Authors: Denise Patrick
“And what fate was that?”
“Surviving a social season as an eligible bachelor.”
Corinna was still in excellent spirits the next morning as she and Felicia set off for a shopping expedition. Stopping first at Kent House to pick up Lady Wynton, then Barrington House to pick up Lady McQuarrie, the four ladies descended on Madame Maud’s establishment in Pall Mall.
“You must call me Amanda,” Lady Wynton had told her, “now that we are cousins.”
“Then you must call me Corinna,” she had reciprocated. “I just hope I remember everyone else.”
When Lady McQuarrie joined the group, she also insisted Corinna call her by her first name, Charity.
“I am sooo looking forward to tonight,” she said, her green eyes shining with excitement. “I have not been in London during a season in five years.”
As the coach began to move, they settled back against plush squabs.
“I wasn’t a very nice person back then,” Charity said to Corinna with a grin, “but Angus has fixed all my flaws,” she said prettily. Amanda and Felicia erupted into peals of laughter at that, but Charity had the last word before the coach stopped. “Not that he thought there were very many to fix in the first place.”
The light bantering and teasing in the coach set the tone for the rest of the morning as the four women poured over pattern books and fabrics, selecting styles, colors, trims and accessories. Corinna would have only ordered a few dresses, but Felicia reminded her that Marcus had told her to order a whole wardrobe and to spare no expense.
It had been decided they would return to Kent House for luncheon. With all the guests at Barrington House, and the preparations underway at Waring House for the ball tonight, Amanda insisted her home was the best place for them to have a nice cozy luncheon. They were pleasantly surprised to find their husbands awaiting them when they arrived.
Her gaze unerringly found Marcus as they entered. She would tell him later of the sensation they caused that morning. It was Felicia who commented on the visual contrast between the four of them, which seemed to prompt more than a few second looks as they sampled the wares of Pall Mall and Bond Street.
“I hope you took my advice,” he said when she joined him.
She flashed him a brilliant smile and answered, “I might have gone a little overboard. But since it was Felicia’s doing, you might want to ask Brand for a loan.” His soft laughter in response sent a frisson of pleasure through her and warmed her thoroughly.
The afternoon was spent with Felicia overseeing the final preparations for the ball. After much discussion, it had been decided that Waring House would be the best place for Marcus and Corinna’s presentation. With St. Ayers Place under construction, Waring House did not seem out of place for the introduction of the new Earl and Countess St. Ayers to society.
The invitations had all been sent out by the time they had arrived in London. Not that Felicia and Eliza wouldn’t have welcomed Corinna’s help, but Marcus had deliberately waited until the last minute, the two of them arriving only the day before the gathering at Barrington House, which was only the day before the ball. Corinna was thankful for the foresight which prompted her to order several ball gowns from the Guissets. She and the modistes had created a very special one for her first event.
“In the end, we invited everyone,” Felicia explained. “Eliza and I toyed with not inviting any of your sisters and brothers, but the slight would be obvious and, at least for now, no one knows you are related to the Houghtons. If they come and you treat them as strangers, no one will think it odd.”
“Suppose they don’t?” They were standing in the middle of the ballroom. Felicia was directing the placement of flowers and other decorations while they talked.
“It’s possible they might suddenly claim an affinity for you, but I doubt Marcus will allow that. After what Gregory did by writing to your brother in India, Marcus is perfectly willing to allow you to be dead to them. I doubt he will now allow them to claim any sort of connection—unless you wish it, that is.” Felicia turned to study the placement of a large vase of flowers. “It will come out eventually that Baron Houghton is your brother, but we will handle that problem when it happens.”
Felicia commanded her attention to ask what she thought of a particular flower arrangement, and she pushed all thoughts of her stepfamily away to concentrate on the task at hand.
The last of the summer flowers had transformed the ballroom into a garden. Roses, honeysuckle, wisteria, violets, lilies and more exploded from the corners and alcoves around the vast room. The first-floor gallery was bedecked with hanging pots sprouting trailing vines, giving the impression of a lush paradise. In one corner of the room a large fountain resembling a waterfall had been set up and the sound of gurgling water could be heard over the rustling of the servants, adding to the impression of tropical splendor conveyed by the rest of the decor.
She took one last look around as she and Felicia left. It was simply beautiful, she thought, and she couldn’t wait until this evening.
Baron Gregory Houghton looked up from the document he was studying as the door to his study opened to admit his butler, followed by a gentleman carrying a briefcase.
“Mr. Cookeson, m’lord,” the butler intoned.
Mr. Doyle Cookeson looked to be in his fifties. Dark brown hair streaked liberally with gold and combed carefully back from a high, intelligent forehead revealed dark brown brows over steel gray eyes with dark centers. A sharp patrician nose overhung a thick mustache which nearly obscured his lips, behind which straight white teeth showed in a smile. Dressed soberly in a dove gray morning coat, dark waistcoat, and matching gray trousers, he looked every inch the prosperous solicitor Lord Houghton knew him to be. He also seemed vaguely familiar, although Gregory was certain he had never met him before. It didn’t matter. One did not turn down a visit from a Cookeson. The Earl of Barrington might take offense.
Rising from his chair, he strode around the desk, hand outstretched. Mr. Cookeson took it in a firm grip, accepting the chair indicated, but declining the offer of a drink.
“Now,” he asked as he resumed his seat behind the desk, “what can I do for you?”
The solicitor reached into his briefcase, extracting a number of sheets of paper.
“Thank you for being willing to see me on such short notice, my lord,” he began. “I am here on a somewhat personal matter about the settling of your father’s estate. He died five years ago, I believe, on April 25th, 1867.”
His eyes narrowed and he was taken aback. What did the solicitor need to know about his father’s death? Perhaps he should have asked who the solicitor was representing. “Yes, I believe that was the correct date. It was late April, to be sure.”
Mr. Cookeson nodded. “You received word sometime later I believe that your stepbrother, Captain Lord Douglas Camden, had been killed in India. I verified his date of death with the War Office. It was May 10th of the same year. Nearly three weeks later.”
“What has that to do with my father’s estate? Douglas was not his son.” And, it was none of the solicitor’s business.
“I’m aware of that,” the solicitor replied. “However, I obtained a copy of your father’s will from the court records and it shows he left Douglas a substantial inheritance, as well as guardianship of his, and your, sister, Corinna.”
“So?”
The solicitor’s gray eyes bored into him for a few moments before he replied with a question. “Can you tell me where precisely your sister, Corinna, is currently?”
He looked away from the solicitor.
Dead, I hope.
But he didn’t know for certain as that bumbler, Vincent, had let her slip away. It was time to put a little more pressure on him. “No.”
“I see. Do you at least agree that she is still very much alive?”
Annoyed, he dismissed the statement as he turned back to face the man across his desk. “I do not know, and frankly, I do not care. Why are you asking me all of this?”
“You should care. Because I am here on her behalf.” Sifting through the sheaf of papers in his hand, he pulled one from the group and scanned it. “According to your father’s will, he left her the sum of one hundred thousand pounds for her upkeep and dowry. Since she has not been under your roof for at least two years, and her upkeep was minimal before then, that sum should still be intact.”
He nearly came out of his chair. Was the solicitor mad? He wouldn’t spend a penny on that whore’s daughter. As far as he was concerned, she ought to be arrested for theft of the housekeeping money.
“In addition, because Captain Camden died after your father, and Corinna was his only living relative, she is entitled to his inheritance as well. According to your father’s will, he had purchased and renovated the estate, Camden Chase, leaving it to his stepson on his death.” The solicitor shuffled through the sheets and extracted another one. “There is also the matter of some jewelry belonging to Corinna’s mother.”
This time, he didn’t bother to restrain himself. “Who put you up to this? And why?” he demanded. “I doubt Corinna did. She wouldn’t have the nerve.”
The solicitor’s eyes darkened in fury. For a moment, Gregory thought he’d shout back at him. Instead, he continued calmly. “Do you deny the terms of your father’s will?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t deny it, but did not like the way he was being questioned. As far as he was concerned, his stepsiblings weren’t entitled to anything. His father had no business marrying that adventuress, Christine.
“I thought not,” the solicitor continued in a businesslike tone. “Now, I have been authorized to inform you that you are to have the sum of one hundred thousand pounds deposited into the Bank of England in the name of Corinna Waring by the end of next week. An account has already been set up. In addition, her mother’s jewelry and the deed to Camden Chase are to be delivered to Waring House, London, not later than three days from today.” He put all but one sheet of paper back into his briefcase. Holding it out to him, Mr. Cookeson said, “This is a list of the items of jewelry, and the direction for Waring House.”
Gregory barely glanced at the sheet of paper as he rose from his chair. Turning his back on the solicitor, he paced across the intricately woven carpet and stood before the fireplace, his back to the room. Waring? Had he heard right? Corinna Waring? Foreboding began to rise in his chest, but he tamped it down before he turned around.
“You have not given me the name of the person who has authorized you to make these outrageous demands.” He no longer cared if he offended the solicitor. “I do not take orders from solicitors or clerks.”
The solicitor got to his feet. “I believe I already informed you that Corinna herself has given me complete authority to pursue this matter on her behalf.”
“And if I do not believe you?” he asked. “What if I insisted Corinna come to see me personally with her demands?”
“I do not think you would find that interview any more palatable than this one. Her husband might not be as restrained as I have been. He is somewhat protective of her.”
“Husband?” He frowned. “If she has married, she did so without my permission.”
“As you were never her guardian, that is not an issue.” The solicitor’s voice was smug and Gregory clenched his hands into fists behind his back.
Gregory glared at the solicitor, but the man ignored him and continued, “Her cousin might also come along, as might also her brother-in-law. I do not think you wish to cross swords with any of them.”
“Might I be permitted to know the names of these persons?” His voice came out calmly enough, but he was no longer feeling that way inside. There was only one family he knew of with the last name of Waring and, as much as he didn’t wish to admit it, he did not want to be at cross purposes with a duke.
“You might remember a particular friend of Douglas’s. One Lord Marcus Waring. He is now the Earl St. Ayers, and Corinna’s husband.” Gregory knew he hadn’t been able to conceal his shock. Corinna? A countess? “Likewise, you might recognize the last name and realize that he is also the brother of the Duke of Warringham. Her cousin, the Earl of Barrington, is also my cousin—which is why today’s visit is somewhat personal.” The solicitor no longer made any attempt to hide his own contempt. “I never met my cousin, Christine, but be assured that her daughter now enjoys the protection of the entire Cookeson clan, as well as the Duke of Warringham and all the various relatives those families include. The Earls of Wynton and Kirkton, and Marquis of Thanet come immediately to mind.”
Gregory knew he was cornered. His brother, Phillip, had once asked him what he would do if it turned out that their stepmother’s tale of being related to an earl turned out to be the truth. He’d dismissed him with a laugh, as did their uncle, Viscount Dryden.
Putting the sheet of paper listing the jewelry on the desk, the solicitor then picked up his briefcase and headed for the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back, his silver gaze meeting Gregory’s. “You have until the end of this week to produce the deed to Camden Chase as well as my cousin’s jewelry, and until the end of next week to have Corinna’s inheritance and dowry transferred.” Inclining his head, he said, “Good day, my lord.”