Chapter 7
Arthur’s plan had one more layer.
Of course.
Rosemere was temporary.
Julian would eventually be moved to Boston and raised by Margaret Bellamy, Arthur’s widowed cousin.
Margaret believed she was receiving a distant relative’s baby.
No knowledge of me.
No knowledge of Amabel’s refusal.
Then Arthur intended to send Amabel to manage one of his coastal properties.
Good salary.
Far away.
Everyone separated.
Problem solved.
I asked:
“What happened when Julian grew up and looked like me?”
Arthur had an answer.
“He wouldn’t.”
I stared.
That was not science.
It was arrogance.
“You think distance changes bone structure?”
He looked irritated.
Good.
Then he admitted the larger goal.
By the time Julian was old enough to ask questions, Celestine and I would supposedly have children.
An established family.
A public line.
Julian’s claim to emotional significance would be weaker.
Not legal claim.
Again.
Symbolic.
Everything Arthur did was about narrative.
Who the family believed mattered first.
Who sat nearest me.
Which children were photographed.
Which mother had a ring.
He planned to turn chronology into legitimacy.
I looked at him.
“You built a future around me never learning the truth.”
“Yes.”
Finally.
Honest.
Then:
“And if I did?”
Arthur looked at Celestine.
That was answer enough.
Marriage first.
Truth later.
Exactly.
Once I loved his daughter publicly, once families merged, once children maybe came—
he expected the cost of breaking everything to become too high.
He did not hide Julian forever.
He hid him until honesty became expensive.
Clever.
Disgusting.
May you like
I understood why Celestine thought marriage would save her.
Her father had designed it that way.
