Nicholas Explains Himself
Chapter 09 - Nicholas Explains Himself
Nicholas Harland gave his account sitting in the library across from his wife on the evening of the fifth day after Clara's appearance at the restaurant, which was the first opportunity Victoria allowed him after she'd told him to leave the room.
She listened to the entirety of it without interrupting, which was one of the things Nicholas had always found most difficult about her, the specific, demanding composure of a woman who genuinely listened, which meant there was no opportunity to rephrase or redirect while speaking, only afterward, during the silence that meant she'd heard everything and was now deciding what to do with it.
He'd found out about Clara from his own attorney, he said, who had been conducting a routine background check on a business partnership matter and had encountered a sealed record that, once partially opened under legitimate legal pretense, had suggested the existence of a second heir to the Rosewood estate.
He'd told himself, at the time, that he needed more information before telling Victoria anything, and that gathering more information first was simply prudent.
Then he'd gathered more information and discovered that Clara was a schoolteacher in Pittsburgh married to a man named Daniel Alcott who worked in construction, and that they had a daughter named Lily who was three, and that they were not wealthy people.
He'd told himself, at that point, that telling Victoria would cause her enormous distress for no clear benefit, since the legal pathway for Clara to make any claim on the Rosewood estate was substantially uncertain and might well produce nothing but years of litigation.
He'd told himself this version with genuine conviction for approximately two years, during which time Clara's legal representatives had begun making inquiries and his own legal representatives had begun erecting complications.
"I want to be honest with you," Nicholas said, which Victoria recognized as the specific phrasing of someone who is about to say something honest that has previously been withheld. "The longer this continued, the harder it became to find the right moment to tell you. After three years, four, five. After the payments had been running for that long, telling you the truth meant also telling you what I'd been doing to prevent you from learning it."
"So the hiding compounded itself," Victoria said.
"Yes," Nicholas admitted.
"And the fact that the estate's assets are considerable, and that Clara's existence complicated the question of who those assets belonged to," Victoria said, "you'd like me to accept that this was entirely secondary to your primary motivation of protecting me."
Nicholas looked at the desk between them. "No," he said. "I'd like you to accept that it was a factor I told myself was secondary when I'm not certain it actually was."
This was, Victoria reflected later when she was alone, probably the most honest thing Nicholas had said to her in eleven years, and it was the thing that made what happened next possible in any form.
"I want a legal separation," she said. "I want the marriage to continue for now as a formal arrangement while I deal with the Clara situation, because I don't need another significant legal matter complicating this one. But I want it understood between us that we are not the same people to each other that we were a week ago."
Nicholas nodded.
"I also want," she said, "every document you have in your possession related to Clara Alcott, Margaret Rosewood, the attorney in Pittsburgh, and any payment you've made in connection with any of this, delivered to James Ellery by tomorrow morning. All of it. I will not ask you this twice."
"It'll be there by nine," Nicholas said.
"Good," Victoria said. "That's all."
He stood, and she watched him leave the library, and then she sat alone for a while in the chair she'd occupied while reading Catherine's diaries, and she allowed herself, for approximately twenty minutes, the specific luxury of feeling everything she was feeling, all of it, without performing composure for any audience.
Then she straightened her jacket, refilled her tea, and called Clara.
May you like
"Dinner on Saturday," she said. "I'd also like to include a conversation about next steps legally, if Clara's willing. James will be there."
"She's willing," Clara said, and Victoria could hear in her voice the specific, cautious warmth of someone allowing themselves to believe something they'd been afraid to believe for a long time.
