Chapter 8
Jessamine returned to my estate alone.
No father.
No cousins.
She asked to see Nerissa.
I said no.
She became angry.
Then caught herself.
Progress.
“Why?”
“Because your guilt does not schedule her recovery.”
That landed.
She looked away.
“Can I write?”
“Yes.”
No demand that Nerissa read it.
No request for forgiveness.
One letter.
Jessamine spent three hours writing two pages.
Then tore them up.
Good.
The final letter was shorter.
I used your job to frighten you.
I used your son because I knew you loved him more than the job.
I forced him to do something that hurt both of you.
You did nothing to deserve it.
I am sorry.
No father.
No engagement.
No explanation.
Better.
Nerissa received it through her supervisor.
Her choice.
No response.
Also her choice.
Then I asked Jessamine:
“Why did you do it in front of guests?”
She flinched.
Important question.
If she only wanted Nerissa gone, private intimidation would have been easier.
She wanted performance.
“Why?”
Her voice dropped.
“Because she kept looking at me like I couldn’t make her leave.”
There.
Status.
Challenge.
Jessamine wanted the room to see that staff obeyed her.
Future Mrs. Rothwell.
Future daughter of a protected father.
She was rehearsing authority.
Piers became the instrument because forcing a child to hurt his own mother proved something grotesque:
Jessamine could command love itself.
At least that was what she thought.
I looked at her.
“You wanted obedience.”
“Yes.”
“You got fear.”
She started crying.
“Yes.”
“Those are not the same.”
Her father had confused protection with ownership.
May you like
She confused fear with respect.
The inheritance was obvious now.
