn’t do my job, which was to check everything, every detail. Had I done that, that child would be alive.” Father’s voice shook.

Emotion swelled in his throat, ripping his heart apart. “It was a tragedy, and it shouldn’t have happened, but getting yourself hanged won’t bring those people back, and it wouldn’t mean justice either.”

Father didn’t say anything.

“Sir Horace is responsible for those deaths,” he said again. He would say that over and over until Father agreed. “And if they hang you, he’ll be free to do more damage and cause more death.”

“I can’t prove he’s the culprit.”

“There must be a worker, someone who remembers seeing him.”

Father exhaled and rubbed his eyes. “I put my trust in the new inquest. The royal inspector will establish who is responsible.”

Marcus didn’t share his optimism.