I heard the fear in his voice and it elated me. He'd no doubt heard what I had done to a worker who had lied to me, for if there are two things in this world I hate it is liars and betrayers. I had only begun my reputation of sin collecting, but appeared it had already reached Simon. Good.
I stepped closer to Simon and smiled as I gently pinched his little girl's cheek, making her giggle. "It'll never be over. I know your sins, Simon. I can use them anytime I want. I can do anything I want to you — to your family."
I looked Emma in the eyes. "Please tell your mother that Frederick says hi."
With that, I left him and whistled all the way to my office. I would get my justice, and I knew exactly how I'd do it…
The fire roared in his fireplace, making Frederick think of that night at Anthony's home. Perhaps it was why this was the night he chose to make his confession. In order for everything to happen next, she had to understand.
They were seated in his study, a place they had sat and chatted many times, though none of those times were like this. Those times were just merely to keep her occupied, keep her happy and content. They meant nothing to him, not really. But now that he'd told her the truth and he couldn't help but wonder how she would take it. He imagined it would not be good, for what wife would accept the discovery that her husband never loved her in a "good" way?
He took a sip of whisky and leaned back in his chair, watching the flames breathe in controlled chaos. "So, now you know. After all these years, you finally know."
Cecelia Dodsworth — formerly Cecelia Lofton — watched the flames as well. Her fingers played with the fabric of her plain white nightgown. Everything about her was so boringly plain. Plain gown, plain hair, plain eyes, plain body, plain face. Nothing extraordinary about her at all. Not like Rebecca, who was the total opposite. There was nothing plain about her. Nothing. "Why has it taken you so long to tell me this?"
He shrugged. He knew why, but she didn't have to know it, not right this instant anyway. "Because I needed you to believe I loved you. I needed you, and now…"
"Now you don't."
"I wouldn't say that." He took another sip of whisky and stood. "I do need you, but not as you imagine."
Cecelia sat in a near daze. "But… all these years. I thought, I thought you loved me. I thought you married me because you loved me. You made me believe…"
"I know I did, and I'm not sorry. If it hurts your feelings, then those are your issues and not mine. I did what I had to do to secure my place in the world just as I told Anthony I would do. I needed money, I married the daughter of a rich man. It is not that hard to follow."
"But we… we have a daughter."
"One does not need to be in love to procreate," he answered simply. He had wanted to tell Cecelia the truth since their wedding night. She had been so happy and clingy and…, on his nerves. She had been completely in love with him, which, he supposed, had been the point. Her father loved her and would never marry her off to just some money-hungry man. So he'd had to play his part perfectly, and he'd done so. They had married, but then he still could not let anyone in on his lie.
Her father had died about five years after they were married. An accident in the factory and then all of it went to Frederick: the factory, the wealth, the connections, everything. And he grew it into the business it is today. He was proud of his work, proud of his money, and he didn't feel guilty for how he'd gotten it.
"So… you never loved me?" she asked, her voice raw from hearing the story. He imagined her heart had broken. He also imagined that he didn't care. She was and had always been a means to an end.
"How could one love a weed when he'd had the prettiest flower in the garden in his grasp?"
He heard her snivel behind him and it made him angry. Why it made him angry, he wasn't entirely sure, but he had no time to comfort her — not that he would. Time was of the essence, and he had to get her out of his study before the clock struck eleven.
"I wasn't always like I am today," he said, trying not let the anger get the best of him. "I once was kind and good. I loved to please people. I cared what others thought of me. I wanted to do good, have friends, and lead a good, productive life. And I was in love, Cecelia. And do you know what? Rebecca loved me too."
"I love you," Cecelia answered barely over a whisper. "I've loved you all these years. I've stood by you when no other wife would."
"I never asked you to. That was your choice, your conscience telling you what you could and couldn't take. But know this, you aren't Rebecca… you can never be Rebecca. Ever. And you never were."
Cecelia gasped like it had just hit her… she had always been very slow. "Emma Hartwell. Emma is Simon and Rebecca's daughter. That's why you have her here as a servant! You are punishing Simon for stealing Rebecca away from you."