Miss Marianne's Disgrace (21 page)

At last he stepped into the room and she swallowed hard. He appeared as serious this morning as he had in the painting at Priorton, the brim of his hat clutched tight in his ink-blackened hands. Shadows darkened the skin beneath his eyes with a weariness she felt. She'd barely slept these last few nights and she doubted he had either. Whatever had happened during their time apart, it hadn't eased his burdens or made him happy. She didn't revel in his misery, for it was hers too and with only one cure.

‘Sir Warren, welcome. Will you join us for tea?' Lady Ellington greeted, unflustered by his appearance or her cousin's disapproving grimace.

‘I'd like an audience with Miss Domville, please?' He fixed on Marianne as though the other two ladies didn't exist. ‘Alone.'

Marianne shifted her feet forward, eager to jump up and rush into his arms, but she forced herself to remain seated, determined to retain at least some of her dignity.

‘Of course. Rosemary, please join me in the sitting room.' Lady Ellington took her cousin by the arm and drew her out of the chair.

‘You can't leave her alone with a gentleman. It isn't proper,' Lady St Onge protested as Lady Ellington all but dragged her from the room and closed the door behind them.

Marianne rose and laced her hands in front of her, willing her shaky legs to support her. ‘It seems I'm to be bold with a gentleman once again.'

A small smile split the severity of his lips, bringing a bit of light to his eyes. It heartened her and she dropped her hands to her side as the tension between them began to ease.

‘I understand you've been bold not just with me, but with my publisher. Mr Berkshire said you gave him
Lady Matilda's Trials
.'

‘I did.' She couldn't discern if he was happy or angry about her decision.

‘Why?'

‘It's your best work and you need the money from the sale of it to fight Mr Hirst.'

‘And the fact it's your story?'

‘If it helps you, then let everyone read it. I no longer care what they think.' She slipped the ring on and off her finger, waiting for his response, to learn where they stood. ‘Was I right to do it?'

‘You were.' He set his hat down on the chair beside him and came to stand over her like the day in the cloister when he'd tried so hard to make her see she was more than gossip or her past. Much more. ‘I wanted to save myself through my own industry. You giving him the story means I will, but I couldn't have done it without you. I can't continue to do it if you aren't with me. I love you, Marianne, and if you'll still have me, I want you to be my wife.'

She closed the small distance between them and laid her hand on his cheek. His skin, cool from his time outside, warmed beneath her touch. ‘Through richer or poorer?'

‘Through it all.' He took her by the waist and pulled her to him, his fingers digging into her sides with an intensity which echoed in her heart. ‘I'm sorry I was a stubborn fool. I love you.'

‘I love you, too.'

He claimed her lips with a relief as palpable as hers. This was everything she'd wanted when she and Lady Ellington had climbed into the carriage and set out for London, and the coming true of every girlish dream. All would be well between them. She was as certain of it today as she had been when they'd made love in the orangery. Their future together had nearly been ruined by their fears and misunderstandings. Neither of them would ever allow such a thing to happen again.

* * *

Warren savoured Marianne's moist lips and her curving figure against his angles. He wrapped his arms around her, not ever wanting to let go. Her love for him had been stronger than his troubles and hers, and although so many things remained unsettled or uncertain, in her embrace it didn't matter. He broke from their kiss, pressed his forehead against hers and inhaled her rich peony scent.

‘Thank you for understanding.' She always had, never once laughing at his dreams, or his weaknesses. With her he'd stopped to enjoy what he'd built for himself. He wanted to share it and all with her, but there were still obstacles facing them. ‘My dealings with Rupert aren't over yet.'

‘Then we'll fight him together. If only the common licence didn't force us to wait seven days. We could marry at once and put all this foolishness behind us.' She straightened his wrinkled cravat, her hands on his chest light yet heady.

‘Perhaps we don't have to wait.' He took one of her hands and raised it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the pulse of her wrist and making her inhale sharply. ‘The Cartwrights may not like me, but I have other friends among the peerage, including one in the Prince's employ. He might be able to intercede with the bishop on our behalf and gain us a special licence.'

‘If he can't, Lady Ellington and Lord Falconbridge certainly can. It will be expensive,' she warned, but he didn't care.

‘I'll pay any cost to be with you.' He lowered his face to hers, her mouth tantalisingly close to his when someone behind them cleared their throat. He groaned, wondering if on their wedding night they'd be interrupted by as many people as those who regularly intruded on their kisses. He would have to make sure their bedroom door had a lock. He didn't want anything, not servants or intrusive relatives, to interrupt their wedded bliss.

Marianne stepped out of his arms with a mirthful smile, she more than Warren finding amusement in the interruption. They turned to find Darby waiting for their attention.

‘Sir Warren, this arrived for you from your town house. The messenger said you are to read it at once.'

Warren took the letter, noting the mark of Mr Steed and Mr Dyer. ‘It's from the solicitor.'

He tore it open as the butler left them. He read over the missive, the calm Marianne's sacrifice for him had brought increasing with Mr Steed's words.

‘What does he say?' Marianne peered over his arm to read the letter.

‘Mr Dyer has some evidence he thinks will send Rupert running from his claims and out of our lives. We have to present it to him and we'll need your help to do it.'

‘I'll do anything to ensure he and his lies are destroyed.'

* * *

‘I don't see why this meeting is necessary,' Rupert sneered at Warren from across the study in Warren's town house. Mr Steed and Mr Dyer watched the exchange from where they sat beneath the far window. Warren hadn't introduced them and they hadn't revealed who they were or why they were here. Rupert seemed to wonder at it as well as he glanced back and forth at the gentlemen, waiting for them to speak. ‘Everything we needed to discuss was done in the country.'

‘No, there's a great deal more we have to talk about.' Warren rose and came around the desk. ‘I want a list of all the investors and how much each of them gave you. I also want an accounting of the money you still have, no matter how small, and with it a tally of your possessions and valuables which can be sold to raise more.'

‘I won't give you any of the information, but let you swing while every investor rushes to attack you,' Rupert answered with wicked delight, his satisfaction in his victory making Warren want to blacken his eyes an even deeper shade of purple than they already were. Instead he remained calm, refusing to sink to his brother-in-law's level. ‘I want you to sell Priorton to pay them back and then be thrown in debtors' prison because it still isn't enough.'

‘The only one who'll go to prison is you. As for going into debt, it isn't possible. While Priorton has cost me a great deal, I'm far from broke or without resources.' Warren strolled to the door connecting the study to the adjacent sitting room.

‘Of course you are. You can barely afford to pay the workmen, much less the investors.'

‘On the matter of my finances, you're gravely mistaken.' Warren opened the door. Marianne strode through, the diamond engagement ring gifted to her by Lady Ellington and adorning her finger glittering in the early morning light. He took her by the hand and raised it to his lips. The memory of everything they'd shared in the orangery, and her coming to him in London, settled the anger and disgust struggling to take control of him. All would be well. Together they would make sure of it. ‘I believe you already know my betrothed. We will be married by special licence tomorrow.'

Rupert gaped at them as he grasped what the coming marriage meant, but he remained stubborn in his hate. ‘So, once you're done spending your money, you'll waste hers and in the end you'll both be without a house or reputations. I'll see to it the press ruins you for swindling aristocrats, then aligning yourself with the notorious relation of a whore.'

Warren's arm stiffened and he stepped forward to strike him, but Marianne's restraining hand stopped him. No, he couldn't hit the snake. They still needed a small measure of his co-operation.

‘My guardian, Lord Falconbridge, is a prudent man,' Marianne replied with confidence, peering down her elegant nose at Rupert as though he were a weed in Lady Ellington's rose bed. ‘As we speak, he is arranging for my money to be placed in trust where I will have access to it, but creditors will not.'

‘You can't save him,' Rupert insisted, desperation beginning to undermine his determination. ‘All you can do is make things worse.'

‘He isn't the one who'll need to be saved, but you. You're in more danger than you think,' she replied as if explaining to him the notes on a pianoforte.

‘Mr Dyer, do you care to inform Mr Rupert why it is I've asked him to join us today?' Warren at last addressed the two men.

Rupert paled at the mention of the famous barrister's name.

Mr Dyer rose and approached Rupert, who had the sense to step cautiously back.

‘Mr Hirst, I've reviewed the documents you provided Sir Warren and have been briefed on what transpired between the two of you in regards to your venture,' Mr Dyer began, with the authority of a man used to addressing magistrates and lowlifes. ‘Despite your claims it was Sir Warren and not you who invented this scheme, there's nothing in your possession signed by Sir Warren to prove it. Nor is there anything in writing showing he agreed to the terms you included in the stock certificate, including placing Priorton Abbey up as collateral.'

‘It doesn't matter what you believe. The investors believed it and they're the ones who will crucify him.' Rupert raised one shaking finger at Warren. ‘Especially once it reaches the papers and I'll make sure it does.'

‘No, you won't because you won't be here,' Mr Dyer explained. ‘You will be on the next ship to Australia. You'll go there to make your life over. You're to have no more contact with my client, you're not to sell the story to the papers and, if you ever set foot in England again, I'll see to it you're prosecuted for forgery, the penalty for which is death. As you know, my reputation for prosecuting such cases is unmatched.'

‘You have no proof.' Rupert's voice wavered as doubt about his plan began to take hold in his feeble mind.

‘You're wrong.' It was Mr Dyer's turn to go to the door. He opened it and waved in a man with a flick of his fingers. A moment later, a skinny printer with a greasy hat held between his dirty hands crept into the room.

At the sight of him, the red flush of hate in Rupert's face vanished.

‘I believe you know Mr Fink,' Mr Dyer said. ‘He's ready to give evidence against you in exchange for protection from prosecution. He'll testify how you employed him to draft the forged investment papers which you then presented to a number of titled men. Once he's done testifying, I'll place every investor on the stand and have them tell the magistrate how it was you, and not Sir Warren, who convinced them to invest in the scheme. It's not Sir Warren they and the papers will crucify, but you.'

Rupert slumped against Warren's desk, knocking over the dusting-powder shaker, his plan crumbling around him and threatening to bring down his life with it. Warren didn't pity him. The man was as terrible a scandal creator as he was a businessman and deserved every punishment he'd brought upon his balding head. Then Rupert straightened himself, finding a little more fight in his weak constitution. ‘You think you've won, Warren, but you haven't. There are still the debts and you might be paying Mr Dyer now, but when you have no money left, he'll stop fighting for you like any other bloodsucking barrister.'

‘I'd gladly work for free to see scum like you ruined,' Mr Dyer replied, ‘especially since I know you still have the investors' money.'

Panic widened Rupert's watery eyes. ‘I don't. I spent it. It's gone.'

‘Some of it is, but not the bulk of it,' Mr Dyer contradicted. ‘Yesterday, I visited a friend of mine who owns your bank. When I explained to him the situation, he was very co-operative in showing me your false account and the money you've squirrelled away. He's more than happy to turn the funds over to me and avoid him and his bank being entangled in a forgery trial.'

Rupert looked back and forth between Mr Dyer and Warren as though it taxed his mind to believe what was being said and to find some kind of response to it.

‘It's over, Rupert,' Warren said in the same voice he'd used to tell him Leticia had passed. Today was just as tragic as then, but this time it was all Rupert's fault. He'd done this to himself and no one but he would suffer. ‘Whatever you planned, it won't happen. Instead, you'll find yourself at the end of a rope.'

‘Unless you co-operate with us now.' Mr Steed rose to join the conversation. He laid out a sheet of paper, picked the pen off Warren's desk and held it out to Rupert. ‘Write out a list of every investor and what they're owed. Include a full accounting of your assets so we may see to their selling at once and resolve this matter. You're also to sign over your quarterly inheritance payment to me to cover any additional shortfalls in what is owed.'