Chapter 8
Eudora asked me whether the engagement was over.
I had been waiting for the question.
“Yes.”
No drama.
No long pause.
Her face emptied.
She looked at the ring.
Then:
“Because of my father?”
“No.”
“Lenora?”
“No.”
“Because I lied?”
“Partly.”
I watched her.
“Because you helped take a newborn from his mother.”
She started crying.
“I thought it would be temporary.”
“You told Verity he died.”
Silence.
“You mocked her with an empty carriage.”
More silence.
“That was not temporary.”
Her shoulders folded.
Good.
Not because I wanted pain.
Because she needed to stop hiding behind Cedric’s plan.
“I was angry at her.”
“Why?”
The answer surprised me.
Verity had once refused to give Eudora access to my late mother’s private sitting room without permission.
Months earlier.
Small incident.
Eudora was humiliated.
She felt staff still treated her like outsider.
Verity became symbol of that rejection.
Then, when Cedric proposed using Verity’s child, resentment made cruelty easier.
There.
Not strategic necessity.
Personal grievance attaching itself to a larger plan.
“I hated that she could tell me no in a house I was about to marry into.”
Eudora whispered.
Honest.
Ugly.
Useful.
I leaned back.
“That is exactly why you should never have had authority over her.”
She closed her eyes.
Then:
“I love you.”
“I believe you.”
That hurt her.
Same truth as always.
Love does not erase entitlement.
She removed the ring.
Placed it on the table.
“What happens to me?”
“You go home.”
No exile.
No imprisonment.
No theater.
“And Father?”
“He answers for himself.”
She nodded.
At the doorway she stopped.
“Can I see Lenora?”
“If Lenora wants.”
“Verity?”
“If Verity wants.”
“The baby?”
I looked at her.
“No.”
Immediate.
Some access did not need deliberation.
Not now.
Maybe never.
She accepted it.
Then left.
May you like
The empty carriage remained in the conservatory.
I had it removed before Verity ever came downstairs again.
