Read Chapter 13: The Lie Uncovered

Julian had intended to fetch his greatcoat from the front hall. The evening had turned chill, and Lady Pemberton's husband had asked for a word about the wool trade—a conversation Julian suspected would prove more profitable than the entire house party combined. But as he rounded the corner of the east corridor, a voice stopped him cold.

Colonel Ashworth's voice. Low and hard as iron.

"You will tell me the truth, niece, or I shall drag it out of your father's ledgers myself."

Julian pressed himself against the paneling. The door to the small morning room stood ajar, and through the crack he saw Clara standing with her back to the window. The last light of dusk caught the red in her hair. Her chin was up, but her hands were knotted at her sides.

"I have told you the truth, Uncle. The estate is strained—"

"Strained." The Colonel barked a laugh. "Strained is a leaky roof and a late harvest. What I have seen is something else entirely. Your father's signature on vowels worth more than this house, that is not strained. That is ruin."

Julian's blood went cold.

"My father's signature—" Clara began.

"Do not play the innocent with me, girl. I have known you since you were in leading strings. You have lied to me tonight about the state of this estate, and you have lied to that lawyer husband of yours as well, or I miss my guess."

Silence. Julian could hear his own heartbeat in his ears.

"I did not—" Clara's voice cracked. "Uncle, please. You do not understand the position I was in."

"Enlighten me."

Another silence, longer this time. When Clara spoke again, her voice came soft and broken, barely a whisper through the door.

"Father lost everything. Not gradually. Not to bad harvests or market fluctuations. He gambled. All of it. The London house went first, then the investments, then—" She stopped. Drew a ragged breath. "He left debts of honor. Thousands of pounds. The kind of debts that ruin not just the man but the family name. That destroy a daughter's chance at any decent marriage. That would have forced us to sell Ashworth Park within the month."

"You told Julian the debts were manageable."

"I told Julian what I needed to tell him to make him marry me."

Julian's hand found the doorframe. He gripped it so hard the wood bit into his palm.

"He came to me with his offer," Clara said, and now her voice had steel in it again, the same steel he had admired on their wedding day. "A marriage of convenience, cold and legal. I had one afternoon to decide. One afternoon to save everything. And I could not tell him the truth, because the truth would have made him walk away."

"And the debts of honor? Who holds them?"

"If I knew that, I would not be in this position. They were sold. Bundled and sold like everything else, to someone who keeps their identity hidden. All I know is that the notes come due in March."

The Colonel said something low Julian could not catch. Then footsteps toward the door. Julian stepped back, but not quickly enough. The door swung open and the Colonel's weathered face found his.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Clara saw him. The color drained from her face so fast Julian thought she might faint.

"Julian."

He said nothing. He could not have spoken if his life depended on it. Every word she had spoken to him over the past weeks felt like a stone in his chest—each one heavy, each one a lie he had built his trust upon.

"Leave us," Julian said to the Colonel.

"I will not leave my niece—"

"Leave us, Colonel. Now."

The Colonel looked between them, then gave a curt nod and strode down the corridor. The sound of his boots faded. Clara stood in the doorway, trembling slightly, her eyes fixed on the floor.

"How much?" Julian heard himself ask. His own voice sounded far away.

"Julian, I can explain—"

"How much, Clara?"

She looked up at him then. And for the first time since he had known her, she did not look like a lady of the ton or a clever negotiator or the mistress of Ashworth Park. She looked like a girl drowning, and Julian felt the strangest, most unwelcome pull at his chest.

"Thirty-one thousand pounds," she whispered. "Including interest."

The number hung between them like a blow. Julian had estimated eight, perhaps ten. Thirty-one thousand would strip the estate to its bones.

"You had only to tell me," he said, and his voice came rough. "I married you for a contract, Clara. Contracts require truth. Both parties, full disclosure. You signed the same documents I did. You swore—"

"And if I had told you the truth, you would have laughed in my face and walked out the door."

"Yes." He said it without hesitation. "I would have. Because I would have been a fool to take on debts I could not see the end of. But I did not walk out. I am here. And I have been working for weeks—risking my name, my reputation, my livelihood—on a sum that is less than a third of what you actually owe."

Clara's hands twisted in her skirts. A single tear tracked down her cheek. She dashed it away angrily, as though it had betrayed her.

"I thought if I could find the sapphire, if I could solve it all quietly, you would never have to know how badly I had failed. I thought—" Her voice broke. "I thought you would despise me if you knew the truth."

Julian stood very still. And then, despite everything, a strange laugh escaped him.

"Despise you?" He shook his head. "Clara, I have spent the last month watching you fight. For your home, for your people, for a cause you believed was lost. You are the most determined creature I have ever met. Despise you would be impossible."

She stared at him. A fresh tear fell.

"We can still fight this," Julian said. "We can find the sapphire. We can find the man who holds the notes. We can find Finch and Umbridge and every other piece of this puzzle. But I need you on my side, Clara. Fully, completely, without reservation."

He stepped toward her, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her dark eyes.

"You may lie to the world until the day you die. That is your business. But you will never lie to me again."

It was not a question. It was a line drawn in stone.

She nodded, barely able to speak.

"I promise," she said. "Julian, I promise."

And standing there in the dying light, Julian felt something he had not expected to feel. Not betrayal, though he had felt it—sharp and bitter in his throat. Not anger, though that too had risen. Something else. Something warmer.

He wanted her to keep that promise. Not for the contract. Not for the estate.

For him.