Page 2 of Felicity Cabot Sells Her Soul
Nellie made a soft sound in her throat and reached out with her free hand to touch Felicity’s shoulder. “My dear, you are so kind to offer, but I am afraid even that could not save me. I’ve already economized wherever possible. I’ve fallen so far behind that there is nothing for it. The mortgage has gone unpaid longer than I’d care to admit, and—and there are more debts only than that.”
Debtor’s prison,then. The bank would take the school, and Nellie—Nellie would be dragged into court, and then off to jail. Marshalsea, most likely.
Felicity flexed her hands, digging her fingers into her thighs. “How much?” she asked, her voice raw. “And when?”
“Twelve hundred pounds,” Nellie said in a thin whisper. “We shall have to send the last of the girls home tomorrow morning, before the bank tosses us out in the afternoon. And write to the rest of the families that the school will be closing.” She dabbed at her red eyes. “If I can get enough from the sale of the furnishings—”
She might avoid prison. But it wouldn’t save the school. Felicity closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath.Twelve hundred pounds. It was a bloody fortune. And the worst of it was that if Nellie had trusted her with this earlier, she could have managed it. Either of her sisters—Mercy and Charity—would have given her the money without a qualm. But a letter took time to arrive to its recipient and longer still to answer. There simply wasn’t any left.
And she had been plain Felicity Cabot so long. She had never seen the use in being anything else. If only she had told the truth before now, perhaps Nellie would have come to her first. Weeks ago, months ago—at the very least intime. In time to avoid all of this. In time to avoid what would have to come next. To save the school. To save the only real home she had ever known. And to save Nellie from the looming threat of debtor’s prison.
There wasn’t time to seek help from family. There was time only to seek it from an enemy.
Ian Carlisle.
Nellie sucked down a sob. “I am so very sorry, my dear. I had intended, one day, to leave the management of the school in your hands. And now thatit has come to this, I will have nothing to leave you at all. But at the very least, I can give you my promise to find you a position elsewhere.” A fragile smile. “A better one. With an employer who will not run you quite so ragged.”
Felicity’s heart wrenched in her chest. “I have to go,” she said. “I can fix this.” Maybe. Possibly.Probably.
“Go?” Nellie sniffled into her handkerchief. “Felicity, dear, it’s past midnight already.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll be awake.” He had always been more of a creature of the night than anyone she had ever known.
“He?” Nellie echoed. “Felicity—”
“Don’t fret, Nellie,” she said as she headed for the door. “I am going to fix this.” Whatever the cost. And knowing Ian Carlisle as she did—as she once had—his price would be her very soul.
∞∞∞
“Mr. Carlisle? There is a Miss Cabot here to see you.”
“Is there?” Finally. Ian set down his pen and pushed away the stack of documents upon the desk before him. He had wondered for some time, now, how long it might take. Had watched the days crawl by, the hours roll away, the looming shadow of disaster growing with each subtle tick of the clock. Had considered that perhaps she would not come at all. That if the last dawn came without her arrival, then he would instead have to go to her.
It would have smacked of a certain desperation, set the balance of power far less in his favor than he would have preferred. A hard-won power, which he was loath to surrender.
But she had arrived after all, and that—that was good. “Show her in, if you please, Butler,” Ian said, and he lounged back in his seat, affecting a contrived pose of indolence.
Only moments later, and the door opened once again, and then—shewas there. Felicity Cabot, in the flesh. In his home. Past midnight. The plain grey serge of her coat buttoned over the simple, almost matronly black day dress she wore beneath. Probably she thought it made her look severe, authoritative. Probably to her pupils, it did.
In fact he’d rarely seen her out of such garments. She had gone from the school room of the institution which she had once attended as a student to aposition within it as some manner of instructress. Deportment originally, he thought, which had always struck him as rather ill-fitting. She might know all the rules by which young ladies were meant to abide, but she had flouted more of them than she had ever obeyed—at least in his experience, which was some ten years lacking, at this point.
The wretched plait woven tightly at the back of her neck, which he suspected had been pinned up for most of the day, had begun to fray, little frills of her dark hair coming loose. And the vivid, poisonous green of her eyes settled upon him with no small amount of suspicion.
He said, “That will be all, Butler. Thank you.”
She startled as the door closed behind her, leaving them alone within the dark, wood-paneled walls of his office. The lamplight flickered over the veneered wood grain, creating the illusion of shifting shadows, as if some unseen audience lurked just at the periphery of the room. She drew in a breath, her sharp, finely-arched brows slanting down. “He has a name,” she said. “Your butler.”
“He has,” he replied. “It’s Butler.”
“Your butler is called Butler?” A scoff rolled up her throat. “And I suppose your cook is called Cook?”
“My cook is called Winchell. Had I been able to find one called Cook, I might have hired him only to have one less name to recall.” Ian rested his hand upon the surface of his desk, tapped his fingernails in a sharp rhythm which suggested growing impatience. “I suppose you have some purpose for calling so late at night.”
“You know it already,” she said, her voice warbling over a note of accusation.
He did. Of course he did. “I want to hear you say it.”
“I need money.”
