“Whatever brought you to this conclusion, I am glad for it.” He approached her, arms outstretched.
Elizabeth saw Anabelle in her father’s every feature. Why hadn’t she noticed before? Because she hadn’t wanted to see the truth. She hadn’t wanted to believe her father capable of such a thing. She could not believe he had loved Mammy, yet the alternative was far more horrific.
Neither his embrace nor his words comforted her. “You will be a happy woman.”
“If happiness is measured by pleasing others.”
“I am pleased.” He patted her back and returned to the desk. Pulling open the top drawer, he withdrew a small object. “I had intended to give you this after the announcement of your engagement, but I believe now is an appropriate time.”
“B-but—” Elizabeth sputtered. She had not yet stated her terms, and he had already leapt to the conclusion he desired.
He didn’t seem to notice her consternation, instead extending his hand with a smile. “Here, my dear. A token of my delight.”
Since she did not move to take his offering, he opened his hand to reveal the brooch that she had found aboard the Victory.
“But that belongs to Mr. Buetsch.” She stared at him. “I asked you to return it.”
“Mr. Buetsch no longer owns it. When I saw that it bore your mother’s first initial, I asked if he would sell it to me. He assured me he had no sentimental attachment to it. He bought it from a Saint Augustine curio shop. He gave me a good price, and I purchased it.” He pressed the brooch into her hand. “Take it in memory of your mother. She would be very proud of you.”
Elizabeth felt faint. Everything Father said and did turned the screws that much tighter. She would never escape the cage, just like her mother. Her only consolation was that she could help her sister, if she could summon the courage. Lord, give me strength.
She took a breath and straightened her back. Courage didn’t flood in, but the posture did create the impression of confidence. “I do have one condition. I cannot accept Mr. Finch without it.”
His expression darkened. “What is that?”
Her confidence faltered. She looked toward the fireplace and the portrait of her mother. “I’m certain my mother would approve.”
“Go on.”
She took another deep breath and plunged in. “Give me Anabelle.”
He flinched ever so slightly, but she saw it.
Seizing the opportunity, she pressed harder. “Mother was the one who insisted I take Anabelle with me to Charleston. She has been my maid for my entire life. I trust you wouldn’t send me away without that small comfort.”
His hesitation was small but noticeable. “Why insist upon that? It’s trivial. I will give her to you as a wedding gift.”
“I need that assurance now.”
“Need?” He stalked to the desk and pivoted to glare at her. The tactic might work in a courtroom, but Elizabeth was no defendant or witness. “Isn’t my word sufficient?”
“Your word is your honor, Papa. That’s why I’m asking for your word. I wish to bring Anabelle to the ball with me.” She held her breath. This was the test. If he truly loved her, he would agree.
“Is that all?” His expression eased. “Bring Anabelle if you must.” He smiled. “I know that your word is your honor also. We shall announce your engagement tonight.”
She had done the right thing. That ought to make her feel better. Instead her insides churned even worse. What had Rourke said, that love did what was right even when it hurt? He didn’t say the pain would keep increasing.
She stumbled from the study, the brooch clasped tightly in her hand.
“Why did you do it?” Charlie had somehow managed to move his wheelchair to the door of his room.
“You were listening.”
“It’s impossible not to hear.” His face contorted, cheeks blotched with red. “How could you? How could you betray him?”
She took a shuddering breath. “You don’t understand.”
“Don’t treat me like a child. I understand perfectly, but I don’t believe it.” He slammed a fist against the arm of his wheelchair. “I never thought my sister would sell her soul to a cheat and a charlatan.”
20
Charlie’s words stung. The cheat and charlatan was not their father. No, Charlie meant Mr. Finch. Elizabeth agonized through late afternoon, but she could think of no other way to help Anabelle. Rourke said love required sacrifice. She wished the cost was not so high. The thought of marrying Mr. Finch made her ill.
Finally, with the approaching darkness came an idea. She would seek help from the only person who agreed with her estimation of Finch.
She knocked on Charlie’s door. “May I enter?”
“I don’t have anything to say to you.”
Elizabeth glanced at the study door. It was open, and Father was not inside. “I need your help.”
“Why?”
She didn’t trust that Father wasn’t pacing nearby. “May I come in to explain?”