You guys are so lovely. Normally when my hubby asks what I'm chuckling over (or blushing about!) it is the latest, amazing fanfic story I'm reading, but today it has been your wonderful, funny, heartwarming and sometimes saucy reviews. It seems quite a few of us were willing to be locked in a tower with Edward. Cecilia-Siledubh-Mohney even volunteered as tribute! (I guffawed at that) Despite how good they were, I've not been able to reply to a single review, I'm afraid (and I really, really wanted to!) I'm babysitting my gorgeous seven-year-old granddaughter, and sock puppets don't make themselves. :) Please know that I read and thoroughly enjoyed every single one.

Welcome to my new readers, and thank you so much to those of you who have taken the extra time to review each chapter as you've read along. I try to do that myself, but sometimes I just can't resist clicking NEXT. I have vowed to at least leave a smiley face in future, since I enjoy getting them so much myself).

xx Elise

~P&P~

Chapter 11

Honourable

Edward waited impatiently for Isabella's return. She was the first and only woman he had ever cared for, and he couldn't help but savour every bittersweet moment of their diminishing time together. Fool that he was. His future was bleak enough without adding lovelorn to his lot. Summoning what sense he had remaining, he committed to at least attempting to safeguard his heart from harm. He imagined the best protection was to find a purpose with which to fill his days.

Foremost on his agenda, alongside making as full a recovery as his sorely abused body would allow, was seeing to the restoration of his inheritance. As long as he didn't take advantage of Isabella in the process, he told himself there was no danger in enlisting her help to fulfil his mission. She was clearly a sensible woman—well respected in the community, or so Dawkins assured him—and sure to know where the greatest needs lay.

Edward snorted. The honourable thing would be to send her away, yet here he was searching for excuses to keep her with him. Testament to his folly, his eyes lit up when she entered the room.

"Oh," she said while staring at the dinner tray on the bed beside him. "You've already eaten."

"Yes, I didn't want to bother you."

Her expression led him to believe she was not pleased, his lack of experience with the fairer sex leaving him uncertain as to why.

"I managed to feed myself unaided," he added before grimacing. He sounded like a child boasting to his nursemaid. Her lips curved in a smirk, and Edward bit back the profanity he was tempted to utter. At least he had made her smile. It suited her, as did the way she had arranged her long, brown tresses with loose curls framing her face. She was wearing his favourite gown, the darker blue one with the enticingly low bodice. For modesty's sake, she had added a lace-trimmed fichu, but it was possible to catch a glimpse of cleavage . . . if one looked closely.

To distract himself, Edward quizzed her about the needs of the locals and which issues she considered a priority. A picture soon emerged of a district stricken with poverty and unemployment. Most of the farmland lay fallow, and those who had work were employed in the mines. There was no great censure in Isabella's tone, but he sensed perplexity at his ignorance.

"What did you mean by another cottage fire?" he asked recalling her earlier comment. "I take it there have been previous fires?"

"Many, I'm afraid."

Her words settled like a stone in his gut.

"The homes are terribly dilapidated. The roofs leak, the chimneys are blocked and crumbling. That's where the danger lies."

Edward shook his head, dislodging the band Dawkins had used to tie his hair in place and causing it to fall loose around his shoulders.

"I directed every penny earned in rent to be used for maintenance and improvements, not to mention paying extra for major refurbishments as needed. This should be the most well-kept district in England."

"It appears Mr Crowley has a great deal to answer for."

Edward sighed. "As do I."

"Why did you not come to check in person or send a representative to ensure your will was being carried out?"

Isabella's question was perfectly reasonable, but he struggled to keep the defensiveness from his tone.

"Because I vowed never to return. It was easier to sign off on whatever requests Crowley sent me without studying them too closely. I thought I was being honourable, taking care of the people who had treated me badly when I was a boy rather than repaying them in kind." Isabella winced, and he quickly added, "Not that everyone was unfavourable toward me. I made sure the manor staff were well taken care of, along with your family, of course. Or so I believed."

Isabella turned to face the window, and he suspected she was struggling not to cry. He could only guess at the hardships her family had been forced to endure beholden to the likes of Crowley. Edward's instincts had warned him not to trust the man, but he had ignored them. If it hadn't been for his supposedly imminent death, he would never have returned, never have learned of the suffering being inflicted on people he cared about in his name.

Judging it wise to give Isabella a moment to compose herself, he reached for the bell pull beside the bed, pleased when it was answered promptly by a liveried manservant.

"Tea, please, for two, and a light meal," he said, unsure whether Isabella had taken her luncheon.

"Yes, my lord." The footman bowed and turned to leave.

"Wait," Edward called, yet to meet any of his new staff other than Dawkins. "Your name?"

"Colin Brown, sir. My father used to work as a gardener for your father and grandfather."

"Welcome to Masen Manor, Mr Brown." Edward remembered the gardeners, just not their individual names. "Is your father well?"

"He died some years back, my lord. In a mine explosion." The footman's expression didn't change, but he averted his gaze to stare over Edward's shoulder.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Edward said. "You may go." When the door closed, he turned his head to find Isabella watching him. "One of the Masen mines?"

She nodded, and he let out a slow breath.

"How many are there?"

"Seven that I know of. They're the biggest employers in the district, but they don't pay well and are far from safe. You didn't know?"

He shook his head. "Crowley must have forged my name to obtain the permits. Please tell me they don't employ children."

Her pained expression gave him his answer, and he slumped back against the pillow. The temptation was strong to ask for one of her powerful sleeping draughts, so he could disappear into oblivion. He resisted, as it was past time he faced up to his responsibilities.

Isabella returned to sit in the chair beside the bed.

"I know it's not my place to pry," she said. "But I'm curious as to how you've managed all these years without taking any income from the estate. Obviously, you don't have to answer—"

"It's all right. I don't mind telling you," he said, deciding to at least attempt a defence of his honour. "What do you know about my family's history?"

"Only what is generally known."

Although she didn't name it, he assumed Isabella was referring to the Masen Curse.

"The first Viscount Masen, my three times great-grandfather, had the title and estate bestowed upon him for services to the Crown. At a hefty price, of course." He grimaced. "Jeremiah Masen was a very successful businessman."

"He was in trade?"

"On a grand scale."

While Isabella's reaction was one of surprise rather than disdain, Edward found the ton's obsession with bloodlines and the revulsion with which they viewed those forced to work for a living quite comical. Many of the nobilities' forebears had similar histories to his own, those who hadn't taken their place of elevation and rule by force.

"What did he do?" she asked.

"He traded in human suffering and misery."

At her puzzled look, Edward clarified by saying, "He was a slaver. He captured men, women, and children by brutal means, took them from their homes and transported them by ship to sell in America . . . those who survived the journey. The ones he kept, he used to build an empire, making an astonishing fortune in the process. The Masen title lent him the credibility he craved but didn't change the fact he was a brutal murderer who profited from the suffering of others. His sons and grandsons followed in his blighted footsteps."

Isabella sat back. "I had heard rumours the Masen Curse originated in Africa, but I thought that was just superstition, conjecture."

"Based in truth." Edward released a gusty sigh. "The first viscount handed down the story of the curse's origins to his son and so forth in the hopes one of us would find a way to defeat it. Well, I assume as much. It is not inconceivable that the story was passed from father to son as a form of familial torture."

"You believe an African witch doctor put a curse on your family?"

"My father certainly did."

"I suppose that's why he consulted with practitioners of the occult when he tried to have the dreadful thing broken."

Edward sliced the air with his good hand. "The curse can't be broken, but it is no longer of any consequence."

Isabella frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I intend to be the last of my line. My father, his father, all the way back to the first Viscount Masen, were cruel men with vicious tempers. Drunkards. Gamblers. Murderers. The Masens do not deserve to continue their legacy."

"But you are not like them. You're different."

"Am I?" While touched by her defence, Edward slowly shook his head. "The only place I ever felt at home was in the army, fighting a brutal war."

"Fighting honourably in a just war," she said.

After everything he had seen and done on the battlefield, Edward doubted the virtue of his actions or that there was any such thing as a "just" war.

Isabella reached to clasp his hand. He should have shaken her off but shamelessly took comfort in her touch. After a long moment, during which she seemed lost in thought, she spoke in a contemplative tone. "So, you live off the income generated by your slaves?"

Edward didn't blame her for the assumption, but he was quick to counter it, his tone harsher than he intended. "I abhor the practice and have refused to profit from it."

It shouldn't have mattered, but he didn't want her to think quite that badly of him.

Her eyes lit up. "You freed them?"

"I tried." He hated having to disappoint her. "When I reached my majority, I was determined to emancipate every last one. But there are thousands, and it wasn't as simple as I had hoped."

"Thousands," she whispered. "Why couldn't you free them? If you own these poor people, surely it is within your power to release them?"

"Unfortunately, in many of the places where they reside, such an action would incite political unrest and the threat of reprisals. I'd have been putting their lives at risk. I freed as many as I could, repatriating those brave or desperate enough to return to their homes in Africa where they are at risk of recapture. Those who chose to remain working for me, I rehired at a fair wage in their previous or more suitable positions. Whether slave or free, I insisted on improved living and working conditions for all the workers and the reuniting of families wherever possible."

Isabella nodded thoughtfully. "You have done what you could and at considerable cost, I imagine."

"Everyone said I was a madman, that my fortune would be gone in no time." He shrugged. Since he had never intended leaving the army, it had been of little concern. "Some of the enterprises struggled to remain competitive, especially in the beginning. But it is surprising what can be accomplished when one is not milking every ounce of profit from a plantation, factory, or mine. In spite of numerous predictions to the contrary, the businesses have flourished. Most of the income generated goes back into wages and improving conditions with a portion set aside to help fund Wilberforce's campaign to see slavery abolished for good, but there always seems to be a considerable sum in reserve."

Edward hadn't touched a penny of the excess, funds that continued to multiply regardless of his disinterest. Clearly, that was about to change, as restoring the Masen estates and making up for his neglect was going to cost.

Isabella looked at him with an expression filled with respect and tinged with awe. "Your decision to right the wrongs of your forebears has brought God's blessing on your endeavours."

"What? No!" Edward sat forward. "My bloodline is responsible for generations of suffering. I can never atone for what's been done."

"But isn't that what you're doing? Making a difference in the lives of the people you are responsible for and helping to support the cause that could transform the lives of countless others? If that's not making restitution for the wrongdoing of your forebears, I don't know what is."

"But it has not cost me anything." He thumped his chest with his good hand. "I merely set the wheels in motion and then went off to do what I wanted, enlisting as an officer."

Her expression turned doubtful. "Please tell me you have checked to make sure your orders were followed?"

"Yes . . . often," he said before muttering bitterly. "Pity I wasn't as diligent about overseeing matters at home."

She squeezed his hand. "You are here now, and it's not too late to make amends. I'm assuming that's your purpose in wanting to know the state of affairs in the district, to try and repair the damage that has been done?"

Looking from her hopeful expression to their joined hands, Edward considered his response. He couldn't possibly make amends for the past, but he could make things better for the people living here now, for Isabella and her family, and hopefully set in place safeguards for the future.

"That is most definitely my intention," he said with feeling.

Her smile was a reward he didn't deserve but savoured nonetheless.

~P&P~

So, we have some answers regarding the curse's origins - perceived or real. (More about that to come.)

Sadly, I discovered that freeing slaves was a difficult and highly dangerous process. The beginning of the end of slavery was under way at this time in history (1818), but it took until 1833 for it to be abolished in the British Empire and not until 1865 in the US. For hundreds of years, huge fortunes were created at a cost of untold suffering. :(

I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter.

xx Elise

PS Next update not until Wednesday, as my granddaughter desperately wants my attention! "Enough with the computer, Nanna!"