Page 28 of Strict Confidence (Rochester Trilogy 2)
Marjorie walks out, her red hair blowing in the wind.
“How are you?” she asks, her smile bright. I’m guessing she hasn’t seen the gnomes.
“Hello,” I say, gesturing to the boxes as a distraction. Pretty sure this is how magicians make you miss the fact that they’re not cutting a person in half. Misdirection. “We’re doing okay. I’m looking through them now. We should be able to get them out of the way soon enough.”
She gives a small laugh. “Oh, that’s okay. You know Beau Rochester is paying good money for the use of the property, including the patio.”
“Right. Money.” She has what I’ve learned is the Maine accent. She says Rochester like Rochestah and property like prah-perty.
A broken teacup sits near the top of an open box. Marjorie leans down to pick it up. “She used this set for afternoon tea. She loved formal gatherings like that.”
“You mean Emily Rochester?” Her image flashes in my mind, the exquisite features, the perfectly curled blonde hair, the eyes that hold infinite sadness.
She gets this faraway expression. “We were friends.”
“I didn’t realize. I’m sorry.”
“We weren’t exactly close, but it was still a blow when she died. She was so full of life.” Her pale blue gaze finds Paige in the garden. “And Paige still so young.”
There’s a wrench in my heart. “I’m very sorry.”
She looks at me. “I’m glad they found you. It’s almost like a little family. If I saw you with them, I would assume you were her mother. Young, of course, but still.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I don’t want to feel pleasure at her words.
I don’t want to hope for more, considering I’m the hired help. Not part of their family at all.
I thought I could have this—what? This secret relationship, this sex with Beau Rochester and not fall for him. I was wrong. I mumble something about how I’m happy to help Paige through this difficult time. And I add, “I’m sorry about the gnomes.”
A small laugh. “Rochester paid more than enough to cover them. It’s incredible really. A kid from around here—” Around he-ah. “Becoming that kind of rich.”
“It’s wild.” Not that I would know. Sure, I live in the inn. I eat food he bought. I wear clothes paid for with his money. It’s all temporary. None of this is mine.
“Not like us,” she says.
My stomach clenches. I’m like her—the people Rochester pays to do what he wants. He may be generous with his money, but it’s still his. It’s still our job to keep him happy.
To let his niece paint the garden gnomes.
Or in my case, to let him have sex with the nanny.
Bile rises in my throat. What if he considered the sex part of my job? What if he considered it his due for paying such a nice salary at the end?
“Yeah,” I say, choking on the word. “Not like us.”
Marjorie says something about good Maine hospitality. I’m supposed to let her know if I need anything, but most of all, if Paige needs anything.
When she leaves, I pull out the diary again. She’s becoming a three-dimensional person to me, Emily Rochester. She’s not only Paige’s mother. Not only the woman Beau used to love. Now she’s someone with her own hopes and dreams, her own fears.
It’s her private diary. Her thoughts. Her secrets. Not meant to be shared with anyone, but definitely not with me—a complete stranger. I shouldn’t even show this to Beau, honestly. It would probably only enrage him to find out that Rhys had hit Emily.
I’m reading the pages faster and faster, skipping more of them every time. Going through her pregnancy and her troubled marriage and her final days…
R guessed the truth today. He figured out that my weekend trip happened when I got pregnant. Paige looks just like him. They have the same eyes. I don’t know what made him suspicious, but he lost his temper. I’m afraid for myself. I’m almost afraid for Paige. Maybe she’s not safe from him if he knows she’s actually B’s child. He looks at us with pure venom in his eyes, like we’re the enemy. It’s always quiet in the house now. It feels like a storm is brewing.
My heart pounds when I put the book down. That’s the last line she ever wrote in this diary. It feels like a storm is brewing. Whether she meant a figurative storm or a literal one, she decided to go out on a boat with Rhys. Her husband. Did he hurt her? Did they have an argument that ended in the worst possible way? Was she fighting for her life on that harbor?
There’s a knot in my stomach. She’s not Beau’s niece. She’s his daughter.
Does he know? He must know. Nine months after they slept together, a child was born. He had to have wondered. Why did he let her grow up in another man’s house?
