Arabella shrugged. “I didn’t wish to move you lest I cause you more injury.”
“Haddon and I have reached an understanding.” Marissa patted the space on the sofa next to her. “Come sit.”
Arabella walked past the sofa, ignoring Marissa’s invitation to roam about the parlor. “You are happy.” Her niece’s hand twitched against the folds of her skirts, a sure sign Arabella was distressed about something. “The flowers are lovely.” Her niece waved her hand to the enormous vase of roses covering a small side table. “You adore roses. I’m sure they’re from him.”
“They are.” Marissa frowned. “Arabella, sit. What is wrong?” If Lily, Arabella’s infant daughter was ill, she wouldn’t have left her daughter’s side to visit Marissa but would have instead sent word.
Arabella stopped her perusal of the roses. “I told Greenhouse we would want tea. You may wish for something stronger. I’ve come with news.”
Before Marissa could ask, a knock on the door announced a servant bearing a tray with tea and an assortment of small biscuits. Once the servant bowed and left, Arabella sat down across from Marissa and poured out two cups of the steaming liquid.
“Milk or sugar?”
Her niece knew very well she took neither. Arabella was stalling. “Out with it.” Marissa brought the teacup to her lips. “I’ve not the patience this morning.”
Arabella didn’t touch her tea; instead, she clasped her hands together and forced them into a twisting mass on her lap. “Pendleton’s debt has been paid.”
Marissa sat back as the air left her lungs, shocked at her niece’s words. “Impossible.”
The sum was enormous. She’d only just called them due and Pendleton had no way to get a hold of such an amount in a short time. He hadn’t rushed Miss Higgins to Gretna Green in order to access the girl’s dowry. She had Tomkin watching the house and the Higgins’s home, just in case.
“It’s true, Aunt Maisy.” Arabella’s hand flipped in her lap though she tried to still it.
“How?” A choking sensation started in her throat. How had he managed to get his hands on such a large sum? Marissa had taken away Pendleton’s only other source of income—the mine. Miss Higgins was the only way to save himself. “Brushbriar has been stripped bare. Tomkin’s man in place at the estate has assured me of such. All of Lydia’s precious Blue John has been sold along with most of her expensive furnishings. My solicitors persuaded the court to put all profits from the mine into a trust while ownership is being contested. He can’t touch one single pound. I’ve destroyed his sister’s chance of marrying Kendicott, which Catherine may thank me for later. Imagine.” A laugh escaped her. “Catherine married to the son of a pig farmer.”
“I can’t,” Arabella agreed.
“And Pendleton would never go to any of his friends in Parliament. Begging money from the likes of Enderly or Duckworth would only tarnish his pristine reputation and lead to questions on the Blue John mine and how it came to be in his family’s possession, which would raise questions about Reggie’s murder. So where did he get the funds?”
Arabella’s hand flopped again, harder this time. She bit her lip.
“Did Higgins advance him the sum from his daughter’s dowry? It would be highly unusual, but I suppose . . . I should have ruined his courtship to Miss Higgins long before now. Their betrothal—”
“It wasn’t Higgins,” Arabella said so quietly Marissa barely heard her.
Marissa set down her cup and saucer with a loud clatter, not caring if the delicate china shattered against the table. Standing abruptly, she stood and went to the sideboard, pouring out a generous glass of whisky. Taking a mouthful, she swallowed the amber liquid, allowing the burn to settle in her stomach. “Even if his debt has been paid, Simon is still broke. Impoverished. He won’t be able to survive without the mine’s income unless he weds Miss Higgins. Which I’m not about to let him do.”
Marissa had suffered no small amount of guilt over Miss Higgins. Destroying the poor girl because her parents had the misfortune to betroth her to the wrong gentleman hardly seemed fair. She’d considered changing her mind. It wasn’t too late. Nighter had done nothing but discreetly befriend the girl, though Miss Higgins was falling in love.
I’ve no choice but to ruin her now. It’s the only way to stop the marriage to Simon.
“Well, who was it?” She turned to face her niece. “I’ll destroy them too.” Marissa was ready for this to be over. Her life had taken a wonderful, unexpected turn, and she wanted to spend as much of it as possible with Haddon.
Arabella stared down at her untouched tea as if studying the contents. “It was Haddon, Aunt Maisy.”
Marissa went completely still, her vision narrowing and darkening at the corners. She swayed, fingers biting into the sideboard to keep herself steady. Surely, Arabella was mistaken. “I don’t think I heard you correctly, Arabella. It sounded as if—”
“It was Haddon.” Arabella looked up from her tea to Marissa. Her niece rarely expressed sympathy; seeing it now on her face caused a sob to catch in Marissa’s throat. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, but . . .” Her eyes fell to the beautiful display of roses. “Pendleton’s solicitor has drawn up a loan repayment for the exact sum, payable to Haddon but not until after Pendleton weds Miss Higgins.”
There was no point in asking if Arabella was certain. Marissa could see she was. Arabella had her own network of individuals for information, something that came in handy during instances such as this.
Marissa’s chest felt as if she’d been punched or fallen from her horse. “He wouldn’t.” She shook her head.
“And yet, he has.”
“It makes no sense, Arabella. I think Haddon admires Pendleton’s work in Parliament, the reforms he seeks, but not enough to beggar himself. They are friends of a sort,” Marissa said. Haddon was well off but paying Pendleton’s debt would cripple him financially. “I can’t imagine he’d risk so much. Not with his daughters to consider.”
“Two large quarries in the Peak District were recently mortgaged to raise capital. I saw the report on Rowan’s desk.” She waved a hand. “He’s always looking at properties where the owner has done something stupid and put said properties at risk.” She shot Marissa an apologetic look. “Rowan finds stone and such to be a solid industry and one worth investing in.”
“Yes. The stone for fine houses, roads, and walls must come from somewhere,” she said, remembering the words Haddon had spoken to her at Lord Duckworth’s. “Haddon’s quarries.”
Arabella nodded. “Is there any chance Pendleton suspected you of buying his markers?”
“Lydia,” Marissa said quietly, thinking of the conversation she’d had with the woman at the Chenwith Society function. “I may have expressed my dismay that Catherine wouldn’t be marrying Kendicott. I fear that is why Pendleton hurried to secure Miss Higgins. As discreet as you were in having the markers purchased, she must have surmised it was me, and frankly, I didn’t care. I assumed there wasn’t anyone else Pendleton could go to for such a sum.”
“You were mistaken. As to why Haddon did such a thing, I’m not certain. But his doing so speaks of a much closer relationship than he led you to believe. He’s never questioned you about Pendleton? Could he know or be helping him?”
“No, I—he was only here last night.” Marissa went over their evening together, bit by bit. They’d made love. Laughed. Talked about their children. But Marissa had sensed a sadness in Haddon, putting it down to him missing his three younger daughters. He'd told her he loved her.
“He said nothing.” A trickle of unease slid down Marissa’s spine. Had Lydia or Pendleton voiced their suspicions to Haddon, and he related to them he’d seen Marissa with Nighter? “Perhaps Lydia begged Haddon’s help, but if that were true, why wouldn’t he confront me? Especially given that if Pendleton doesn’t marry Miss Higgins, Haddon would be—”
“Ruined,” Arabella finished. “Maybe we are wrong, and he doesn’t know.”
The more she considered it, Marissa was certain Haddon did know. “Lydia would never miss an opportunity to disparage me to Haddon, especially since our attachment to each other was made quite public.”
Marissa thought she might well be ill. Oh, Trent. You fool. What have you done?
“Will you end this now, Aunt Maisy? I confess I have never been able to reconcile myself to the damage a man like Nighter will do to Miss Higgins’s reputation. I’ve gotten to know the girl quite well from her visits with Lady Higgins. She doesn’t speak of Pendleton with affection if she even mentions him at all. Instead, she sips her tea with a starry look in her eyes. Nighter’s influence, no doubt. Can you not—”
“No. Do not dare ask me such a thing.” Haddon’s betrayal was throbbing like a spoiled bit of pudding in her stomach.
“Aunt Maisy,” Arabella started calmly. “I know Pendleton kept his parent’s secrets and knowingly stole from Brendan, but putting him in the poorhouse is more than enough punishment for him, don’t you think? You’ve taken back the mine, Aunt. Or at least you will. They will never profit from Reggie’s death again. Even with the dowry Miss Higgins brings, the family will remain in genteel poverty. Lydia was forced to sell all of her precious Blue John. Catherine will not marry the wealthy son of a pig farmer. You’ve won, Aunt.”
Marissa clutched the glass of whisky harder, frustrated her careful planning had been upended. And by Haddon. She forced herself to think of poor Reggie, left alone to bleed to death in a cave. Shot by his closest friend. All so Lydia could be wealthy. Stealing from Brendan all these years while treating her youngest child with contempt.
“Lydia and her pompous prig of a son need to pay for what they’ve done. I won’t be happy until I see Pendleton so tainted by poverty, he will never be thought a brilliant star of Parliament. I want Lydia on the street, begging for money to buy her precious brandy.” Marissa took a deep gulp of air ignoring the squeeze of pain. “It is my duty to Reggie.”
Trent, how could you?
Arabella nodded slowly and stood. “And what, Aunt Maisy, is your duty to Haddon?”
Marissa turned away, not willing to meet Arabella’s eyes.
“You love him. Any fool can see it.”
She didn’t bother to deny it. Never had she imagined this would be the way her affair with Haddon would end. And it would, because surely after Miss Higgins was ruined with Haddon not far behind, he wouldn’t even be able to look at Marissa again.
He told me he loved me.
Perhaps he did. Or maybe those beautiful words were only an attempt to get her to stop the destruction of all things Pendleton. Guilt her into ceasing the revenge she was inflicting. Could he possibly be in league with Lydia?
Another dull, painful ache went through her. The very idea sickened her.
“I’ll take my leave as I sense you need to be alone for a time.” Arabella paused before the door. “How ironic, Aunt Maisy, that you now find yourself in the same situation both Nick and I have faced. Revenge or the desire of your heart.” She said nothing for a moment though Marissa sensed her hovering in the doorway.
“I don’t envy you, Aunt. It is a difficult choice.”
26
Marissa pulled her cloak tighter as the carriage rolled up the drive to deposit her at Lady Ralston’s doorstep. It was a crisp, cool night. There were even stars twinkling in the darkness if she peered out the windows of her sleek carriage.
“They will never profit from Reggie’s death again. Even with the dowry Miss Higgins brings, the family will remain impoverished.”
At least Lydia wouldn’t benefit any longer. Marissa had received the news last night from Tomkin that Lady Pendleton, after drinking a substantial amount of brandy, had tripped in her son’s drawing room while sitting in her chair before the fire. Lydia hadn’t fallen into the roaring flames on the hearth, which would have been a fitting end. Witches are often burned to death.
Instead, she’d hit her head on a portion of the mantel which, ironically, was made of Blue John.
Marissa breathed on the glass of the window, seeing it fog immediately from the cold outside.
According to Tomkin’s report, the physician summoned had declared Lady Pendleton had likely suffered a fit of some sort before hitting her head. Lydia couldn’t speak. Or walk. She would be bedridden for the remainder of her life. Simon was, even now, making plans to have her removed to Brushbriar where Catherine could care for her.
Marissa felt a rush of pity for Simon’s beautiful, wanton sister. Catherine would now be trapped playing nursemaid to the incapacitated Lydia in the hollowed-out husk of Brushbriar.
“You’ve won, Aunt.”
Marissa should be gloating over Lydia’s unfortunate but timely accident; instead, it was the loss of Haddon which was foremost in her thoughts. Nearly a fortnight had gone by since she’d seen him. Not since the evening before Arabella had visited with her unwelcome news.
He’d been telling me goodbye.
There was no question any longer that Haddon knew of Marissa’s revenge against Pendleton. Shortly after her niece’s disturbing visit, Marissa had fortified herself with another glass of whisky. There had to be a logical reason why Haddon would beggar himself for Pendleton, Marissa just didn’t know what it was. Unable to wait a moment longer to confront her lover, she’d dashed off a note to Haddon, requesting he call upon her directly to discuss something of import.
There was no immediate reply. In fact, Marissa didn’t receive a response until well after tea. Business, Haddon had written, would keep him from calling on her. He expressed his deepest apologies for the inconvenience but gave no indication of when he would call. Or if he meant to.
More unsettling, Jordana declined to visit Marissa for tea the following day, claiming she was feeling ill.
Marissa pressed her fingers into her stomach as Lady Ralston’s mansion came into view. The sickening dread, the same darkness she’d felt since Haddon had left her after promising he never would, filled the carriage, threatening to strangle her.
Two more days had gone by with no word from Haddon, so Marissa had tried again, this time asking him to join her for dinner.
An immediate reply came from Haddon’s secretary. Lord Haddon, the missive read, had left London for a few days on personal business. There was no indication of his return.
Her heart had lurched painfully at thinking of Haddon, and Marissa bent, her palm on her chest, trying to stop the anguish she felt. Only the knowledge that Haddon hadn’t closed his house and fled back to his estate in Derbyshire gave her hope.
There was absolutely no doubt in her mind Haddon knew exactly what she’d done thus far and what she meant to do to Miss Higgins. Worse, he’d made no effort to ask her to stop. There was no ugly confrontation in which Marissa could explain herself. No Haddon at her door, pleading mercy for himself or Pendleton. She didn’t see him in the park. Or at the theater. Nor at the few events she halfheartedly attended with Spencer and Elizabeth.
Haddon was very deliberately avoiding her. Jordana, as well.
Nighter informed Marissa, through Tomkin, that Miss Higgins was enamored of him. She’d even written him a love poem and assumed her affection was returned by the ex-soldier. He assured Tomkin that Miss Higgins would do whatever he asked of her.
Including agreeing to leave her future husband’s side to indulge in an indiscretion with Nighter at Lady Ralston’s ball tonight. The girl thought Nighter meant to marry her. The entire breadth of London society was in attendance this evening. Pendleton wouldn’t dare wed Miss Higgins after such a public disgrace, not if he wanted to hold on to the tiniest shred of dignity. Sir Richard would certainly not expect him to.
The scandal would completely eclipse Haddon’s rescue of Marissa on Bond Street.
Marissa pressed her palm harder against her chest as if attempting to stop a wound from bleeding.
The carriage crawled up Lady Ralston’s congested drive at a painfully slow pace. Finally rea
ching the entrance, Marissa stepped out, automatically smoothing her deep sapphire skirts. She’d wanted Haddon to see her in this gown, a gorgeous confection she’d ordered from Madame Fontaine. He would appreciate the low, heart-shaped neckline skimming the top of her breasts and the way the gown bared her shoulders before tightening at the waist. Tiny bits of jet decorated the bodice and skirts, which sparkled in the light when she walked.
A perfect gown to witness a ruination in.
As Marissa entered the crush of bodies, the smell of pomade assailed her. Pasting a smile on her lips and telling her nose not to wrinkle at the scent, she dove into the crowd, spotting Adelia immediately. Her friend’s red hair was brighter than usual tonight, more copper than dark auburn.
“Marissa,” Adelia cooed as she came forward, ivory skirts swirling about her slippered feet.
“Adelia.” Marissa leaned over, brushing her lips to her friend’s cheek in greeting. “I can see your nipples.” Two half-moons of pink were visible through the froth of lace lining Adelia’s bodice. The neckline of her friend’s gown made Marissa’s seem positively matronly in comparison.
“Oh good, darling.” Adelia didn’t so much as blush. “That’s rather the point. Nighter’s interest has strayed a tiny bit so I wanted to do something to grab his attention.”
“And that of half the gentlemen in the ballroom. I think you must be mistaken, Adelia. I saw his attentiveness to you at the theater. At any rate, your display of bosom this evening is surely enough to keep him in line. It is exceptional.”
Adelia preened before leaning forward. “I caught him walking in the park with Miss Higgins. Miss Clare Higgins. The future Lady Pendleton.”
“Caught him? Dear, I understood your relationship to be of a casual nature. You aren’t following him about, are you? That would be very unbecoming for a lady such as yourself. Even so, I can’t believe for a second Nighter is interested in Miss Higgins.”
Adelia’s lips pursed. “True. The girl is a complete milksop. I expected her engagement to Pendleton to be announced, perhaps even spoken about tonight, but his mother,” she whispered to Marissa, “had an unfortunate accident. My understanding is Lady Pendleton is a complete sot.”
Wicked Again (The Wickeds Book 7) Page 22
