Society?
And who decides the consequences? Who decides which evil acts deserve punishment?
Who?
He knew he had just cause in his revenge.
He had waited patiently, waited after the baron — with the help of his backstabbing friend — had taken her away from him.
Anger filled him when he heard of their nuptials.
Jealously consumed him when he learned of their daughter. A daughter that should have been his. It mattered not that he had a wife of his own now, and a child, a daughter as well. It mattered not that he was one of the — no, the wealthiest man in Darenset — nay, the entirety of England.
It mattered not that his wife was the most beautiful lady the ton had ever produced. His wife was not her, and that was all that mattered.
Sorrow filled him when he heard news of her death. Childbirth — a second daughter.
Sorrow turned to vengeful thoughts.
Vengeful thoughts turned to actions.
A debt bought.
A debt collected.
A debt unable to be paid.
And a young daughter forced into servitude as a result.
And what of the traitorous friend of the baron? Would vengeance not greet him for the role he played in the deceit? Of course, justice would prevail. Plans had already been set in motion.
His family would be dealt with in time.
They all would be.
Time made no difference to him. His soul never found rest. Five years. Ten years. Thirteen years since what had been his was stolen from him. The wound still bled.
If the baron presumed the man's revenge was final by taking his eldest as a servant to pay his debts, he was such a na?ve fool.
Fredrick Dodsworth had money, and that trumped titles. He carried people's debts, and that covered a multitude of sins. He collected sins. Used them to his advantage. Made a lofty career out of it.
The two men who had betrayed him all those years before had it coming.
Justice.
Not revenge.
He rested his elbow on the mantle, scratched the beard on his chin, and watched the orange flames dance as they consumed the piece of unfortunate firewood tossed inside. He understood fire. The beauty of it. The pure grandeur of a small spark that grew into a raging inferno if allowed. He'd allowed it in his time. Some secrets would never be told. Some sins would never be collected. One could control such things when one was the collector.
And some sins would never receive forgiveness.
Mr. Dodsworth clinched his nails into his shaking palm until blood seeped from underneath.
They would all get what they deserved.
A small drop fell from his hand, sizzling in the flames. He pulled out a cloth to wipe away the rest of the scarlet droplets.
Soon he would see justice.
Upstairs, he heard giggling. Two young women. One his own daughter — and the other a means to an end. They had no idea their time together grew short. A small smile pulled at his lips as he tossed the soiled cloth into the flames. He could buy others. Money meant nothing to him. Justice was the only payment he required.
The two men who'd taken what was his? He would make them pay the worst way he could imagine. Laughter bubbled in his chest as the cloth burned into unrecognizable ash.
He would hurt their children.
And he would make them watch.
CHAPTER ONE
Once upon a time
Darenset, Lithorland
"You look beautiful."
Emma Hartwell beamed as she fastened the last button on the back of Gertrude Dodsworth's gown. It was exquisite. Perfect for one of the many balls she would attend. A gorgeous green shade, specially made for her by the designers at Trudy's father's textile factory. One of the largest factories in Darenset, and the Dodsworths were one of the richest families in the city if not all of Lithorland — a small country near the coast.
Emma wasn't a Dodsworth, though by rights, she was the only person in the room of noble blood. Money trumped blood, especially in that time. Titles were important, but one could have a title and still owe a huge debt. Emma peeked over Trudy's shoulder and saw her own small reflection in the mirror. A knot formed in her throat as she shut her eyes and willed the unhappiness away. No matter what, debts had to be collected. She knew that fact all too well.
"Do you love it?" Trudy twirled in the mirror, oblivious to Emma's sudden sullen change in mood.
Needing a moment to compose herself, Emma drew in a deep breath and exhaled to ease the constricting of her chest, all the while hiding it from Trudy. Once Trudy stopped spinning, her reflection showed exactly what Emma saw, a beautiful eighteen-year-old girl in an exquisite dress on her way to her coming out party. Soon after, the Season would start in Darenset, and she'd be married in no time. Though not of royal blood, Trudy had a very hefty dowry. Any man would want it. Not to mention, Trudy was a vision.
Wavy red hair that would hold a curl if forced.
Slender features.
Delicate.