Margaret Moore (28 page)

If she made the wrong decision, more than she would suffer.

More than she was suffering already, she knew. Will had hardly smiled or spoken since Richard’s abrupt departure. Instead, he wandered about the house like some sort of mournful spirit.

She remembered what Richard had said about upsetting Will with her behavior, and she wanted to explain why Richard was gone. Unfortunately, every time she started, she felt the tears come to her eyes. She was determined that her son not see her anguished uncertainty,
so explanations would have to wait until she was in better control of herself, or had come to a decision.

Now, as with Will, she forced herself to put on a pleasant face that had little to do with her inner turmoil. She had known rumors would fly after Richard’s sudden exodus; better to deal with them and be done, as much as she could be. “Good day, Mr. Sedgemore.”

Regarding her with a pity Elissa found intolerable, Mr. Sedgemore toyed with the broad brim of his hat. “I fear I have heard some most upsetting news, my lady.”

Although she would rather order him leave, she gestured toward the chair opposite her. “Please, sit down. I daresay you are referring to my husband’s departure for London?”

“I gather it was a hasty departure.” Mr. Sedgemore leaned forward, his feral eyes full of sympathy and something else, something that made a shiver run down her spine. “I am so sorry!”

“Why?”

“Am I to assume, my lady, that you are not sorry to see him gone?”

He regarded her so expectantly, she felt compelled to answer. “If I am sorry for anything, there is no need for you to be.”

He leaned back, and she suddenly thought he seemed far too comfortable in that chair, as if he felt he belonged there. “Perhaps the only person who really should be sorry is your dear
departed—yet living—husband, and the king, for making you marry. And oh, yes, Sir John.”

“Sir John?” she asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Yes. It seems his intention to take his daughters away from temptation has instead sent them straight into it, for they left for London the day before yesterday, too.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Rather an interesting coincidence that they go there at the same time as your husband, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Why should they not? Oh, you must miss Antonia.”

His expression grew puzzled. “Antonia?”

“I was under the impression that you were quite taken with her.”

“My lady, please!” he cried, and she saw that he was sincerely shocked at her suggestion. “I have no interest of an amorous nature in that woman, I promise you.” He frowned. “I fear I am not doing a good job of this.”

“Of what?”

“Offering my assistance to you in this time of need.”

“Thank you for the offer. I shall let you know if I require any assistance.”

He put his hands together as if she were a saint to whom he was praying. “I don’t mean to upset you further. I want only to give you comfort.”

She didn’t reply.

He smiled kindly. “I understand your desire to appear unaffected by this disastrous alianee.
So would any woman of spirit. However, it is not necessary. We all know about Richard Blythe.”

She raised her eyebrows questioningly. She didn’t think anybody really knew Richard Blythe, not even his wife.

Obviously taking her silence for acquiescence, he leaned forward again and spoke conspiratorially. “Why, one need only know Blythe consorted with theater people to understand his moral laxity, but in his case, there is the added natural immorality of his family. Imagine having orgies in the Banqueting House.”

“Orgies?”
she gasped.

“You had cause to send him packing and you did not know about that?”

“My husband participated in orgies?” she asked weakly as a host of thoughts and emotions collided in her mind.

“Not lately, that I have heard of, but probably before he went to Europe. Like father, like son, after all. And like mother, like son, too.”

Her stomach turned as she struggled to comprehend what this horrid man was saying to her. “You… you know this for certain? You have proof?”

“It was said Richard’s father built the Banqueting House to have privacy for their bacchanals, away from the servants.”

“And Richard …”

“One can only assume.”

He said he lost his innocence at an early age.

He loathed the Banqueting House.

He wrote of lascivious, immoral people at the mercy of their lust.

How could a man exposed to such baseness at an early age love except with the passion of lust, a passion shallow and fleeting?

But even as the questions came to her mind, her heart answered. Or perhaps, for the first time since he had left her, she finally listened.

He was bitter and cynical, but still capable of love. She had seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice, felt it as he held her.

He loved her. He would never hurt her, or Will.

It had been her mistake to mistrust him. She had been too quick to accuse him based not on what she knew of him, but from her own experience.

Richard loved her, and she loved him, let Sedgemore say what he would, dredge up whatever stories of the past he could, spread terrible rumors—

“I’m sure your brilliant lawyer will be able to get this unhappy marriage dissolved,” Sedgemore remarked, “if his marriage contracts are anything to judge by. They are truly legal marvels. I never would have believed it possible to have a woman’s property so well protected after marriage, and then to render one’s husband essentially unimportant in the daily running of an estate… truly, I am all admiration.”

Her limbs weak and shaky, holding on to the desk for support, she got to her feet. “Please go away.”

“My dear Elissa!” Mr. Sedgemore hurried to embrace her. “Let me help you.”

“Let go of me!” she cried, his very touch abhorrent to her. “Please, I would like to be alone. Thank you for your sympathy, but please leave me.”

He moved away. “If you wish.”

Still leaning heavily on the desk, Elissa raised her eyes to regard him. “I do.”

“Good day, Lady Dovercourt. Perhaps another time…?”

“Yes, another time,” she murmured, saying anything to make him go.

Finally, he departed, the ever-comforting, ever-helpful Mr. Sedgemore, who looked at her so greedily and whose land bordered this estate’s and who should have no knowledge at all about either one of her marriage settlements.

She sat down and stared at the closed door. “Oh, dear God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

In the next instant, her indecision vanished, replaced by sudden, determined resolve. She jumped to her feet and began calling for Will and her maid.

She was going to London to see her husband, and she would take her son with her.

Robert Harding looked up as Richard Blythe, his gaze openly hostile, marched into his office and halted, arms akimbo. Barely visible behind him, Dillsworth, the new clerk, stood pale-faced with fear, obviously totally incapable of preventing the man from entering his employer’s office unannounced.

The lawyer’s eyes widened for a brief moment before settling into their usual imperturbable, steadfast gaze. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit, my lord?” he asked calmly.

“It is a fine thing to hear you speak of honor,” Richard said sarcastically.

He had been in London for days, yet he had never come to face his accuser before this. He had finally thought himself capable of remaining calm, but as he faced the man who had made Elissa believe he could be capable of murdering her son, he felt his precarious self-control giving way to anger. “How dare you make base allegations against me?”

“That will be all, Dillsworth. Kindly close the door,” Harding said with infuriating composure.

Clearly curious as to what this startling arrival heralded and perhaps afraid that an attack on the lawyer would precipitously end
his career, Dillsworth nevertheless did as he was told.

“You seem surprised to see me,” Richard growled. “Did my dear wife not write and tell you I had absconded to return to my life of infamy and debauchery?”

“I have heard nothing from Lady Dover-court.”

Richard felt as if the floor had suddenly tilted. She had not informed her lawyer of his departure? What could that mean?

“Won’t you take a seat, my lord?”

“Not until you tell me why you thought fit to accuse me of the most greedy, disgusting scheme any man—”

“Please sit down, my lord,” Harding interrupted, his tone one of martial command. “I was not
born
a lawyer. My methods of persuasion are not refined, but they are effective, as the unfortunate Mollipont discovered.”

Richard couldn’t believe the man’s aplomb. Heartless Harding indeed, for most men he knew would be quaking in their boots at the very thought of encountering an angry Richard Blythe—and with very good cause. “Are you presuming to threaten me?”

“If I must. Now, please sit down, my lord.”

Richard sat.

“The evidence would indicate your wife revealed the contents of my letter to you.”

“Did you have any evidence at all to accuse me of plotting to do her son harm?”

“I can understand how upsetting my letter must have been, but surely you can understand that I felt it my duty to warn my client.”

“To turn her against her own husband, you mean.”

“The copies of the selected portions of the will and the marriage settlement that I found in Mr. Mollipont’s lodgings did look very suspicious, and the man was clearly too terrified of whoever was paying him to reveal the fellow’s identity for some time. He finally saw the wisdom of telling me all, but only yesterday. I immediately wrote to your wife.”

Richard let out his breath, feeling that he hadn’t drawn an easy one since his argument with Elissa. Thank God she would soon know that he was innocent of plotting against her.

But that still did not absolve the man sitting in front of him of precipitating a disastrous argument. To be sure, he and Elissa had their troubles—what newly wedded couple didn’t?—but he didn’t doubt they could have worked them out had Heartless Harding not accused him of such a dastardly plan.

Nor did it alter the fact that
somebody
was intent of carrying out that plan.

“Unfortunately, I did not want to take the risk that harm might befall your stepson during the interim, so I wrote the first letter. I beg your pardon for any needless discomfort I have caused.”

“Discomfort? I’faith, Harding, I have suffered more than discomfort.”

At last a look of slight remorse appeared in the lawyer’s cold gray eyes. “I shall endeavor to set things right. I have not only discovered who was paying Mollipont for the information, I believe I know why.”

“Who?” Richard demanded, jumping to his feet and splaying his hands on the desk before him. “Who was it?”

“If you are going to continue to act in this hostile manner, I fear I shall be inciting murder if I tell you.”

“Do you expect me to be calmly rational under these circumstances?” Richard retorted.

“If you cannot be, I shall not tell you. I will send the king’s men for him and have the fellow charged appropriately.”

Richard’s brow lowered ominously. “You do not have to tell me. I can guess. That ferret, Sedgemore. He wants my wife and he wants the estate, too, no doubt.”

“I will not confirm or deny anything until I am quite certain you do not intend to take the law into your own hands.”

In the face of the lawyer’s stern and unyielding expression, Richard let out his breath slowly, then sat again. “Very well. I shall be calm.”

“Good.”

“It is Sedgemore, isn’t it? Just tell me, and I will give you my solemn word that I shall let
the king’s justice decide the matter.”

“I would rather wait. If he knows he is suspected, he might flee the country.”

Richard sighed. “Then I am forced to yield.”

“In this instance, yes, I think you must.”

“You did not wait to accuse me.”

“I didn’t accuse you formally. I merely sought to warn your wife. Indeed, I confess I had my doubts that you could be the perpetrator of the plot almost from the beginning.”

“You didn’t manage to convey any doubts to Elissa.”

“It is not my place to offer doubts, but to protect my clients, especially ones in very vulnerable positions.”

“Whoever the guilty party is, marrying a woman and then murdering her child seems an extreme way to raise money or obtain property.”

“I fear you underestimate your wife’s charms and the value of the estate, which is one of the most prosperous in the county.” Heartless Harding’s expression changed ever so slightly. “Can you think of any other reason a man would want your family estate in particular?”

“Other than its beauty? No.” Richard shook his head. “This scheme seems incredible.”

“For a man who writes often of human greed and folly, I am surprised that you find this so difficult to believe.”

“It is one thing to make up evil characters.
It is quite another to know that there is actually a human being capable of acting in such a despicable way. What made you first question my involvement in the plot?”

“I doubted you were capable of this sort of scheming, or you would have stopped at nothing to get your estate back as soon as you returned to England. Instead, you waited for a legal and just course of action.”

“I waited a very long time, too.”

“And were amply rewarded for it.”

Richard cocked his head slightly and wondered if Mr. Harding’s concern for Elissa’s welfare was merely business, after all. “You might have told her that conclusion. I could never hurt Will.”

“I believe you.”

As he regarded Mr. Harding, Richard sensed that this man’s trust was not something easily earned and was glad to have done so.

If only Elissa trusted him, too.

“I care for her very much,” he confessed. “I love her.”

The lawyer actually smiled. “I am glad to hear it. She deserves to be loved, and to be happy.”

“Then I must confess myself surprised that as her concerned advocate, you didn’t prevent her from marrying me when the king commanded it,” Richard remarked, not quite revealing his avid curiosity on this point.