by Calia Read
At that moment, I realized the angriest people have the biggest secrets to protect.
Those many components were enough for me to know I had to leave the marriage. I knew if I stayed much longer, I would discover more layers to Uriah, and it wouldn’t be pleasant.
By his mother’s admission, I was an utter fool, and I would regret the decision for the rest of my life. In the days following the filing, I sometimes considered her words to be true. Divorce was not suitable for any respectable woman is what I heard at every turn. There were moments I felt as though the past was repeating itself, and I was allowing it to happen.
I question whether I could continue forward with Hambleton’s yet the very idea of walking away from something I conceived all on my own makes me physically ill. If it wasn’t for Margo, I don’t know if I would have stayed strong; the world has taught women there’s no place for them in society unless it’s behind a man. But Hambleton’s is my kingdom, and I’m determined to reign over it. I’m determined to rule over every investor and employee we have. I will be the queen over what is mine.
When I moved out of Uriah’s home, I was on my own for four months before Margo arrived in the States and moved in with me. While I made my presence known during the progression of Hambleton’s, Margo took care of Henry.
Uriah demanded I call off the divorce proceedings. He threatened to halt all progress on Hambleton’s and make sure I was rejected by the Chicago elite. I refused to bend to his will. I remained steadfast and told him there was already enough whispers traveling around town about our divorce, and my conscience would feel no responsibility if I let it slip he was cheating on me. I remember that argument vividly; up until then, I had never brought up my suspicions. Seeing his face go pale was all the confirmation I needed.
Soon after, he never pressured me to halt the divorce filing, and for my silence over his extramarital affairs, I was paid generously. I didn’t relish in being unrelenting and merciless, but I believe it’s nearly impossible to destroy a monster without becoming one yourself.
Matthew was there for the grand opening of Hambleton’s, and instead of falling headfirst in love, I fell headfirst into a friendship. The jump was less steep and dangerous, but no less exhilarating. Every conversation and moment naturally progressed between the two of us, and by the time my divorce was finalized with Uriah, I knew Matthew was the one I wanted to be with. Six days ago, I became Mrs. McLaren. I have yet to regret the decision. My gut tells me I won’t.
Many people will say I romanticize love and the institution of marriage. I refuse to give up on love because humankind is cruel. To do that is to be as deplorable as the men who’d hurt me before Matthew.
The saying I’d once heard about love was wrong. At least for me, it was. The first time with Edward, it was convenience. The second with Uriah was right. It was for money. The third time, with Matthew, was for love.
Love is not linear. What works for one person is not the case for another. That is all right. It has taken me several tries and shedding many tears to come to that conclusion.
“Emmeline? Did you hear me?”
I blink Matthew into focus and see him standing in front of me.
I smile at him. “Forgive me. I have a lot on my mind.”
“I can see that. Care to share?”
Sighing, I glance at the assortment of garments hanging on the racks. The shoes neatly arranged and gloves laid out on a glass display case. Inside the glass display are barrettes and an assortment of jewelry. Ribbons after ribbons hang on the left wall, all color coded. And beneath them are yards of luxurious and exclusive material from Europe in an array of colors and options. Hats with feathers, plumes, bows, and flowers dangle from the hat rack. They’re beautiful, but that’s not why I’m here. Most women who step into Hambleton’s are not looking for fabric so they can sew a dress. They want the dress ready and at their fingertips.
That’s why I’m here. To view the selection and see if there’s anything different that would appeal to my customers.
“It’s quite a lot to explain,” I say, answering his question.
“Lucky for you, I happen to be a fabulous listener. How did your meeting with Asa go this morning?”
At that, I smile. “Surprisingly well. I found it informative.”
Asa and I have stayed in close contact since I’ve returned to the States and more so when he invested in Hambleton’s. I think of him as a confidant. He has proven himself to be someone I can lean on and trust.
Two years ago, the decision to change my name and essentially create a new identity was Asa’s idea. I was in danger. Edward wanted me out of the picture, and it was clear he would probably stop at nothing until I was removed. He knew about the pregnancy. Naïvely, I told him when I discovered I was with child. He told me to find a doctor that could help me “get rid of it.” I refused, and that infuriated him; I was causing a bump in the road for him.
Choosing a new name didn’t come easy. I had to think about it for many days. Emmeline was a name that came to me by accident. I was walking through the park and saw a mother with four girls having a picnic. She had a nanny, yet it was still chaos as she attempted to wrangle the children. One of the little girls continuously kept asking her mother for more sweets, and each time, the mother would say no. But when the mom turned her back, the girl snatched up the last chocolate bar and quickly ate it before her mother could catch her in the act. Yet the mother at some point turned around and saw the girl’s face smeared with chocolate.
“Emmeline! What did I tell you? No chocolate! You can’t take what you want in this world!” she lectured.
The little girl sat there with wide eyes and listened, but I knew, I knew that if the opportunity arose, she’d take that chocolate bar again because it’s the same thing I would do.
It made perfect sense to go with the name Emmeline.
Hambleton was Asa’s suggestion. Asa told me a mutual friend of theirs, Adam Hambleton, was the only person not afraid to go up against Étienne. Adam broke Étienne’s nose but gained his respect.
Together, we formed my new identity. And together, we can take my company back the same way. When I told him my idea of creating a fake investor named Richard Worth who’s highly interested in buying out Uriah and David, he thought it was a superb idea.
With Uriah’s hush money and the money that has slowly begun to trickle in from Hambleton’s, I’ll have more than enough to entice David and Uriah to leave Hambleton’s. Asa would tell Potter Palmer, Jr. he has a wealthy business associate from New York who’s highly interested in Hambleton’s. I’m confident Potter would relay the information to Uriah. And because Uriah keeps nothing from his mother, he would tell her. She would tell David. It would only be a matter of time until they were attempting to get into contact with the mysterious Richard Worth.
In the ten months I’ve known Uriah, one thing has remained consistent. His love for money.
Right now, Henry is with Margo. And while Matthew and I are enjoying a short honeymoon, I requested my lawyer to draw up a new will. If anything were to happen to me, Margo would receive full custody of Henry. I love Matthew, but is he ready to take on the responsibility of a child? I look at him from the corner of my eye. That is something I’m not one hundred percent sure of. Margo would love and take care of Henry, and if the time came that Matthew wanted custody of Henry, I’m sure she would work with him. She’s always been the reasonable one of us.
Uriah was not allowed to have custody of Henry. I was specific of that in the new will. He didn’t like children. For him, children were to be seen but never heard. And the same went for his entire family. If something ever happened to me, I could imagine him trying to get custody of Henry, not out of love, but out of his warped sense of duty and being a martyr. Look at me! The action would say. Look at how selfless I am!
And then he would toss my child to a handful of nannies and never pay him any attention. The very thought has my fingers curling into my palms, my na
ils digging into my skin until crescent-shaped marks appear. He will never get Henry.
Over my dead body.
My mind should be clear and heart full, but my stomach is churning. Something isn’t sitting right with me. Call it motherly instinct, but I feel this desperate urge to go to Henry. I know he’s with my sister and being taken care of, but I want to wrap my arms around him, smell his hair, and kiss his soft cheek. I want to know he is stable and real, and no one is going to take him away.
Relax. It’s merely anxiety over being away from Henry for the first time, my mind reminds me.
I continue to shop throughout the store, repeating to myself everything is okay, but the words ring hollow in my mind. My conscience is telling me to go home while I still have time.
The last time I saw Asa Calhoun, I thought I was going to die.
It’s surreal to be sitting across from him at a table. Once upon a time, we were at each other’s throats, and not in the way Étienne and I are. Asa and I genuinely didn’t like one other. I was one hundred percent sure he was the one laying landmines for Étienne, but I had it all wrong.
At the end of the day, he was looking out for Étienne. He helped my great-great-grandmother escape Charleston and is probably part of the reason I’m sitting here today. He’s also the key to me better understanding the convoluted mess that is Emmeline’s personal life.
“I cannot believe you’re here,” he repeats for the hundredth time. He eyes my ring. “And engaged. I presume you’re the lucky man, Étienne?” Asa asks dryly.
“I am,” Étienne confirms.
I give Asa a sweet grin. “Did you miss me?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
At that, I laugh. Some things haven’t changed.
“How long have you been back?”
I shoot Étienne a sidelong glance. “Well, technically, I came back the first time in January and was here for almost a month, but then I went back to the present. I found out some important information about Emmeline, and then I came back a few days ago.”
“So an average Wednesday for you,” he remarks, his voice deadpan.
“Pretty much.”
“What information did you find out?”
Étienne takes a deep breath. “That’s why we wanted to speak with you. The information she has involves you.”
Asa frowns and looks back and forth between the two of us. “In what way?”
“I found the letters between you and Emmeline.”
“The letters...” he repeats faintly before his face lights up with understanding. Resting his elbows on the table, he leans in. “Where did you find the letters?”
“In a box in my family’s garage.”
Asa shakes his head in disbelief.
“But it’s true?” I ask anxiously. “You told her it wasn’t safe in America, and you invested in her company?”
Slowly, he nods. “Yes, that’s all true.”
“Why?” I can’t stop the pleading tone that enters my voice. “Why was she in danger? Edward is dead. She should be in the clear.”
“Edward is dead, but that doesn’t mean his close friends are,” Asa observes.
“Do you mean Johnathan Whalen?” I ask.
Ever since I met my nephew, the name Johnathan has been lingering in the back of my subconscious nonstop. While I was in the present day, I looked it up, but there was nothing to link Myen’s family with Johnathan Whalen. I believe if anyone were to go after Emmeline, it would be Johnathan. At least my gut tells me that.
Asa shrugs at my question. “Perhaps. I cannot say. What needs to be looked at is who Emmeline’s with on a daily basis, and the people Edward spent time with before he passed. And considering he was an incredibly private man, that list is short.” Asa’s eyes flick to Étienne’s for confirmation.
Étienne nods. “It’s true. Edward’s social life was somewhat cloaked in mystery, but there’s no denyin’ he was a recluse.”
“For Edward, it’s easy to narrow down who he was socializing with durin’ the final months leadin’ up to his death. However, for Emmeline, the process of elimination is difficult because of Hambleton’s.”
“And with success, anyone could be after her,” I whisper faintly.
“Precisely,” Asa says.
The sheer weight of what we’re up against slams into me. Leaning back in my chair, I rub my temples. “Where do we start?”
“From the beginnin’. The investors,” Étienne chimes in.
“Were you able to meet any of the other investors?” I ask the two of them.
Étienne shakes his head. I look at Asa.
“No. How many are there?” he asks.
“Six.” I begin to tick off the names on each finger. When I get to David Langley, Asa lifts a hand, halting me in my tracks. I sit up straight in my chair.
“David Langley...the name sounds familiar.” He glances at Étienne. “Did we go to school with a David Langley?”
“Not that I recall.”
Asa stares down at the table, and I can see his brain running a mile a minute, trying to place a name with a face.
I’m on the edge of my seat, waiting to hear what he has to say next.
“David Langley?” He snaps his fingers and points at me. “I remember him now. He was a friend of Johnathan Whalen’s.”
“Son of a bitch,” Étienne whispers.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
He nods. “Absolutely. David visited Johnathan while we were all in college on break. They went to Vincent Chicco’s blind tiger.”
“What’s a blind tiger?” I cut in.
“Blind tiger is a term used for an establishment that illegally serves liquor as the state legislature fought to outlaw saloons across South Carolina.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
Asa continues. “They went to Chicco’s Cafe one night, and David became so inebriated, he started arguments with other patrons. Threw chairs and tables. Tossed glasses. Broke a window. He and Johnathan were kicked out and told to never return. David left the next day, and if I remember correctly, Johnathan’s father paid for the damages so word wouldn’t spread that Johnathan was there.”
“Johnathan could have told David the details of Emmeline and Edward. Perhaps he’s still upset his friend is no longer alive and blames Emmeline?”
“Very likely.” Asa averts his eyes and stares down at the table.
My eyes narrow. “What do you know?”
When Asa lifts his head, he shoots Étienne a regretful look before he glances in my direction.
“After Edward...passed and Étienne was on the mend, I cleaned out Edward’s desk at the office. I had to break into the locked drawers. Beneath the ledgers, I found a journal with deeply disturbin’ entries.” Asa shifts his gaze and shifts uncomfortably in his chair.
Étienne leans in. “You never told me,” he whispers.
“You were shot, and Serene had left. You were not in the position for more bad news. Besides, Emmeline was on her way to England. I thought she was safe.”
I hold up a hand before they go completely off track. “What did Edward say?”
Asa takes a deep breath and exhales. “He was aware of Emmeline’s pregnancy, and he was not pleased. By April, he had been introduced to Clara Beckett, and they started a correspondence. I’m not certain of the precise date Edward was made aware of Emmeline’s pregnancy or if she was the one to even tell him. But from the sound of it, he was gradually growin’ upset because she would not terminate the pregnancy. Although he doesn’t outright say it, it is alluded. It was durin’ that time Emmeline reached out to me because Edward’s abuse of her was increasin’ and she was afraid for herself and the baby. I believe it was Henry that spurred her to make the decision to leave.”
“Wow,” I breathe.
Asa nods and continues. “Edward began to express the desire to erase Emmeline from his life. It became an obsession. All the bad things that happened were her fault. He was convinced of his own words and de
termined to keep Clara. Nothing was going to stand in his way. By June of 1912, he concocted a deranged story to give Clara. He was going to tell her he had a cousin who was unmarried, and once the child was born, the cousin refused to take care of it. Edward would then selflessly step in and take care of the child. He fully planned to give her an impassioned speech on how he must take care of his family, and if she didn’t want to remain married to him any longer he understood, but the baby deserved a good life.”
Unbelievable.
“This was all planned before Henry was born?” I ask.
“Yes,” Asa confirms.
“And the wife would be none the wiser,” Étienne says.
Suddenly, I remember the leather-bound King James Bible I found in my family’s attic in McLean. Inside, I remember the thin, cursive letters proclaiming the bible belonged to Clara Beckett. I remember flipping through the bible and seeing highlight scripture with initials next to it and the year 1913 beneath it. I remember how the person had pressed down on the pen so hard it broke through the thin paper. All of a sudden, everything clicks into place.
“Clara knew,” I blurt.
Étienne and Asa stare at me in unison.
“What?” Étienne asks.
Anxiously, I grab onto his arm. “I found her bible in my family’s attic in McLean. I remember seeing the initials E.G.H. and the year 1913. I didn’t know what that stood for, but she has to be referring to Emmeline.”
“Why the year 1913?” says Asa.
That’s the one thing that stumps me. “I don’t know.”
“Think about it. Emmeline is a young woman in a different country,” Asa provides. “She has no family here. Hardly any friends. If she didn’t come to me, would she have gone to anyone else?”
