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The good thing about our union — the only
good thing mind you — was that I got to spend lots of time with her
father and learned the ins and outs of the textile factory. When he
died, it all became mine: the factory, his wealth, and his
collection of sins.

He is the one who taught me how to get ahead
in this world. He said if you knew something on someone, then he
would do whatever you wanted to keep the sin from getting out. So
all I had to do was keep my eyes out, keep my ears open, and I'd
learn everyone's sins. Then all I had to do was threaten to expose
them and everything I ever wanted would be mine.

Well, not everything I wanted…

A few years after Rebecca married Simon, I
passed him walking down the street. He had a little girl in his
arms, a girl about the same age as our Trudy. The girl looked so
much like her mother that it hurt to look at her.

The girl, he told me her name was Emma,
should have been my daughter. Not the sickly girl I could never
take out with me. Not the girl who had cried the first year of her
life and was ill. Emma was beautiful, kind, smart. She was
everything a father could want in a daughter. And she should have
been mine.

Simon introduced me to her, but acted as if
he'd rather be anywhere else. I, however, was exactly where I
wanted to be and smiled at my good fortune. He said he'd heard I'd
married and now owned the factory. I nodded and told him I'd heard
he was expecting another child, to which he answered yes.

He appeared to want to ask me something else,
and I lingered just to hear what he had to say for himself. "It has
been years since that incident at Anthony's manor."

It might have been years, but it felt as
though only days.

"We are both happy now, you and I. Married to
our loves. We both have daughters and Anthony, he has a son. Can we
let the past stay in the past? Can we all move on with our lives
and look to the future? Can our feud be over?"

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."

He couldn't deny it, nor would he. "I bought
out his debt, and then he owed me. I made the terms and he was too
much of a coward to stop me or even question me. That's what
Hartwell has always been, a spineless coward and even more so after
Anthony Wexley's untimely death."

"That poor man died of a heart attack, right?
You didn't have anything to do with it?"

He liked the questioning in her voice. It let
him know that her love for him was beginning to fade, and she saw
the world, finally, for what it was. She had been a pawn, a means
to an end, and now his use for her was ending. "Are you certain you
want me to answer that truthfully?"

She gasped and her hand moved to her lips,
those lips I had been forced to kiss to keep her happy — never
again. "Why are you telling me all of this now? This night?"

"Because I need you to do something for
me."

"Why would I help you?" she asked, and he
liked the forcefulness with which she said it. Every time she
spoke, he heard the threads of her heart breaking and her love for
him shattering. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world. It
freed him more than he ever thought possible.

"Because if you don't, you will be out on the
streets. No money, no help. Nothing. Do you want that?"

"Do you want people to think you abandoned
your own family?" she bit back. "Do you know how that would look to
the people in society?"

He turned and bent down into her face,
placing both hands on the chair to keep her still and unable to
move. "You do not threaten me, Cecelia. My
wife.
Do not
forget, I know things about the family business that can tarnish
your good name. And don't forget your daughter. Do you really think
someone would want to marry her if some of the information I know
comes out?"

"She's your daughter too."

"In name only." He sneered and backed away.
The clock on the mantle struck eleven. No more time to waste
talking over things that could never be changed. "Now. You will go
upstairs and change into some day clothing. You will wake Trudy and
tell her to pack her things. We will get Elizabeth to help as well.
You and Trudy will be gone by morning."

"Where?" Her voice shook. He smiled. She knew
she had no choice. It was how he liked it.

"Everdale. My mother's old home. I've
procured a home for you there and a servant. You are to never go
into town yourself, do you understand? You or Trudy for if you do,
I will cut both of you off. No more money. No more protection. And
God help anybody who tries to think or speak ill of me for doing
so." He refilled his whisky glass. "You will be gone indefinitely,
until I have had my revenge."

"You're revenge? Anthony is dead. Rebecca is
dead…"

He held up his hand to stop her. Every time
he thought of Rebecca's death it was like being stabbed in his own
heart. Death during a second child's birth. That made her death
Simon's fault for a woman could not become with child without a
man. "That man couldn't even protect her. If she had been with me,
she would have gotten the best doctor's care. She wouldn't have
died. I wouldn't have allowed it."

"You were out of town when I had Trudy,"
Cecelia reminded him… like he needed reminding. "How would you have
known if something had gone wrong?" She sounded bitter. She was
slowly becoming a woman scorned. Just the way he wanted her.

He said nothing in response. No, he hadn't
been around when Trudy was born. Why would he be? He cared not if
Cecelia died in childbirth. In fact, it probably would have helped
his cause more. The grieving widower. He could imagine the secrets
he would have learned from helpful friends trying to make him feel
better.

Then again, no. He had to admit that he was
glad she'd had no complications and hadn't died. Though he didn't
love her and he was, in fact, breaking her heart at the moment, the
last almost twenty years with Cecelia hadn't been entirely bad. She
had her moments, and they'd had a few moments of happiness. Not
many and definitely not as many as he would have had with Rebecca —
but they were there. Though he didn't love Cecelia, he didn't wish
her ill.

When he wouldn't answer, she sighed and
continued. "You have Simon and Rebecca's daughter. What more can
you want?"

"You have no idea." He answered. How could
she understand? Cecelia had never uttered a cross word about
anybody — ever. She was a good woman, that could not be disputed,
but she had served her purpose, and now it was time for her to do
one last thing for him.

A few moments passed without a word from
either of them. "Go," he said finally, wishing for the interminable
silence to end.

Cecelia rose, but hesitated when she got to
the door. "I loved you, Frederick Dodsworth. Heart and soul. I gave
you the best years of my life. I took care of you. I took care of
our daughter. I would have given you anything in this world.
Anything."

Frederick kept his back to her. "You couldn't
give me what I wanted."

"What was that?" He heard the hope in her
voice. She truly loved him and would have given anything to keep
him, anything to keep him happy.

"You weren't Rebecca."

He heard the door slam behind him and he
smiled. Did he like telling Cecelia he never loved her? Well, not
really. He'd known she would snivel and complain. He couldn't
really blame her, though. What woman would want to hear those words
coming from her husband?

Still, it had needed to be done. She had to
understand what was going on so she would go quietly. Did he think
she would go all the way to Everdale without complaint or a billion
questions if he hadn't told her the truth? If he hadn't told his
story to her? No. He knew she wouldn't because she wasn't that kind
of woman. She would have wanted to know why. What sort of danger
was he in? Why were they not taking Emma and the servants? What was
going on? She had always been an inquisitive sort, it was just that
she had never asked the right questions.