Christina’s eyes flared wide with astonishment. Mr. Markham was somehow responsible for paying off the debts of his father? She had never heard something so astonishing before. Why was Lord Fulham not doing all he could to remove himself without the need to garner the help of his son?
“I do not care a jot about your betrothal, the dowry, or anything to do with your present state of happiness,” came the hissed reply. “The money must be repaid. I am—I am in need of it.”
For a moment, nothing more was said. And then, as Christina listened hard, her back pressed against the wall, she heard the small catch in Mr. Markham’s voice as he spoke.
“I am doing what I can,” he said with an evident attempt at firmness. “Why do you think that my father has gone to such lengths as this?” The slight slurring of his words was yet another indication that Mr. Markham was already in his cups, and thus, speaking with a freedom that she had not expected of him. Burying her face in her hands, Christina took in a deep breath, tugging the air through her fingers and allowing it to blow away. There was clearly more to the relationship between Lord Fulham and Mr. Markham than she had first thought, and, from what it seemed, Mr. Markham was doing what his father wished him to rather than what he desired.
“I will instruct my solicitors tomorrow,” Christina heard Mr. Markham say. “Now, do not call on me again in such a fashion. Return to your home and to your pretty little wife and leave me to my own affairs.”
For a few moments, nothing was said, and Christina wondered if it was the end of the discussion. And then, she heard footsteps returning to her and, in her haste, turned hurriedly and slipped. She went down on her hands and knees, scrambling up straight away, her feet caught in her voluminous skirts. Breathless, embarrassed, and afraid, she made her way to the small parlor and quickly sat down, praying that Lady Gilchrist did not notice her red cheeks.
“Tea, Lady Christina?” Lady Newfield asked, a look of uncertainty etched into her features as Christina nodded. “You were able to find us again, I see?”
“I was,” Christina answered, smiling at the maid as she served the tea. “It was not far.” She looked from Lady Gilchrist to Lady Newfield and tried to keep her conversation light. “My aunt tells me that you are a great reader, Lady Gilchrist.”
It was a foolish remark, certainly, but it seemed to pull the lady from her doldrums. For the first time that evening, a flicker of a smile danced about her lips, and she looked more than a little pleased.
“I do enjoy reading,” Lady Gilchrist replied in a soft, quiet little voice, but with such a broad smile that Christina felt as though she had given her some sort of wonderful gift. “But there is always so much to read, of course.” She threw up one hand as though this was the most irritating thing of all. “I shall never make my way through my husband’s library.”
Christina was about to state that she had not seen Mr. Markham’s library, nor that of Lord Fulham, but instead of stating something like that, she merely kept her eyes lowered and tried to keep her breathing steady. When the gentlemen reappeared, she was afraid that her guilt might be easily read on her face, that she might find Mr. Markham staring at her as if he could tell what she had done. Lady Newfield rose from her chair, picked up a china cup filled with tea, and handed it to Christina, who took it with only a slight tremble in her hand. Her eyes met Lady Newfield and she smiled quickly, praying that her great-aunt- would not try to say anything—even something surreptitious—in front of Lady Gilchrist.
“I am sure Lady Christina enjoys reading also,” Lady Newfield said, turning back to Lady Gilchrist. “As do I, I confess. I have not had much opportunity during the Season, however, for I—”
She was interrupted by the sound of a loud, uproarious laugh that seemed to snake into the room. As Christina turned her head, her tea still held in her hand, she saw her father, then Mr. Markham, Lord Gilchrist, and Lord Fulham, all make their way into the room.
The only one not swaying and stumbling was her father. Instead, his dull eyes caught hers, his brow furrowed. It was clear that he was having a very difficult time, indeed.
Christina swallowed hard, clenching her fists in her lap. She had overheard something she ought not to have, and, at that moment, had felt both fear and a sense of triumph. There was something now that Lord Harlow needed to hear, something that she could tell him that they should look into a little further. And yet to remain, when he might be able to tell by her face that she was feeling somewhat guilty, was too much of a difficulty to bear. Might she be brave enough to demand that they remove themselves from this situation? Could she be as rude and as inappropriate as would now be required?
Without any warning, Christina found herself standing tall, her feet placed flat on the floor, and a strength in her limbs that she not anticipated.
“I think we must take our leave, Lord Fulham,” she said, her voice shaking a little but her determination steady. “My father is fatigued and, I am afraid, I have something of a headache.”
Lord Fulham’s easy smile faded at once and he looked at her with narrowed eyes, even though his gait was still a little unsteady.
“You cannot leave now,” he said, dismissing her with a curtness that bit at her hard. “There is still an evening of entertainment!” He turned and made his way to a chair, sitting down heavily into it. “Sit, Lady Christina.”
There was no discussion there, no suggestion that she would be able to wheedle her way out of this particular situation. Instead, Lord Fulham continued to talk to Lord Gilchrist, whilst Mr. Markham—whose demeanor now appeared to be brooding, given the darkness about his features and the way his eyes drifted about the floor rather than fix on anything—ignored her completely.
Christina drew in a deep breath.
“Father, shall we depart?” she said, walking towards her father, who had not yet sat down. “I have a headache and must retire to bed, and I can tell that you are fatigued.” Seeing the frown pulling his brows low, she gave him a small yet terse nod, praying that he would not give in and that he would, in fact, be able to understand her eagerness to depart.
“But of course, we must depart if you are unwell,” came the caring voice of Lady Newfield. “Our host will understand.” She did not so much as glance at Lord Fulham, whose conversation with Lord Gilchrist had now faded to nothing. “Thank you for this evening, Lord Fulham.”
Christina bobbed a curtsy. “I thank you,” she said reluctantly before taking her father’s arm and almost forcibly walking him to the door. Nothing was said, nothing was called out after them as they walked away, leaving Christina feeling all the more emboldened.
“That was very improper, Christina,” her father chided, although the heaviness of his steps betrayed his despair and frustration. “I am certain that you do not truly have a headache, as you described to Lord Fulham.”
A little indignant at her father’s gentle correction, Christina looked up at him. “I will not pretend to enjoy my betrothed’s company, Father,” she said with more fervor in her voice than she had intended. “If I must make an excuse to remove myself from him, then so be it. I carry no guilt for doing so.”
Lord Enfield sighed heavily, then stopped walking. Turning to her, he gave her a small, sad smile and nodded. “I should not have chided you so,” he said, his voice low. “Forgive me, my dear.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Father,” she answered gently. “Come now. Let us go home.”
Chapter Nine
Having to walk into a room and immediately attempt to discover the whereabouts of Mr. Markham was not something that Richard appreciated, but he did so, nonetheless. The evening gathering at Lord Pritchard’s had been long planned, but thanks to some general conversation by Lord Prestwick, they had managed to discover that Baron Pritchard had, in fact, invited both Baron Fulham and Mr. Markham to his evening gathering. It was, therefore, with a little more intent that Richard stepped into the room, keeping his eyes sharp and his chin lifted high.
“Ca
reful,” Lord Prestwick murmured. “You are meant to be friendly and amiable, rather than angry and frustrated!”
Quickly rearranging his expression, Richard took a deep breath and tried to smile, reaching out to take a glass of brandy from a silver tray. “I feel like calling the gentleman out,” he said darkly as Lord Prestwick picked up a glass also. “But instead, I must act as though I am his very dear friend.”
“But look,” Lord Prestwick murmured, his eyes bright as he turned his gaze from Richard to the door. “Lady Christina has only just arrived.”
Every dark thought left Richard’s mind at once. He turned quickly to look, his eyes fastening onto the figure of Lady Christina, who had entered along with Lady Newfield. Of Lord Enfield, there was no sign.
“Patience,” he muttered to himself, knowing full well that he could not give into the urge to rush to her, to do as he had done before Mr. Markham and make his attention more than a little apparent. Instead, he was forced to watch Mr. Markham do what he himself desired to do, seeing the man sweep towards Lady Christina, bowing once and then taking her arm in a most possessive manner.
“Arrogant oaf,” Richard muttered, as Lord Prestwick sighed and looked gloomily at him.
“I suppose I must do my duty,” Lord Prestwick muttered. “I should greet Lord Fulham and make myself as amiable as possible.”
“And I should do the very same to Mr. Markham,” Richard replied begrudgingly. Setting his shoulders, he meandered slowly across the room in the vague direction of Mr. Markham.
Thankfully, the gentleman greeted him first.
“Good evening, Lord Harlow,” Mr. Markham said, inclining his head and puffing his chest out in an important manner. “Are you acquainted with my betrothed, Lady Christina?”
Richard bowed, ignoring the way a cold hand tightened on his heart. “I am,” he said slowly. “Good evening, Lady Christina.”
She did not look at him, her eyes remaining downcast as she curtsied. “Good evening, Lord Harlow.”
Mr. Markham cleared his throat, his chin still lifted and an arrogant smile flickering across his lips. “You will have to come to our engagement ball, Lord Harlow. It is sure to be a wonderful evening.”
“How very kind,” Richard responded quickly before another response could take hold of his tongue. “I would be delighted, of course.”
“Might I ask,” Lady Christina interrupted, her voice clear, and her eyes now fixed to Richard’s, “whether or not I am to be informed as to when this ball is to take place, Markham?” Her gaze slid towards Mr. Markham, her hand slowly being pulled from his arm as she spoke—and Richard felt a swell of pride grow in his heart at her courage.
“You will know in due time,” Mr. Markham replied tersely, a muscle tightening in his cheek as he glared at Lady Christina. “I am taking control of the details, of course. There is no need for you to be—”
“It is only because I have many friends that I should wish to invite,” Lady Christina interrupted, and there was something in her voice that made Richard pay even greater attention. “For example, I should like to invite Lady Julia, Lord and Lady Greyson, as well as Lord Sturrock and Miss Marlow. Therefore, I should be given a little consideration when it comes to such invitations.”
Richard’s frown flickered over his brow, but Lady Christina instantly looked towards Mr. Markham. His frown now firmly fixed, Richard slid his attention back towards Mr. Markham and was astonished to see that the gentleman had gone pale. No longer did he have that arrogant lift of his chin, or the small sneer tugging at his lips. Instead, he was staring at Lady Christina with such wide eyes that Richard was quite certain the gentleman had not expected her to mention either one—or more—of these names.
How very interesting, he thought to himself, his frown lifting slightly as he saw the triumphant gleam in Lady Christina’s eyes. Evidently, she has discovered something of note.
“I do not think that you need invite anyone, Lady Christina,” Mr. Markham said eventually, clearing his throat gruffly after he spoke. Giving himself a small shake as though this was all he needed to pull himself from this strange mood, he turned on his heel and walked away from them both, leaving Lady Christina and Richard standing together—without any sort of explanation.
“My goodness,” Richard breathed, watching Mr. Markham walk away. “Whatever did you do, Lady Christina?” Turning back to look at her, he was delighted to see the broad smile on her face, the glee in her eyes, and the obvious happiness that came with what had just occurred.
“Last evening,” Lady Christina began, “I overheard something. A gentleman named Lord Sturrock demanded to see Mr. Markham, even though the gentlemen were still at their port.” She tilted her head just a little, still smiling at him. “I was on my way to the parlor to take tea with the other ladies when I thought to listen to what was being said.”
“That was very courageous of you,” Richard told her, feeling such a sense of anticipation rising within him that he was sure Lady Christina could feel it emanating from him. “What did you overhear?”
Quickly, Lady Christina told him, keeping her voice low. “This gentleman, Lord Sturrock, demanded that Mr. Markham pay his debts. Mr. Markham apologized and said he could not—he was speaking a little too openly given he had been drinking a good deal of liquor—but that he would use my dowry to pay for...” she looked all about her as though afraid someone would overhear her. “To pay for his father’s debts.”
Richard gaped at her for a moment before collecting himself and trying to regain some semblance of normality in his composure.
“I was astonished also,” she told him, a small smile still playing about her mouth. “Why should Mr. Markham be paying for the debts of his father? Surely Lord Fulham is the one responsible for such things?”
“I would have thought so, yes,” Richard answered slowly, his mind now whirling with a good many thoughts he could not put into order. “That is very strange. Very strange, indeed.”
Lady Christina nodded. “And his countenance changed quickly when I mentioned Lord Sturrock’s name, did it not?”
“It was very obvious, indeed,” Richard agreed. “Pray, tell me—are you acquainted with Lord Sturrock? I have been introduced to him only the once.”
Shaking her head, a look of doubt came into Lady Christina’s eyes. “You do not think that he will be inclined to speak to Lord Sturrock to confirm the acquaintance?”
“No, I do not think so, although he certainly will not tolerate you speaking of the gentleman again,” Richard answered. “I will have to speak to Lord Sturrock myself, Lady Christina—if you are contented to allow me to do so?”
Nodding, the worry faded from her eyes. “More than willing, Lord Harlow. I cannot tell you how relieved I am to have been able to share this with you—and for you to see just how upset it made Mr. Markham to hear that name mentioned!”
“It was very well done,” he told her, seeing the way she practically beamed at him. “How do you fare yourself, Lady Christina?”
Her smile became gentle. “I am a little improved, now that I have some hope,” she answered as Richard saw Mr. Markham begin to make his way back towards her. “It is good to see you, Lord Harlow.”
“And for my eyes to see you,” he told her, bowing low just as Mr. Markham reached them again. The color had returned to his cheeks, and he no longer appeared to be as upset as he had been before. Placing his hands behind his back, he cleared his throat to garner Richard’s attention.
“Pray excuse my sudden departure,” he said, by way of explanation. “I thought my father was signaling for my immediate attention, but I was mistaken. Entirely so.”
“But of course,” Richard said with what he hoped was a good measure of understanding in his expression. “Lady Christina was informing me that you have set a wedding date.” Trying to appear interested, Richard could not help but notice how Lady Newfield drew Lady Christina away, allowing both himself and Mr. Markham to talk without interruption. “That must
be very pleasing for you.”
Mr. Markham smiled, his conceit returning almost at once. “I am very pleased with all these arrangements,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “Lady Christina is an excellent creature and shall make me a most satisfactory wife, I am sure.”
“I am certain she will,” Richard replied, ignoring just how tightly his heart was being squeezed. “Might I ask as to where you will live after the marriage takes place?”
Mr. Markham narrowed his eyes as though Richard had asked a most inappropriate question. A little surprised, Richard said nothing more, keeping his expression open and his frame relaxed.
“I am not certain as yet,” Mr. Markham replied after a moment. “We may travel for a time.”
This sent a spiral of alarm whirling through Richard, but he did not allow it to make its way into his expression. “I see,” he said with a small smile. “There are a good many delights away from England’s shores, and I am sure Lady Christina would be delighted to see some of them.”
Snorting, Mr. Markham waved a hand. “You surely cannot think that I would do such a thing for her benefit?” he asked as though Richard was being more than foolish. “Indeed, it is not! She is my wife, so of course, she will attend with me, but anywhere we are to go will be entirely for my own sake.” He shrugged. “Business matters and the like, you understand. It does not matter to me one jot as to where my wife might wish to go.”
Richard clenched his jaw tight, biting back his hard response. There was clearly no love or even a general consideration for Lady Christina, and that made him more than a little angry.
“Once my father passes on, I shall, of course, inherit the Fulham estate,” Mr. Markham continued as though this were all he considered when it came to the apparent death of his father. “Then, we shall return to England so that I might claim my title and make all the improvements upon the house that I have long wished for.”
Betrayal and Lies: Convenient Arrangements (Book 4) Page 9
