Authors: Wendy Soliman
Sebastian paused in his cogitations to remind himself things were seldom as they appeared at first glance. People bore grudges and harboured resentments for the most minatory of reasons. His own first sight of Lady Abigail had been a shock, albeit a pleasant one. Wealth, position, beauty and courage. It was a potent combination likely to stir up malevolent feelings and the spiteful desire to right perceived wrongs.
His breakfast complete, Sebastian made his way to his library and dealt with the matters of business awaiting his attention. He dictated letters, sorted through the pile of invitations, discarding almost all of them with barely a glance, and reeled off a list of tasks for his secretary to attend to. All this took less than one-tenth of his attention. The rest of his mind was still engaged with Lady Abigail’s problems and the best way to go about resolving them.
As afternoon turned to early evening Sebastian, aware that Lady Abigail’s aggressor was becoming increasingly frantic to finish his work prior to the commencement of the season proper, took immediate action. Putting aside his papers, he prepared to leave the house. There was someone he needed to consult regarding Lady Abigail’s affairs and he suspected he knew exactly where to find him at this hour.
Sebastian sauntered the length of St. James’s Street. He acknowledged acquaintances and stopped to pass the time of day with several of them, skilfully avoiding anyone who appeared intent upon delaying him for too long. Eventually reaching Whites, he entered the club and had the satisfaction of discovering his quarry ensconced in a leather armchair, engrossed in a newspaper.
“Evening, Anthony,” said Sebastian, taking the chair opposite his friend.
Anthony Deverill, youngest of the Earl of Newbury’s siblings, put aside his paper and grinned. “What you are doing about at this God-forsaken hour, Seb?”
“Looking for you.”
Anthony raised both brows. “What sort of scrape have you got yourself into that requires my sharp legal brain to save your skin? Being sued for breach of promise?” he suggested with a wicked grin.
Sebastian laughed. “Good God, I hope not. My purpose in seeking you out owes rather more to the hypothetical.”
“Then what, hypothetically, can I assist you with?” Anthony raised his hand to attract a waiter.
Anthony and Sebastian had been at Oxford together and were firm friends. Anthony, most conveniently, was now a partner in the law firm patronised by the Duke of Penrith’s executors. Sebastian wouldn’t ask his friend to reveal confidential information regarding the estate, any more than he would betray Lady Abigail’s confidence by explaining his interest in the Penrith affairs. Instead he put his faith in Anthony’s awareness of his integrity and forged ahead with his first question.
“All right then, consider this, if you will. If, hypothetically speaking, you were one of the trustees for a wealthy duchy, a duchy which wanted for nothing except perhaps a duke, for what purpose would you agree to release funds and to whom?”
Anthony’s eyebrows disappeared beneath his hairline. “I hardly need to enquire whether you have a good reason for your question.”
Sebastian inclined his head. “Let’s just say it is not the product of idle curiosity.”
“I hardly imagined it would be. Thinking of falling victim to the parson’s mousetrap at last?” Anthony grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Or are you simply short of blunt?”
“Come on, Tony, this is serious.”
Anthony drifted into contemplative silence. Sebastian was content to wait him out, already having decided that if his friend declined to reveal the sensitive information he’d requested, he wouldn’t contrive to extract it from him by unscrupulous means.
“I would imagine funds would be released from the coffers of your hypothetical duchy for the purpose of routine management, payment of stipends, maintenance of buildings and so forth.”
“Of course, but if there were, say, two trustees, could either one of them make a request for the release of these funds?”
“Yes, but in actuality probably only one would do so. Perhaps, if one were to be located, geographically speaking, closer to the ducal seat, then it might be more practical for said trustee to take it upon himself to manage the estates, and leave his co-trustee to worry about the welfare of the heiress.”
“And, presumably, all monies would be meticulously accounted for?”
“Naturally.”
“What if funds were required for something other than routine expenses?”
“We would be applied to, the purpose of the funds would be explained, and we would agree, or not, according to the circumstances.”
“Can you imagine a situation where you wouldn’t agree?”
“Your hypothetical duchy sounds as though it would be efficiently managed, and as its legal custodians we wouldn’t have cause to decline releasing funds for bona-fide purposes.”
“I see.”
Disappointed to have learned so little, Sebastian brooded upon his lack of progress. Anthony’s next words snapped him out of his reverie and caused him to sit bolt upright.
“The same could be said about personal loans, of course.”
Sebastian arched a brow. “The trustees are permitted to borrow from the duchy?”
“It’s not an unusual occurrence in such circumstances,” Anthony said with a neutral smile. “After all, the trustees would be giving extensively of their time and expertise to ensure the estate flourished.”
“Would both trustees require monetary support?”
“Not if the heiress’s immediate guardian was comfortably situated.”
Sebastian felt a moment’s relief. This didn’t absolve Lady Abigail’s uncle, of course, but went some way to confirming her assertion that Bevan was independently wealthy. Wilsden, it would appear, wasn’t similarly situated. Now that was interesting. The man was a common sight at Court, being a prominent member of the Carlton House set, staunchly loyal to the Prince Regent and considered by all who knew him to be beyond reproach.
“For what purpose would personal loans be granted?”
“Were they to be so then their purpose would remain confidential. Only the senior partner would be party to that information.”
Sebastian crossed a booted leg across his opposite knee, took an appreciative sip of Anthony’s burgundy and contemplated this latest intelligence. “Would you be concerned about these hypothetical loans being repaid?”
“I would imagine they’d normally be repaid within the time scales specified, and with interest.” Anthony looked Sebastian directly in the eye, his expression one of mild concern as he abandoned all pretence at hypothesis. “But, as to the latest one, that’s altogether another matter.”
Sebastian sat forward. “Why is this one any different?”
“Because it’s exceedingly large. So large that it aroused my curiosity as to its purpose and my concerns about the borrower’s ability to repay it.”
“You think the borrower might have difficulty meeting his obligations?”
“Most assuredly, but since it was agreed by my senior—”Anthony shrugged. “Hypothetically speaking, I can scarce voice my concerns publicly.”
“Anthony, I appreciate this is asking a lot, and you know I wouldn’t put you in the position, were it not important.” Anthony looked at his friend, his expression now openly curious. “Are you able to reveal how much the loan was for?”
Anthony considered this request for some time before responding in the affirmative, causing Sebastian to let out an oath of astonishment when he learned the precise figure.
“That is a vast sum. When was it granted?”
“Three months ago.”
“I see.” Sebastian rubbed his chin, pausing to choose his next words with care. “Can you discover the purpose of the loan, without compromising your position of trust?”
“Yes, but only if I’m prepared to go snooping.”
“Ah well, never mind. It was just a thought and, anyway, you’ve already given me much to think about.”
Anthony smiled. “I’ll see what else I can discover. I’m uneasy about the whole business myself, although I couldn’t precisely say why. The price for my assistance is that you reveal the nature of your involvement as soon as you’re in a position to do so.”
“Agreed.” Smiling, Sebastian offered Anthony his hand to seal their bargain.
***
Life within the
ton
left Abbey with far less leisure time than had been the case in the country. Were it not for the fact that she was scarcely ever on her own, and had little time in which to compile the list Lord Denver had requested, she would have revelled in her changed circumstances.
Since her appearance at the duchess’s ball the Penrith town house in Belgravia had been inundated with callers. Gentlemen seeking to consolidate their acquaintance with her, ladies looking to include her in their activities, and people calling to issue invitations combined to reduce the well-run household to a state of near chaos. And when they weren’t receiving callers, or dealing with the latest catastrophe regarding Bea’s trousseau, they were themselves taken up with returning calls. They took tea with other ladies, accepted invitations to luncheons, listening to the latest gossip and learned in the strictest confidence who was about to offer for whom. Too new to it all to find it fatiguing, Abbey was fascinated by the depth of interest the ladies took in one another’s affairs. Not quite so fascinating was their readiness to indulge in unsubstantiated gossip, branding others, on the flimsiest of evidence, as being not quite up to the mark.
Abbey took refuge in her chamber late at night, when she could at last be assured of privacy. She worked upon her list, shaking her head as she wrote out the familiar names. She knew these people far too well to consider they wished her anything other than the best of good fortune. Besides, none of them had ever shown the slightest signs of envy at her unusual circumstances. On the contrary, they all appeared to take pleasure from her company and had nothing to gain from her demise. As far as Abbey was concerned they were, every last one of them, quite simply beyond reproach.
Sighing, she threw her quill aside and stretched her aching limbs, reluctantly conceding Lord Denver had most likely been right when he suggested whoever intended her harm was motivated by the desire to benefit financially. Accepting the fact, though, did nothing to assist her in identifying the shadowy figure lurking on the edge of her consciousness. It was too fantastic to contemplate anyone close to her being culpable. Besides, if anyone bore her ill-will, she was certain she would have sensed their underlying hostility, however well they sought to disguise it.
In an effort to divert her thoughts from a dilemma that appeared more complex by the minute, Abbey turned her mind to the question of Lord Denver’s kiss. She felt a warm glow spread through her body as she relived the moment. No, not a glow, but a fizz. Yes, that described the way she felt exactly. Her cheeks turned scarlet when the fizz pooled in the pit of her stomach in a manner so agreeable she hugged herself in an attempt to prolong the sensation.
She smiled and ran her tongue across her lips, wishing her mind didn’t keep returning to that wretched kiss. Kissing equated to fizzing and fizzing was, she felt sure, something she wasn’t supposed to feel—especially when Lord Denver was responsible for creating it. Lord Evans didn’t make her fizz, which she considered that to be a good thing. Fizzing complicated everything. It made it especially difficult for Abbey to think coherently, and she had always prided herself upon her sharp mind and powers of deduction.
No, fizzing definitely wasn’t on her agenda.
Abbey wondered about her quite shocking want of propriety in allowing his lordship such licence. The fizzing was to blame, of course. It addled her senses to such a degree that only now had she started to wonder why he’d requested a kiss in return for assisting her. What could he have meant by it? If even half of what Bea had related about his past was true then he could hardly claim lack of female companionship as an excuse.
Abbey dismissed the idea as ludicrous and told herself it didn’t matter why he’d asked for a fizz…no, a kiss. All that mattered was he’d agreed to help her. Anyway, this kissing business was probably nothing more than a fleeting impulse on his part. All this thinking about something that to him probably counted for nothing at all, and which he’d doubtless already dismissed from his mind, made her head spin.
Lord Denver had been right to suggest other gentlemen had tried to kiss her over the years. Lord Wilsden’s younger son, Charles, had twice done so just last year, but that hadn’t made her fizz. Being embraced by Charles was about as passionate as being caught in a violent rainstorm. Abbey shuddered. Charles engendered no feelings of tenderness within her breast and his attempts to convince her otherwise had been an embarrassment to them both.
Before she’d left Cornwall Lord Evans had called to bid her farewell, even though he too was making his way to town. Left alone with her for a few minutes, he’d surprised Abbey by deviating from his formal manners, kissing first her gloved hand and then pulling her into his arms and capturing her lips. Although more efficiently executed than Charles’s efforts, it had still left Abbey feeling unmoved, only adding to her conviction that romantic attachments were overrated.
Abbey belatedly understood that ignorance had been bliss since Lord Denver, with one practised embrace, had called her firmly held opinion on the matter into question. She was quite out of charity with him because, obviously, he was amusing herself by deliberately toying with her affections. Not that he would succeed. Duty was her byword and she had no intention of allowing her head to be turned by an accomplished rogue with handsome features, a rather impressive body, and quite disgustingly compelling charm.
***
Sebastian arrived at their rendezvous in the park early and seated himself on a bench which afforded him a clear view of the walk in both directions. As he’d predicted, it was completely deserted. Fashionable people came to the park to be seen, not to lurk in this quiet backwater.
He’d been sitting for just a few minutes when Lady Abigail came into his line of sight. Two enormous dogs bounded ahead of her, pulling at the ends of their leashes, and the same maid as before scurried along beside her. Sebastian stood as she neared him, approving of the fact that she’d again taken the precaution to shroud herself in a concealing cloak.