by Rose Pearson
“What do you intend to do next?” Lady Smithton asked, breaking the moment that had grown between Beatrice and Lord Greaves. “Will you go in search of whoever has bought this house?”
Lord Greaves nodded, but he did not let go of Beatrice’s hand. “That is exactly what I intend,” he said, firmly. “In fact, I intend to do so this very moment.”
“Would that I could go with you,” Beatrice murmured, her spirits sinking. “But we are due to attend Viscount Millerton’s ball this evening, and I cannot spare any more time.”
Lady Smithton nodded approvingly, even though she knew just how difficult Beatrice found it to step away from Lord Greaves. “As must I,” she said, softly. “Lord Havisham?”
Lord Havisham let out a long breath. “I can attend with you for a short time, Lord Greaves, if you would wish it,” he said, slowly, clearly thinking about how much time he would need to prepare for this evening. “But then I will need to return home to prepare. I am to accompany both Lady Smithton and Lady Beatrice to the ball this evening.”
Lord Greaves let go of Beatrice’s hand with a regretful sigh. “Would that I could accompany you this evening, Lady Beatrice,” he said, softly. “But I must pursue this. I must discover the name if I am to have any hope.”
She smiled at him and ignored the swift kick of disappointment. “I quite understand, Lord Greaves,” she told him. “The day for you to deliver your money to the address given is not so very far away. Every minute is valuable for your search, is it not?”
Lord Greaves held her gaze for a long moment, saying nothing but merely looking into her eyes. Beatrice felt everything fade, forgetting that Lady Smithton and Lord Havisham were both present and only seeing the presence of Lord Greaves. His presence seemed to fill the room, urging her draw nearer, almost pushing her forward so that she might be all the closer to him.
“Let me say this,” Lord Greaves murmured, his eyes almost glowing as he looked at her. “I may not be able to accompany you, Lady Beatrice, but I shall certainly dance with you.” A small flicker in his eyes betrayed a sudden uncertainty. “That is, if you would be willing to accept me?”
“I would,” Beatrice answered, already finding the thought of being in Lord Greaves’ arms to be a very pleasant one indeed. “What dances should I hold for you, Lord Greaves?”
A small step forward took him only a few inches away from her. His hand found hers and he lifted it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back of her hand and sending a visible tremor through her.
“I would have the waltz and then the supper dance,” he told her, speaking of two of the most intimate dances of the evening. The supper dance especially would show almost everyone in the beau monde that he had an interest in Beatrice, even a regard for her – and Beatrice could not think of anything more wonderful.
“I would be very glad to accept them both,” she managed to say, her heart beating so loudly that she was certain Lord Greaves could hear it. “Although I feel it right to tell you, Lord Greaves, that the ton may very well begin to speak of it thereafter. After all, whilst the rumors about me have died down, they can very easily be fanned into flame again.”
Lord Greaves pressed his other hand atop their joined ones, looking deeply into her eyes. “I do not give any consideration to what the ton will say,” he said, softly. “My intentions are quite clear and I have no interest in hiding them from anyone – least of all from you, Lady Beatrice.”
Beatrice did not know what to say, slowly becoming aware of the air of expectation hanging over them. Pressing her lips together, she lowered her eyes demurely, whispering only a quiet ‘thank you’, before Lord Greaves regretfully dropped her hand.
“Then it is all settled,” Lady Smithton said, shattering the quiet awareness that had grown between Beatrice and Lord Greaves. “I look forward to seeing you again this evening, Lord Greaves, and finding out what you have discovered.” She smiled at Beatrice, who felt as though she would not be able to stop smiling for many hours given just how desperately she was now looking forward to this evening. “Shall we depart, Lady Beatrice?”
Beatrice nodded, looking back at Lord Greaves and seeing just how he watched her. “Until this evening, Lord Greaves,” she said, bobbing a quick curtsy. “And I hope you find out the information you require so that your brother might be found safely and this dreadful situation brought to an end.”
The frown that appeared on Lord Greaves’ face broke the gentle smile that had lingered on his lips for some moments. It was as if she had reminded him of it, as though she had only just made him recall his very reason for standing in this house.
“I thank you,” he said, looking from Beatrice to Lady Smithton. “Thank you all for your help in this matter.” A sigh escaped him but a flicker of hope burned in his eyes. “I must pray that I will soon be able to find those responsible, so that I might begin to consider my future and leave these difficulties far behind me.” His eyes caught hers again and Beatrice once more felt that tingle of awareness rush up her spine, wondering if he was as eager for this evening to commence as she.
“Until this evening, Lady Beatrice,” he murmured, as Lady Smithton began to walk to the door. “I look forward to being in your company once more.”
“As do I,” Beatrice replied, softly. “As do I, Lord Greaves.”
By the time the evening arrived, Beatrice was in such a state of excitement that she could barely contain herself. By this evening, she was quite sure, Lord Greaves would have discovered who had purchased the house from Lord Stratton and either that person would be the man responsible, or someone near to him would be. Thereafter, it would only be a matter of time before Lord Greaves’ brother was found and those responsible brought to justice. How she longed for that time to come, for then Lord Greaves would be free to consider his future and all that was contained within it. From what he had said thus far, Beatrice believed that she would be a part of his future and that thought sent thrills of excitement running all through her.
“He will be here very soon, I am sure,” Lady Smithton murmured, one hand pressing Beatrice’s arm for a moment. “You need not look for him with such eager eyes, my dear lady, for his interest in you will become all the more apparent when he dances with you this evening.”
Beatrice could not help but blush. “I will not pretend I am not eagerly expecting him,” she answered, truthfully, “nor that I am not excited about what will follow. He is interested in my company, do you not think?”
Lady Smithton laughed gently, her eyes dancing. “More than interested,” she said, sending Beatrice’s heart into a flurry of joy. “I am sure you will find him to be quite devoted to you, Lady Beatrice.” A contented smile crossed Lady Smithton’s face, as a small sigh of happiness escaped her. “And then ‘The Spinster’s Guild’ will come to an end, and I shall pursue my own happiness also.”
Beatrice lifted her eyebrows in surprise. “You mean to say that –”
“Indeed, I do,” Lady Smithton said, before Beatrice could finish her question. “When Lord Greaves proposes to you, as I expect he will do very soon, you will find yourself happily engaged and thereafter, soon married, just as the other ladies are at present.” A happiness sparkled in her eyes. “And Lord Havisham will propose to me very soon also,” Lady Smithton finished, a little more softly. “And I fully intend to accept.”
Beatrice grasped Lady Smithton’s hand, her happiness flooding her. “I am truly very glad for you, Lady Smithton,” she answered, hardly able to contain herself. “It is truly what you deserve.”
Lady Smithton smiled all the more broadly, settling her hand over Beatrice’s. “I thank you, Lady Beatrice,” she said, warmly. “Now all I must wait for is for Lord Greaves to appear and to make his interest all the more evident! I pray that this disastrous business would come to an end very soon so that your future with him will be soon settled.”
Beatrice sighed contentedly. “As do I, Lady Smithton, as do I.”
However, some hours late
r, Beatrice began to fear that nothing she had hoped for would come to pass, for Lord Greaves had not appeared. He had not come to the ball, had not sought her out for her dances and had not sent a note to apologize for his absence. And the longer he remained absent, the deeper her fears became.
Just what had happened to him?
Chapter Eleven
The afternoon had started off reasonably well, for Frederick had managed to make his way to his solicitors without any particular difficulty. He had given his request to one gentleman in particular, who had set to his work with a diligence that had impressed him, clearly eager to please Frederick. Whilst making Frederick aware that he might have to send out for some information, Mr. Hawthorn – the solicitor in question – was doing all he could to discover the answer to the question Frederick had asked. Now Frederick sat waiting, trying to portray a sense of calmness when everything in him was twisting this way and that in tense anticipation.
“My lord?”
Frederick looked up, trying to smile at the man who approached him with a wary look in his eye. “Yes?” he said, rising to his feet. “Have you a name for me, Hawthorn?”
Mr. Hawthorn cleared his throat, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I do, my lord,” he answered, slowly, “but I cannot make sense of it.”
“Oh?” Frederick was immediately ill at ease, seeing how the fellow’s eyes were darting from here to there, unable to look Frederick in the face. “What is wrong, might I ask?”
Clearing his throat for what was the second time, the man finally managed to catch Frederick’s eye. “My lord, I did not have to send out to any other solicitors in order to procure the information, for the papers were already here.”
“Oh,” Frederick murmured, a little surprised. “I see.”
Mr. Hawthorn hesitated yet again. “Lord Greaves, the reason I am so confused is simply because it is you who has bought the property.”
Frederick’s mouth fell open in astonishment, his hands loose by his sides as he watched Mr. Hawthorn, half expecting him to shake his head, laugh and say that he was only jesting. No such thing occurred. Mr. Hawthorn merely watched him, his expression one of complete puzzlement, whilst Frederick tried to take in what he had just been told.
“I – I do not understand,” he said eventually, trying to regain a little composure. “I have never signed any documents in that regard.”
Mr. Hawthorn spread his hands. “It is my understanding, Lord Greaves, that such documents were signed only a fortnight ago. The papers have been filed and –”
“And do they bear my signature?” Frederick demanded, suddenly feeling quite lost.
Mr. Hawthorn nodded, still looking a little wary. “They do,” he said, quietly. “I can show them to you, if you wish?”
Frederick nodded, and Mr. Hawthorn led him through to a smaller room where his desk and chair sat. The papers were quickly collected from the desk and handed to Frederick, who leafed through them at once, expecting to find some sort of mistake somewhere.
But no. The documents were just as they should be, with his signature in all the right places and even his seal pressed into wax in the bottom of one piece of paper. Frederick shook his head, staring at it in confusion. He had not known that this townhouse was for sale and certainly had not reached out to purchase it! But his name, his signature and his seal were all present on the documents now produced for him!
“Which man saw to this?” he asked, lifting his head and looking directly at Mr. Hawthorn. There were more than a few men working in this office, which meant that any one of them could have set these papers in order. Someone must know who had signed in Frederick’s name, who had somehow managed to take his seal from the house and bring it here in order to press it into the wax. Frederick’s brow furrowed. Someone here must have known that it was not Frederick who purchased the house but who had agreed to the forgery regardless.
“I – I do not know, my lord,” Mr. Hawthorn stammered, his expression deeply strained. “I can assure you that I had nothing whatsoever to do with it.”
“I believe that,” Frederick told him, firmly, turning to look back at the papers again as if to make certain that they were just as he believed them to be. “But someone within this office must have filed these papers, believing that I would never become aware of it – or that I would only be told of it much later, perhaps when they had taken another position or retired from their work here.” He lifted his head as he spoke, only to catch something flicker in Mr. Hawthorn’s eyes. “You have thought of someone, mayhap?”
Mr. Hawthorn licked his lips, laced his fingers together and lowered his head. “I do not wish to speak ill of my colleagues nor suggest their involvement without any certainty,” he said quietly, although with a determination in his voice that had Frederick a little taken aback. “There are two men here who are as you have suggested, Lord Greaves. One is due to begin work at another solicitor this coming week, whilst the other is due to retire within the month.”
Frederick nodded slowly, seeing how Mr. Hawthorn hesitated but appreciating the fellow’s openness. “Might I have the names of the men?” he asked, filling his voice with the authority that he hoped would encourage Mr. Hawthorn to do as he asked. “I should like to go and speak to them myself.”
Mr. Hawthorn lifted his chin. “Might I suggest, my lord, that I speak to them each myself about these documents?” he said, surprising Frederick with his lack of immediate agreement. “They might be more willing to speak to me than to you, my lord, although I mean no offense by such a remark.”
Frederick did not take even the smallest bit of offense at this statement, seeing the wisdom in it. “But of course,” he said, quietly, stepping back so that Mr. Hawthorn could round his desk, pick up the papers and step back out into the hallway and entrance foyer. “I will wait here.”
Mr. Hawthorn gave him a grateful nod. “I will be just as quick as I can, my lord,” he promised, making his way from Frederick towards one of the other rooms that held the next solicitor. Frederick sighed inwardly, his whole frame tight with tension as he considered what might have happened and who might have done such a thing. He could not make sense of it, for the person responsible had managed to steal his signet ring as well as forge his signature. Frederick bit his lip, his brow furrowing hard. Could it be that one of his staff were involved in this situation? Had one of them worked alongside the person responsible in not only stealing his ring but furnishing them with a copy of Frederick’s signature so that they might practice it and practice it until they were quite proficient? And what was the purpose of having Frederick as the owner of the house? Was it just another way for them to hide their identities? To hide themselves into the very deepest of shadows whilst he became bogged down in confusion and mystery?
A sudden shout had Frederick jerking in surprise, his eyes turning to the direction where Mr. Hawthorn had gone. Before he could move, before he could even react, a young man ran out from one room, rushing headlong towards Frederick and only just avoiding him. The man threw open the front door and rushed out of it, just as Mr. Hawthorn ran back towards Frederick.
“It is Soames,” he gasped, clearly shocked at what had just occurred. “Mr. Soames. He is a young man who has only been working here a short time and soon begins work at another solicitors, as I have said to you.”
Frederick began to move towards the door, suddenly desperate to catch this Mr. Soames so that he might demand to know the truth. “And you say that he is the one responsible?” he demanded, pushing his hat back on his head. “He forged these documents?”
Mr. Hawthorn shook his head. “I do not know what he did precisely, my lord, but the moment I brought the documents in to show him, he became ill at ease and then, as you saw, ran from the room. I have no doubt that wrongdoing has occurred and that he is doing all he can to escape the consequences of it.”
Frederick nodded, throwing a quick look over his shoulder. “I thank you, Mr. Hawthorn,” he shouted, rushing out into the London
street. “I will return presently.”
Running towards his carriage, he quickly demanded of the driver whether or not he had seen a man running from the solicitors, only for the driver to nod and point with his whip the direction the man had gone.
“Go after him at once!” Frederick exclaimed, practically throwing himself into the carriage. “I must discover him at all costs!”
The carriage moved forward with more speed than Frederick had thought possible, whilst he himself was bumped and jostled in his seat as the carriage driver did all he could to catch the fellow running away from them. Frederick, one hand holding tightly onto the strap, gritted his teeth and kept his gaze fixed out of the carriage window, praying that they would find the fellow soon. This solicitor was his only chance to discover the truth about who had really bought the house, who had clearly either bribed or threatened Mr. Soames into forging those documents, and Frederick could not let him escape from him now. He had to get a hold of him, one way or the other.
“There!”
Frederick finally caught sight of the man, his head down and his steps hurried as he made his way through the crowd. He was no longer running but the quickness of his steps and the hunched, fearful look about him told Frederick that he had discovered Mr. Soames. The man glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes flaring wide as he saw the carriage, before he turned and ran down a narrow alley.
It was much too narrow for the carriage and, thus, Frederick threw himself out of his seat, the door open and his feet hitting the cobbled street as he ran after Mr. Soames. The shout of his driver fell on deaf ears as he fixed his eyes on Mr. Soames back, seeing him only a few yards ahead as he ran down the narrow alley.
