Heartbreak and Honor (16 page)

Chapter 18

For the umpteenth time, Alexa glanced at the salon’s mantel clock nestled between two fresh bouquets, gifts from Katrina’s and Alexa’s admirers. More than a dozen colorful arrangements sat upon various surfaces, their heady aroma scenting the air and creating a false impression of spring.

The Duke of Harcourt’s heather, however, perfumed her bedchamber for her private enjoyment. The humble sprigs meant more than the most ostentatious bouquet. He’d gone out of his way to please her, and her heart gave a happy skip.

Upon entering the salon, Shona’s gaze had circulated the room, her eyes widening a bit more with each newly discovered floral spray. Yearning tinged her doe-like expression and turned down her pert mouth, now occupied with chewing yet another biscuit.

Alexa examined the clock again. Only two minutes had passed. How much longer until Uncle Hugo arrived?

Immediately upon finding an overwrought Minerva sullying their doorstep, Shona dabbing her eyes with a soggy kerchief, and Harrison blathering on about Alexa’s indecorous behavior, Aunt Bridget had herded them inside as she instructed a footman to hustle to the bank and request Uncle come home immediately.

At her aunt’s insistence—and to spare Alexa their uninvited guests’ histrionics—she’d been bustled upstairs.

With Katrina’s expert assistance, Alexa swiftly changed into a new confection in shades of pale moss and sky blue, overlaid in gossamer-fine lace.

Her cousin wrapped a ribbon across Alexa’s crown and tied it at the nape. Alexa added a delicate peridot pendant and matching drop earrings before tucking her feet into beaded sage-green kid leather slippers and dabbing perfume behind her ears.

Ready for the bevy of expected beaux and snoops anticipating tasty crumbs of gossip to gobble or sprinkle about, Alexa considered offering them quills and foolscap to take notes so they didn’t miss a single succulent detail. Why not invite the gossip rags to tea as well?

Impatience gnawing, she tapped her toes, her attention creeping to the timepiece yet again. A clock’s hands never moved so blasted sluggishly before.

Yes. They had.

Getting the trio—now seated side-by-side on the settee munching ginger biscuits and sipping tea—into the house and away from the enthralled audience outside had seemed interminable.

Hibernating snails moved faster.

Excruciating, that.

Alexa had thought herself immune to the unwelcome attention, but the pointing and whispering . . . Fiery little darts had stabbed her with every shrewd glance and calculating word from the audience on the street. She seemed a veritable magnet for attracting gossip and generating
on dit
.

Would Uncle arrive before the callers did? God, she hoped so. He’d deter brazen guests’ probing questions.

She shifted to better see the door and to present her profile to Harrison, the smug lout. She didn’t need the second sight to know this bumblebroth involved him somehow.

Seduce Renishaw, indeed. What utter drivel. A drunken sailor, after a bathless, six-month stint at sea, held more appeal.

The drawing room stood visitor ready, and Katrina and Alexa would act as hostesses while Aunt Bridget kept Alexa’s family sequestered in the salon—by lock and key and sat upon by burly footmen if necessary. Unless the situation escalated, in which case, no one would be at home—as if that wouldn’t add a hearty helping of scandal to the already bubbling caldron.

“More tea, Minerva?” Aunt Bridget held the teapot, poised to refill Minerva’s cup.

“No, I think not.” Minerva set her saucer aside, frowning when Shona snatched three more biscuits.

Sending her mother a guilty half-smile, she dropped one, and Sir Pugsley nabbed the treat. Plopping his rotund body beneath the table, he crunched happily.

Minerva brushed crumbs from her lap before scooting the pastry plate beyond Shona’s reach. “We’ve stalled quite long enough, Bridget, and this matter cannot be ignored.”

“Hugo should be home shortly. I do believe it best to wait for his counsel.” Aunt Bridget lowered the teapot, her brow knitted, either in anxiousness or irritation.

“His advice is not needed or warranted to address Alexandra’s fast behavior or the black marks her conduct has caused against both our families’ honor.” Harrison crossed his legs and lounged against the settee’s back. Popping a last morsel of shortbread into his mouth, he chewed while speaking. “Viscount Renishaw felt it his duty to report her untoward conduct—”

“Mr. Peterson,
our
family,” Aunt Bridget, her spine ramrod stiff and eyes wrathful slits, gestured to Alexa and Katrina, “has
not
been besmirched, and Renishaw’s reputation as a scurrilous, untrustworthy bounder reaches far beyond this fabricated tryst.” She stabbed with her fiery gaze. “You would do well to avoid his company, lest people assume
your
character is lacking as well.”

“Well said, Auntie.” Alexa applauded, and when Minerva’s and Shona’s mouths sagged in disbelief, and Harrison choked on his biscuit and coughed, she clapped louder. Maybe he’d strangle on a crumb. One could hope, couldn’t one?

“Why, I never, in all my days—” One hand pressed to her heaving chest, Minerva fanned herself with the other, appearing ready to swoon.

Such overdone theatrics.

“
Wheesht
, Minerva.” This past half hour, Alexa showed great restraint, listening to her stepmother’s snipes, Harrison’s uncouth double entendres, and Shona’s self-pitying whining.

To quiet the sharp retorts begging release, Alexa bit her tongue so many times, tea could now leak through the misused appendage like a sieve.

“Renishaw is a liar. He asked to court me.” She jabbed a finger toward Harrison. “At your urging, he claimed.”

Shona clutched his arm. “Uncle Harrison, is that true, when you knew he was about to offer for me?”

He clasped her hand and caressed the plump flesh with his thumb. “Calm yourself, my dear. You know I have your best interests at heart.”

Something unnatural in his voice sent Alexa’s flesh creeping. She veered a glance to her aunt, who’d paused midway with a serviette to her mouth.

Repugnance skittered across Aunt Bridget’s face. She’d heard it too. Her keen gaze roved Harrison and Shona before settling on a wan Minerva.

Face pinched, and lips rigid, Minerva said, “That doesn’t explain you attempting to seduce him.”

“
Och
.” Alexa threw her hands in the air. “Minerva, the viscount suggested—most vilely and inaccurately—that since I shared my favors with others, I should with him as well.”

“He wouldn’t. Lord Renishaw’s a gentleman.” Shona’s strangled cry earned a fleeting glance from the others. At least she’d stopped stuffing sweets in her mouth.

“It’s your word against his, Alexandra.” A triumphant smile pleated the bags beneath Harrison’s eyes.

Alexa jumped to her feet. Enough of the niceties. A duchess would have sat with decorum and self-control while verbally, and in the most moderate of cultured tones, rendered him a eunuch.

She preferred her knife and caustic words.

Once a gypsy, always a gypsy.

“Yes, he would, Shona. The man’s an unconscionable pig. He cornered me in the bookstore and raised his hand to strike me when I refused his advances. However, my dagger threatening his . . . er . . .” She slanted her aunt a penitent look. “Male parts, and the arrival of Jules and the Duke of Harcourt stopped him.”

“So Jules informed me.” The angles of her face taut, Aunt Bridget gave a terse nod.

“I expected he would.” Alexa had nothing to hide. She’d been set upon and defended herself with the means available.

Aunt Bridget’s countenance relaxed a fraction, and her lips quivered. “I would have liked to have seen that, truth to tell.”

“Well.” Minerva huffed. “I’m sure I know from where she inherits her uncouth behavior.”

Dabbing the corner of her eye, Shona, rabbit-like, nibbled a Shrewsbury cookie.

Alexa paced before the unlit fireplace.

“I’m aware my reappearance has disrupted your lives, and you fear for your futures.” She eyed the clock then the threesome sitting stiffly, but—blessedly—quiet. “However, as the Scots say, ‘Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye.’ The seed’s been sown. I
am
Alexandra Atterberry. The proof is irrefutable, although you, Harrison,” she impaled him with her gaze, “have tried to raise doubts in the minds of others.”

Having recovered from his coughing fit, he jeered. “Are you aware, Alexandra, daughters inherit equally until the Committee of Privileges settles in favor of one or the other?”

“Yes. I know. Are you aware, I haven’t received my portion of my father’s inheritance? Not so much as a shilling?” Alexa canted her head, quite enjoying herself.

His mouth twisted further, his countenance becoming more sour.

“Oh, and Harrison?”

“What?” He shot her a venomous scowl and slouched into the settee, abandoning any pretense of civility.

Shona busied herself disposing of a ladyfinger with the alacrity of a starving street urchin.

Goodness, she appeared famished.

Alexa prepared to deliver Harrison a carefully calculated blow. As surely as the sun rose each day, he had padded his pockets with her funds and Shona’s too. Uncle Hugo had found evidence of forged documents and signatures.

Maggots possessed more integrity. They, at least, feasted upon the dead while Harrison sucked his livelihood from the living. His relatives, to boot.

Flashing him a bright smile despite his surliness, Alexa readied her verbal sword. “My solicitor will remedy the oversight, and at my behest, he’ll want a detailed accounting of my funds—from the time I went missing until today.”

First blood to me.

“I’m confident you’ve kept meticulous records. After all, as Minerva’s man of business, and I’m sure Shona’s too, such a failure to account for the monies might lead to worrisome speculation.”
And a twist of the blade.
“By the authorities.”

Chapter 19

Lips slightly curved, Alexa fixed Harrison with a disdainful stare. No more pretending affability.

He blinked, seemingly taken aback for an instant but recovered his bluster with the swiftness of a practiced charlatan. “Rightfully, the title should be awarded to the daughter who’s been raised as a lady of quality. The one who expected to inherit and who knows how to behave in a manner worthy of the title.”

Ah, now he came to the truth of it. He might as well add, to assure his
continued life of leisure and comfort.

This seemed far more about Harrison’s position than Shona’s. As her maternal step-uncle, and Minerva’s obvious confidant and man of business, he’d enjoyed an elevated status these many years. If the committee granted Alexa the title, his status sank to poor relation of her stepmother.

Alexa studied him from beneath her lashes. He stood to lose a great deal—the most, in the end, of everyone.

“The committee will make their decision based on
all
the facts at their disposal, Mr. Peterson. Are
you
aware, collusion is cause for denial of a petition?” Sparks flew from Aunt Bridget’s eyes, which had shimmered with humor moments before.

His nostrils flared.

Ire or trepidation?

Did Aunt Bridget worry the committee wouldn’t settle in Alexa’s favor?

Shona, her eyes wide as a terrified mouse, stuffed another Shrewsbury tart in her mouth. Whole. Chubby cheeks full, she resembled a squirrel with a store of acorns.

Uncle Hugo marched into the room, followed by a somber-faced gentleman Alexa didn’t recognize.

She examined the clock again. Callers would arrive soon.

Uncle Hugo’s genial smile warred with the stern glint in his eyes. “Katrina, why don’t you take Miss Atterberry for a stroll in the garden? You shan’t have many more days to enjoy the outdoors or the sun. Months of drizzle and gloom shall be upon us soon.”

“Certainly, Papa.” Katrina’s intelligent gaze darted between Shona and her father. “Shona, shall we?”

“No, she should be present.” Minerva sliced Harrison an uneasy glance and fidgeted with her serviette. “After all, this concerns her future too.”

Aunt Bridget cleared her throat and exchanged a speaking look with Uncle. “True, but mightn’t it be wise to spare her the . . . ah, delicacy of the situation?”

Cheeks glowing, Minerva flapped the ill-used finger cloth. “Go along, Shona dear. This won’t take long. We’re expected at Dorthea Hinton’s shortly, in any event.”

Why would Minerva subject herself to that harridan’s company?

Uncle Hugo waited until the door closed behind Katrina and Shona before introducing the gentleman. He gestured to Mr. Ponsby. “Alexandra, Lady Atterberry, please allow me to introduce Mr. Ponsby, our solicitor. Mr. Ponsby, my niece, Alexandra Atterberry, Minerva, the Dowager Lady Atterberry, and Harrison Peterson, Lady Atterberry’s stepbrother. You are already acquainted with my wife.”

Minerva, once again pale as chalk, attempted to school her features, but alarm shadowed her eyes.

Harrison’s skin acquired a sickly parlor, a shade lighter than his chartreuse waistcoat. Or perhaps, his overindulging in spirits contributed to his greenish tint.

“A pleasure.” Mr. Ponsby bowed briefly. Both his mien and his tone suggested otherwise.

“Do have a seat, Ponsby. Tea? Refreshments?” Uncle Hugo sat beside his wife. “Alexa, you should sit as well.”

“No refreshment or tea, thank you.” Ponsby settled into a chair then rustled around in the unremarkable satchel he brought.

Alexa chose an armchair the greatest distance from Harrison. She snapped her fingers, and Sir Pugsley jumped into her lap. Licking a crumb from his droopy chops, he turned around twice, and with a loud sigh, settled his chubby form.

“What are you about, Needham? Why a solicitor?” Like a cranky rooster, Harrison puffed out his chest, the lines of his face folding into a belligerent glower. “We came to address Alexandra’s indecorous behavior at the Temple of the Muses today.”

Uncle Hugo directed his astute gaze to Harrison, and for the first time, Alexa recognized the shrewd businessman who’d amassed a banking fortune. An intelligent person didn’t trifle with or cross Uncle. “Within fifteen minutes of Alexa’s departure from the bookstore, Sir Baldwin visited my office and Lady Middleton sent a note round. Each expressed concern Renishaw had attempted to accost my niece.”

Harrison’s bravado wilted a fraction, and Minerva looked positively ill.

“If not for the Duke of Harcourt’s intervention, and the timely arrival of our footman, they feared Renishaw would have harmed her.” He turned to his wife. “I invited both to tea today, my dear. I’m sorry I didn’t give you notice.”

Uncle gave her a conspiratorial wink, and Aunt Bridget blushed prettily. “It’s of no consequence, Hugo. I expect quite a number of guests already.”

“As for Mr. Ponsby’s presence, why don’t I let him tell you why he is here?” Uncle waved his hand at the papers the solicitor held. “Tell us what you have there.”

One by one, Mr. Ponsby regarded those assembled. After setting his satchel beside his chair, he tilted the folded pages. “This is a copy of Steafan Atterberry’s last will and testament as well as several correspondences he sent me. I was his solicitor too.”

Confusion danced across Minerva’s face, and her gaze flitted to each person before returning to Mr. Ponsby. “But Steafan’s lawyer’s name was Russell, and I received a copy of my husband’s will. Everything seemed quite straightforward when Mr. Russell read it to me. As an entailed estate, the holdings and monies were bequeathed to his heir, who—due to the abeyance—hasn’t been determined.”

Alexa folded her hands to calm the rush of nervous anticipation and unwarranted sympathy for Minerva. Had Harrison manipulated her, used her as a pawn, or was she a master-deceiver playing a well-rehearsed role? Uncle’s warning to take care who Alexa trusted was wise.

Mr. Ponsby nodded while extracting a pair of pince-nez from his coat pocket.

“Yes, Russell and Ponsby, we’ve offices in Edinburgh, Glasgow, Manchester, and London, though due to ill-health, Mr. Russell no longer is active with the firm.” He met everyone’s gazes in turn, lingering longest on Harrison. “Let me be perfectly clear. The elder Miss Atterberry is alive, and therefore, there is no question she is Steafan Atterberry’s heir. Only the title and entailment remain to be bestowed.”

“Shit.” Like a sullen toddler, Harrison flopped angrily against his chair, his leg jarring the tea table and rattling the tray’s contents.

Shouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t stuff his thumb in his mouth or heave himself onto the floor and caterwaul like a wee bairn.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Peterson. Refrain from such uncouth expletives in my home, if you please.” The way Aunt Bridget fisted her spoon suggested she’d like to rap him atop his head.

“I don’t understand.” Minerva wilted further, her expression resembling a bewildered child’s. “How can Alexa inherit after his estate has already been bequeathed to Shona? You cannot take everything back. Not after this many years.”

Ah, Minerva thought her position and Shona’s secure. Well, who wouldn’t have after so much time?

The solicitor’s features and voice softened a trifle. “Because, my lady, the estate wasn’t bestowed upon Shona. Lord Atterberry left everything, but Shona’s trust and annual allowance, to Alexandra. As for the monies in Alexandra’s trust, they would have eventually been transferred to Shona if her sister hadn’t returned.”

He directed his attention to Alexa. “Except for your annual allowance, you cannot access your monies until you are five and twenty. I suspect your father worried about fortune hunters. He had another stipulation as well.”

Steafan Atterberry might have left this world earlier than he’d anticipated, but he’d guaranteed his wishes were honored, nevertheless. Her father had possessed keen intelligence and foresight.

“And the stipulation is?”

Please God, not that I have to live at Wedderford Abbey with Minerva
.

Residing underneath the same roof as her stepmother would test her fortitude, but to endure Harrison’s continual, obnoxious presence . . .?

No. That notion didn’t bear contemplating.

The solicitor flipped past a couple of pages. “In order to receive the full inheritance, you must marry a Scot.”

Struck dumb, Alexa blinked.

Well, that put a chink in her well-laid scheme. Not the marrying-a-Scotsman bit since at present, she hadn’t any plans to marry, but five and twenty? Wait four years to put her plan into action? Impossible. How much was her annual portion? “Will I have access to the accumulated allowances to this point?”

“Indeed. I can arrange to have the monies transferred from the trust account to your bank. It just requires a note with my signature. Do you have an account at Mr. Needham’s institution?”

Harrison’s complexion developed a grayish tone, and moisture beaded his upper lip.

“I can open one for her tomorrow.” Uncle Hugo scratched his eyebrow while turning a bland stare to Harrison.

Minerva fidgeted with her serviette, twisting the square.

“Yes, but I thought . . . When Alexandra disappeared . . . It’s been many years, and we had countless expenses . . .” She drew in a tremulous breath. “Does Shona have to marry a Scot as well? How could I have missed such a critical detail?”

Dashes her hopes of a match with the Rat, if that’s the case.

Tears trickled parallel paths over Minerva’s cheeks, her misery either authentic, or she missed her calling as an actress.

“No, she does not, unless she holds the title prior to marrying.” Mr. Ponsby cleared his throat and rattled the creased documents he held. “This is an amended portion of the will, and was not to be revealed until such time Alexandra Atterberry was present to hear the reading. It clearly states who Steafan Atterberry also preferred inherit his title.”

A vulgar noise sounded from Harrison’s direction.

Alexa rubbed her forehead and gave an imprecise shake of her head. “Until I was present? My father couldn’t have known of my disappear—”

“But, what of Shona’s birthright?” Minerva blurted, then swallowed and slid Harrison a beseeching glance. “You promised.” Her voice sounding as if she’d gargled hot coals, she railed against him. “You said requesting the abeyant peerage’s termination protected Shona’s holdings—her position and inheritance.”

So, the petition hullabaloo was the snake’s doing. Minerva put far too much trust in her stepbrother. Equally disturbing, was her singular focus on Shona’s patrimony.

Harrison’s mouth worked for a moment before he clamped his lips and, for once, remained silent. However, his fingers drumming on his thigh and the muscle twitching along his flaccid jawline revealed his agitation.

Aunt Bridget tossed her serviette atop the table, rattling the empty cups. “Leave off will you, Minerva? Enough of your flim-flam. You cannot mean to pass Shona off as Steafan’s child. That fabrication might have served you at Wedderford Abbey, but it won’t here. You know full well, only a legitimate child may inherit.”

Minerva jerked, and her lips quivered. She wadded the cloth tighter. The laundress would never iron the wrinkles out.

“Shona
is
Steafan’s. He . . .” She peeked at them through tear-spiked lashes. “We had an affair. I’m not proud of the liaison, but I’d met him in Edinburgh years before and had fallen in love. Harrison stayed with me occasionally, he knew—”

Aunt Bridget released a snort worthy of an enraged stallion as she removed the tongs from the sugar bowl and replaced the lid.

Unwise move, that, using Harrison to corroborate the tale. Minerva would have been better served claiming the devil as her witness. Had Harrison, the parasite, always relied upon his stepsister for his keep?

“Poppycock. He did no such thing. Pure rubbish, I tell you. He adored my sister and wouldn’t have strayed. Never.” Aunt Bridget shook her hand back and forth vehemently, almost poking Uncle Hugo in the eye with the tongs.

Alexa hadn’t seen her aunt so incensed before. Her side of the family must be where Alexa came by her fiery temperament.

Uncle Hugo ducked, seizing his wife’s flailing hand. He set the tongs aside but kept her fingers wrapped in his. “Steafan didn’t venture anywhere near Edinburgh during the time of Shona’s conception. My sister-in-law had just died, and the man was a complete wreck.”

Minerva shook her head and daintily patted the corner of one eye. “It happened afterward, not while Lyette lived. Steafan was an honorable man. He’d never have been unfaithful. But, in time, he became lonely, as did I. He visited me several times before we married.”

A fresh flurry of tears flooded her eyes and spilled onto her gaunt cheeks.

“Hugo and I paid an extended visit to Wedderford after my sister died, and we can attest to Steafan’s whereabouts. Until he brought you home, he hadn’t had a lengthy absence.” Visibly shaken, Aunt Bridget leaned into Uncle Hugo’s comforting embrace.

Reliving this must be awful for them. Strangely, Alexa remained detached, rather like a spectator, watching a parody, a fabricated story, not someone’s reality. Certainly, not her reality.

Minerva sniffled before quietly blowing her nose. “Steafan didn’t have to go to Edinburgh. I lived in a cottage outside the village.”

After her whispered words, silence hung dense and heavy as wintertime fog clinging to the River Thames.

She’s telling the truth, at least about the cottage.