Free It's Always Been You by Victoria Dahl

question the actions of my husband, sir.”
    He cleared his throat. “Perhaps Englishmen raised in the Orient don’t understand the correct care of a lady, madam.”
    “Perhaps you don’t understand that you’re behaving outrageously! I’ll bid you good evening, sir.”
    The blasted man actually stayed where he was. She glanced past her shoulder to find him frowning down at her. He was a bully, and he wanted her to be cowed by him, but she refused to comply. A whole minute ticked past before he nodded and made his way to the door.
    The moment the door closed behind him, Kate stood straight and twisted her hands into her apron. Mr. Wilson was too suspicious. What if he decided to “helpfully” track her husband down and ask when he planned to join Kate in England? It was too soon for this. If it was discovered that Mr. Hamilton didn’t exist, her business would be ruined. But that sort of information would take months to ferret out. Years even. And no one would connect her to David Gallow. More importantly, no one would connect her to David’s death or the horrible threats of his son.
    Her stomach ached at the thought. Not for the first time, she almost wished she’d stayed in Ceylon long enough to know the outcome of that night. But she’d had no choice. She’d promised David she’d never reveal the truth, and so she’d had to run.
    The letter hidden beneath the countertop was another worry buzzing around her head like a hornet, but she wouldn’t rush over to it and hold it in trembling hands like some helpless young girl. Instead, she finished her dusting like the responsible business owner she was, then she stowed away her rags and duster and sat calmly down at her stool.
    The letter had arrived from London two weeks before. She’d taken it out every day to stare it down as if it were a snake. A Mr. Dalworth claimed to be writing as a representative of a very important planter in Ceylon. He’d heard of Hamilton Coffees and wanted to discuss a deal with the shop owner personally, perhaps saving all interested parties a good deal of money in the process.
    Mr. Dalworth did not name the planter. Kate felt suspicious of that, yet she could understand the reasoning. The planter would not wish to anger his current broker. Still, it made her nervous. What made her even more nervous was that Mr. Dalworth would be personally traveling to Hull this week.
    Why?
    Kate glared down at the letter for the hundredth time. Mr. Dalworth’s client wished to know Mr. Hamilton’s background and reputation. If only Mr. Hamilton actually existed, it would be simple information to provide.
    This was exactly the type of deal that could help her business flourish. Exactly the purpose behind all her scheming. She knew the product, after all. She knew it from the moment the woody sprouts pushed from black soil. She knew when the beans must be picked to hold the greatest flavor. And most importantly, she knew which plantations took more care than others. Which owner demanded his workers pick the most beans, and which owners taught workers to pick the best.
    But no one would believe a woman could know so much, which was exactly why she’d invented a husband upon her return to England. Just for a little while, then she’d lay him to rest. It wasn’t such an awful lie, surely. Her real husband was dead, and she deserved to make something good of her years on Ceylon.
    But an inquiry from an anonymous planter in Ceylon? A coincidence or a trap?
    Kate took a deep breath and looked around her shop. This life she had built. This good and right thing she’d carved for herself out of darkness. A year ago, she would have lowered her head and curled her arms around herself, afraid to take a chance. But now she thought . . . now she thought she would rather go down kicking and screaming, mad with fury. If it was a trap, she would fall into it and wait for the chance to attack the man who’d laid it.
    She carefully folded the letter, zipping