This Wicked Gift by Courtney Milan

He’d done it anyway.
    “At what point in your legal
apprenticeship did you acquire a conscience, then? And when did you first
betray it?”
    “Well. It’s not so much a betrayal as…as a
renegotiation, if you will. If you must know the truth, if you could tie up the
estate in Chancery, the fees to the trustee from administration of her estate
would be substantial. It’s a profitable plan for us both. I’ll protest,
naturally, for form’s sake. And you—you’ll be able to strike an open blow at
the man who had you put out on the streets when you were fourteen. You could
have him declared mad, and destroy his reputation.”
    Greasy though the man was , he knew how to tempt William. There would be a delightful
symmetry in ruining Mr. Sherrod’s legacy just as William’s father’s had been
ruined.
    “And then what?” William demanded.
    “Well, after a short, insignificant delay
in the courts of Chancery—really nothing to speak of—you’ll get his five
thousand pounds.”
    “A short, insignificant delay,” William
said drily. “Naturally. Chancery
being known for its alacrity. And   you
must mean, five thousand pounds minus the tiny fees
for estate administration that would accrue over that infinitesimal delay.”
    The solicitor bowed. “Precisely
so.”
    It would hardly be so smooth. The process
might take years. Still, the money called out to him. Five
thousand pounds. Five thousand pounds in the safe four-percent funds
translated into a good two hundred a year.
    As if sensing William’s temptation, the
solicitor continued. “Think on the money. You could buy your own home. You
would not need to labor like a common man. You could buy yourself a new coat.”
    The solicitor reached out and flicked
William’s sleeve, where the fabric had become shiny with age. William recoiled.
    “Mr. White, you would need never feel cold
again.”
    The man misunderstood the nature of
temptation. It wasn’t himself he clothed in new finery. Instead, his breath
caught, thinking what he could give Lavinia. She could have any dress she
wanted. Every last penny she deserved. He could fashion himself into a
gentleman. He could become a man she would respect, instead of one she gifted
with her virginity out of pity.
    He need never feel cold again.
    But then, there was a catch. There was
always a catch, and this one stuck in his skin like some barbed thing. He’d
have to enter into a collusion with this unnatural
creature. He would have to lie to the court. He’d   have to cheat Adam Sherrod’s widow—his   innocent   widow—and dispossess her of funds that
she deserved.
    What did a little thing like his honor
signify? He’d toss his own grandmother to hellhounds if it meant he could have
Lavinia.
    He’d won a reprieve from the marquess. Now
he’d gotten this offer. A little oil, a little grease. What was a little extra dishonor, atop the mountain he’d already constructed
for himself?
    The solicitor jogged William’s shoulder.
“Don’t take too long. It took me weeks to track you down. The time for filing
an appeal is disappearing. Stop by my office tomorrow morning to go over the
details.”
    William opened his mouth to say he’d do
it. The words filled his mouth, bitter as rancid lard, but they would not come
out.   I’ll
do it,   he thought.   I’ll do it.
    He conjured up the thought of Lavinia—but
he could not imagine how she would forgive him, promise of money or no. And
with the money…if he agreed to this scheme, he’d not be able to wash the stench
of this bug of a solicitor from his skin. How could he beg for her absolution
if he could not even face himself?
    How could he have her at all, if he did
not accept this desperate possibility?
    What he finally said was, “Tomorrow. I’ll decide tomorrow.”
    T HE LIBRARY BUSTLED   with customers
that Monday evening—six of them, to be precise—and they kept   Lavinia very busy indeed, as none were
willing to browse on his own. She was