“You haven’t told anyone about me, have you?”
“No, no, I will respect your wishes on that point. The only one who knows is my senior clerk, Wilkes, and he is discretion personified. I would like to suggest something to you. Why not go to Gloucestershire with me and visit the estate unofficially? You could stay there as Richard Dalton. We can find some pretext to justify your presence to the staff. Perhaps you could be taking inventory for me, preparatory to winding up the trust. The country air would be good for you, and the Cotswold scenery is some of the finest in Britain.”
Richard bit his lip reflectively. “I wouldn’t mind getting out of London, and the surgeons are about ready to release me. But will Wargrave Park be full of old family retainers who will instantly recognize me as a Davenport?”
“No, I think it unlikely. While you greatly resemble your father, his resemblance was to his mother. He did not look at all like a Davenport.”
The solicitor smiled nostalgically. “Your grandmother was a remarkable woman. Not a great beauty, but with a sweetness of temper that softened even your grandfather. She brought fresh blood and common sense to the family. Had she been alive, the rift between the earl and your father would never have occurred.”
“What kind of men were my uncles?” Richard asked.
“Rodrick, the eldest brother, was wild and extravagant. Several fortunes went to covering his debts. When he was of an age when he could no longer avoid settling down and taking an interest in his inheritance, he succumbed to lung fever. I sometimes wonder if he died rather than do an honest day’s work.”
“And the middle brother?”
“Henry rightly felt that Rodrick was his father’s favorite, while Julius was very much his mother’s son. Instead of becoming his own man, he turned his back on his family. He ... didn’t like women. He would not marry even after he became heir to the estate. I believe it pleased him to frustrate his father.”
“A delightful pair. More and more I can understand why my father felt no desire to stay in contact with his family.”
At this point a fracas outside the office distracted Josiah from his account. The clerk Wilkes could be heard saying, “You can’t go in there. Mr. Chelmsford is with a client.”
The reply was muffled but peremptory. The door flew open and a tall, contemptuous-looking gentleman strode in. He looked to be near forty, but the lines of dissipation in his face may have aged him prematurely. Dark hair and a sallow face contrasted oddly with eyes of a pale, cold aquamarine blue. While his clothing was expensive, he wore it with a damn-your-eyes carelessness that lacked the immaculate neatness Brummell had made fashionable. His glance passed indifferently over Richard to fasten on Josiah.
“How much longer must this farce go on?” he said in a scornful voice. “Your delay in settling the estate is seriously discommoding me, and I’ve a strong mind to find a judge who agrees the trust should be wound up immediately.”
Chelmsford looked back coldly. The cheerfully rotund solicitor had been replaced by the hard-eyed man of law. “Do not waste idle threats on me, Mr. Davenport. Getting the Chancery involved in this would only result in considerably more delay. There is not a lawyer born who cannot stall a case for four or five times the natural length, and I promise you that is what will happen if you interfere with your uncle’s will. The trust will end normally in six months. I would suggest you attempt to live within your means until then.”
The intruder’s mouth tightened. “Then perhaps you could advance me some monies from the estate? It is, after all, my own.”
“That remains to be seen. In the meantime, I am responsible for the Wargrave lands and fortune, and not a penny will be spent except on legitimate expenses. If the property ever comes to you, it will be intact to that point.”
“You realize that the day I assume the title, you will cease to be employed by the Wargrave estate?”
“Believe me, if you do become the next earl, I should resign your employ the moment you inherit.”
“Then it seems we understand each other perfectly, Chelmsford.” The tall rawboned figure turned in a flurry of driving capes and stormed out, closing the door with a slam.
“And that, Richard, is your cousin Reginald,” the lawyer said dryly. “In case you hadn’t guessed.”
Richard had been watching the scene with a half-smile on his face. “He is a poor inducement to declare myself an official Davenport. Would I acquire many relatives like him?”
“They aren’t all such a set of dirty dishes. Even Reginald has his better moments. This is the first time he has lost control and railed at me; I expect it means a particularly bad run of cards or horses. Or both. Certainly he is a selfish care-for-nobody, though he has a reputation for courage. They say he has fought several duels and is a dangerous man to cross. Do you find him alarming?”
“Having a regiment of Napoleon’s crack cavalry charge when you are outnumbered three to one is ‘alarming.’ My cousin I merely find rag-mannered. Is he a ‘typical Davenport’?”
“That he is. However, since you were raised away from the traditional mold, you have the perfect opportunity to change the definition.”
The lawyer continued, “Now is the time to tell you the other drawbacks. The Wargrave properties are potentially among the richest in England, but they were badly neglected in your grandfather’s later years. Much of the property was mortgaged to cover your uncle’s debts. The estate can provide a comfortable income as it stands, but years of care and good management will be required for Wargrave to yield its full potential. It may not be a task to your liking.”
“What would the income be if Wargrave were free and clear?”
“In the neighborhood of thirty thousand pounds a year.”
“Thirty thousand pounds!” Richard jerked upright in his chair, his calm at last disturbed.
Chelmsford shrugged. “About that. More if some capital were invested in the Yorkshire moorlands you own. There’s coal under them, and mining would provide some badly needed jobs in the area, as well as being a good investment. Mind you, the estate is producing nothing like that now, and it would take years to pay off the outstanding mortgages.”
Richard swallowed. “Back on the Peninsula when our pay was months in arrears, we joked about having fifty pounds to call our own. I have trouble comprehending thirty thousand pounds.”
“Your Uncle Rodrick could not only imagine it—he could spend it,” the lawyer said with a faint smile.
“No wonder this country is having so much social unrest. It is abominable that a few have so much, and the rest so little.”
Chelmsford shot him a startled look. “I thought you were fighting republican ideals, not learning to espouse them.”
Richard shook off his seriousness with a laugh. “The problem was not that the French were republicans. After all, Boney crowned himself emperor. We fought because the Corsican wanted more than he was entitled to—far, far more. I don’t know that I am precisely a republican, but controlling the kind of fortune you speak of seems more a burden than a blessing. Are there any alternatives?”
“You can take on the earldom with all its problems, learn management, and make the estate productive with perhaps five years of hard work. You can accept the title, sell the unencumbered property, and have a comfortable income for the rest of your life. Or you can walk away and let Reggie inherit. He will almost certainly sell out to Lord Radford, who owns the adjoining estate. I would be sorry to see Wargrave broken up, but perhaps it would be the best solution. Lord Radford is said to be an exemplary landlord.”
“I have trouble seeing myself as a landed gentleman,” Richard said. “A soldier’s experience of agriculture is limited to foraging for food when the supply trains are lost.”
“There is nothing beyond your ability to learn,” Chelmsford replied. “I think a stay at Wargrave Park would be quite an education. Will you come with me on my next visit there?”
Richard hesitated. Josiah was playing spider to
his fly, trying to entangle him with a web of possibilities and obligations. He had no desire for the complication of the title and estate, but further study wouldn’t hurt. And it would be heaven to get out of the noise and dust of London.
“I’m willing to visit Wargrave with you, though I won’t promise to stay there. When is your next visit?”
“Splendid, splendid! It will be in about three weeks, though I can rearrange my schedule—”
“No need for that,” the captain interrupted. “I have business to take care of at the Horse Guards. My commission needs to be sold, and there are some friends I want to trace. The end of the month will be fine.”
Chelmsford beamed, the very image of a satisfied spider. “You won’t regret this, my boy.”
“Let us hope not.”
* * * *
“Caroline, Caroline, it’s happened! He’s spoken to Papa and been accepted! It’s all set! It’s wonderful! Hello, Jessica! I am the happiest woman in the world!” Gina hurtled into her sister’s bedroom with a velocity that gravely threatened the mirror, two china shepherdesses, and a coal-scuttle bonnet on the bed. Caroline rose from the floor where she was pinning an embroidered band around her aunt’s hemline and threw her arms around Gina when that young lady slowed down.
“That’s marvelous! Not unexpected, but still marvelous. I assume Gideon had spoken to you privately? You’ve been looking like the cat in the cream pot for the last several days. Have you made any wedding plans yet?”
“Yes, you and Mama and I are to visit the Fallsworthys in Lincolnshire at the end of this month. Gideon wants his parents to meet me, and we can work out the details then. We thought perhaps an August wedding at the church back home in Great Chisbury. Lots of summer flowers, and you of course my maid of honor. It is so fortunate you are here, Jessica. Will you help me decide on my wedding gown? Something to make me look slim and elegant for once in my life.”
Gina looked enviously at the sarcenet morning dress Caroline and her aunt were working on. It was an unusual shade of russet that complemented Jessica’s rich auburn hair, and its simple lines and exquisite cut showed her magnificent figure to perfection. The mameluke sleeves were tied with dark brown ribbons, and the embroidered wrist frills matched the band Caroline was pinning to the hem.
Perfect for Jessica, but no lesser woman could have done it such justice. Jess had a flair for fashion and always designed and made her own clothes. Fortunately she was happy to share her talent. She smiled her congratulations at Gina. “I’d be delighted to help. May I be one of the first to wish you happy? Mr. Fallsworthy is an estimable young man, and I am sure you will deal extremely well with each other.”
Gina bounced over to her honorary aunt and gave her a hug. “Thank you so much. You will come to the wedding, won’t you? Since you spend part of each summer with the Sterlings, it shouldn’t be inconvenient. I will need your fine hand to help keep Mama in check.” She smiled roguishly. “Of course, you may be needed to help with Caroline’s wedding plans, too.”
Caroline finished her pinning, then stood and went to the wardrobe for her lute. “Don’t be silly. Why would I be getting married?” She took the instrument out of its case, tuned it a bit, and started strumming snatches of music.
“What would you like for a wedding march, Ginny? Something dramatic like this?” Heavy chords rumbled through the room. “Or something light and waltz-like?” Lyrical streams of music. “Or perhaps this.” She moved into a song commemorating the end of a successful hunt.
Gina laughed and said, “Spare my blushes in the hour of my victory. No well-brought-up young lady would admit to being the hunter rather than the quarry, and I usually try to look proper.
“And don’t think you can change the subject so easily. Why shouldn’t you be thinking wedding thoughts? Lord Radford has been so very particular in his attentions. I think he must be ready to make an offer.”
“Don’t be silly, Gina. He isn’t really interested in me.”
“No? Then why has he called almost every day for the last few weeks? And why does he ask you to stand up at every ball you’ve been to? I swear the man must be bribing one of the maids to find out where we’ll be.”
Acutely distressed, Caroline started tracing the inlaid patterns around the lute’s sound hole. The deeper her feelings, the more difficult it became to discuss them, and Lord Radford’s continuing attentions were affecting her in ways she found impossible to describe.
She had developed a sense of fatality about him. At every affair they attended, eventually his dark, elegant form would appear and he would claim her for dancing or conversation. His inexplicable attentions had increased her popularity as half the bucks and dandies in London sought to discover her mysterious charms. It had been a deeply uncomfortable period, continually meeting strangers, feeling the speculative eyes, hearing murmured conversations stop when she entered the ladies’ retiring rooms.
“I don’t know what he wants of me, Gina. But think: can you not feel Gideon’s love for you? Isn’t there a ... a warmth, a sense of caring coming from him?”
Gina thought about that. Then a soft smile slowly spread across her face. “Of course. I know exactly what you mean. It’s like his arms are around me even when he is across the room.”
“Well, I don’t feel that from Lord Radford. I don’t even think he likes me particularly. I feel like some kind of... of chore he must accomplish.”
Jessica listened to the conversation with a small frown between her brows. “Perhaps it is just that he is unlike any other man you have known. Fashionable gentlemen don’t display their feelings, but why else would he court you except for love?”
“Perhaps he is using her to make one of his mistresses jealous,” Gina said helpfully. “It certainly isn’t for our money! And there are plenty of experienced women around for more rewarding flirtations.”
Caroline laughed, her worried mood broken. “If you mean what I think you mean, you have no delicacy of mind whatsoever. But I must admit that theory makes more sense than any other. It may even be true, because several ladies have been at great pains to inform me, in the most considerate way, that I am not at all his lordship’s type. It is my one solace.”
Her sister shook her head mournfully. “I really cannot understand you. Three-quarters of the women in London would give their family jewels to be in your position, and you act as if you have been singled out for deliberate persecution. He is always most charming, he is wonderfully handsome, and such a fortune! And you, my bird-witted sister, are not even flattered by the attention. What is it about him that bothers you?”
“It’s difficult to explain,” Caroline said hesitantly. “It is not what he does, but what he is—a man used to effortlessly controlling everything around him. I can feel the leashed force in him. He dominates me without even trying. And I do not wish to be dominated. Being ignored is much more comfortable.” She laughed a trifle nervously. She was trying to make light of it, but what she said was true: Lord Radford did not have to do anything to make her shrink; his mere presence was enough.
Jessica was uneasy about Caroline’s remark, but uncertain how to reply. She could understand how a forceful, arrogant man would make her shy niece unhappy. She was reminded of a Spanish exhibit she had seen of a lion and a lamb living together in a cage. It was an impressive sight, but she rather thought the lamb had to be replaced regularly.
While she knew very little of Lord Radford, the picture she was getting was very lion-like. She sighed to herself; if she had gone out in society these last years she might have met him and been better able to counsel her niece. Caroline had little experience of men; perhaps she was overreacting. If he were a good person who truly loved her, he could be a wonderful husband.
“He may be somewhat alarming now, Caro,” her aunt said carefully. “But he must truly care for you or he would not be courting you so assiduously. With a basis of affection, even two very different people may live in harmony. Indeed, my darling John and I we
re quite unlike, and yet that difference was a pleasure to both of us.”
“There are degrees of difference,” Caroline said gloomily. “Wine and water may mix with ease, but fire and water will never blend.”
With a visible effort she shook off her misgivings and added with a smile, “Enough of worrying about the dire possibility of becoming a rich, pampered lady. It is time to talk of Gina’s bride clothes.”
Chapter 5
Jason Kincaid and George Fitzwilliam had reached the after-dinner port before conversation turned to Radford’s courtship. George was resigned to losing the wager, and accepted the loss of his salmon-fishing privileges with fortitude. Still, he felt a few qualms about his part in the situation.
“Y’know, Jason, it was a silly bet we made about your marriage. Would you like to call it off? Most improper. Not at all a suitable topic for gambling.”
“Back out of a wager!” Radford said in mock outrage. “What kind of a maw-worm do you take me for? Or do you fear losing?”
Fitzwilliam snorted indignantly. “Those would be fighting words if I were a fighting man, which of course I ain’t. It’s just that when I see the two of you together, you both look like you’re coming from the funeral of your favorite uncle, and you found out he hasn’t left you anything to boot. I’m willing to concede you my fishing rights. I just don’t want to see you unhappy the rest of your life because of a foolish bet. Marriage is a serious matter.”
“Indeed it is, George, and I am deadly serious about it. Even if we did call off the wager, I would still have my Aunt Honoria to answer to. I promised her a bride by the end of the Season,” Jason paused, then added slowly, “It has occurred to me that perhaps I should have given you a few more guidelines for the selection. Miss Hanscombe is a pleasant-enough young lady but very hard to know, and there is a want of spirit in her...”
The Diabolical Baron Page 5
