Garrett’s mind raced. If Edward Bingham knew he was being bled dry by his own heir, why wouldn’t he stop it? So he must not have known until it was too late. Or perhaps he had discovered the problem and moved the money to a different account.
Or a different bank.
“And the property?”
Fitzpatrick shrugged, forcing his cravat into a state that seemed a bit better than before. “One of his lordship’s finest decisions, I believe,” the solicitor said with a grin. “By transferring the property that isn’t entailed to his future son-in-law, the estate in Oxfordshire is protected from Nicholas, who I believe would only lose it at a gaming hell.”
A lead weight seemed to drop in Garrett’s stomach. “The future son-in-law being ..?”
The solicitor’s eyes dimmed a bit and he sighed. “Henry Forster. The Earl of Gisborn,” he murmured. “You must know of him, since the late Wainwright girl was to have married him at some point.”
Garrett felt a jolt go through him. The Earl of Gisborn wasn’t some decrepit old fart of a man—that man had died, and Henry Forster had inherited the title.
“A good man, really. Stays out of trouble. Runs his own estate on the lands adjacent to Ellsworth Park in Oxfordshire. With the addition of Ellsworth’s lands, Gisborn has an estate that will pay decent rents and offer the Forster family income for many years. But Gisborn needed an heir and was more than willing to accept land instead of a monetary dowry.”
Of course he was, Garrett thought in desperation. Charlotte will be heartbroken. Joshua will be … well, he still wasn’t sure just how Joshua felt about Charlotte, but he knew Charlotte felt affection for his employer.
“And if Lady Charlotte doesn’t … if she doesn’t marry Gisborn, do the lands revert back to Bingham?”
The solicitor seemed surprised there could even be that possibility. “Of course not. The deed has already been transferred, in any case,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hands.
Already transferred? Garrett swallowed hard. He wouldn’t have expected the Earl of Ellsworth to transfer a deed to any land associated with a dowry until after the nuptials had taken place. “So, what incentive does Gisborn have to even marry Lady Charlotte if he already has the land?”
Fitzpatrick frowned at the implication of Garrett’s question. “He needs an heir, Mr. McElliott. And what better woman to provide him with children than Lady Charlotte? She’s all about doing her duty, after all. She’s made that very clear to anyone in the ton who will listen to her.”
Closing his eyes for a moment, Garrett allowed the disappointment to settle in. He had come knowing the news might not be good, at least as it applied to the dowry. But the news about the land transfer was a blow.
He was left with only one query.
Straightening in his chair, he sighed. “If I tell you in confidence an attempt was made to burn down the Wainwright house in Sussex a few nights ago, who would you suspect was responsible?”
Fitzpatrick regarded Garrett for a very long time. If he was shocked by the question, he didn’t allow it to show on his face. “You are asking who would want dead the last surviving member of the Wainwrights?”
“I suppose I am,” Garrett answered, his head bobbing.
The solicitor leaned over the desk, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “Nicholas Bingham still believes Lady Charlotte is betrothed to the Duke of Chichester.”
Garrett heard the words, but didn’t quite understand their meaning. “So, he thinks a ten-thousand pound dowry will be due and payable …”
“Soon,” Fitzpatrick affirmed with a nod.
“But, Lord Ellsworth would have certainly let on he knew his accounts …”
The solicitor was shaking his head back and forth. “On my recommendation, Lord Ellsworth has not spoken with nor written Nicholas Bingham about any financial matters in the past year.”
Garrett’s confusion cleared a bit. “So, the nephew thinks the earl is unaware of the drained dowry account and hoped he could buy himself some time to replenish it.”
Fitzpatrick nodded sadly. “And with the earl in hospital, on his deathbed, some would say, Nicholas believes he is about to inherit Ellsworth Park. He, no doubt, is hoping to sell part of the estate to fatten up the bank accounts. Lord Ellsworth, who I am to understand is recovering very nicely, has the last laugh, so to speak.” The solicitor straightened in his chair and immediately returned to his work.
The last laugh, indeed, Garrett thought, his frustration evident. A laugh at Lady Charlotte’s expense.
Chapter 22
The Earl of Gisborn Pays a Call
Joshua stood up quickly, surprised at how fast the visitor had made it from the vestibule to his study. The man obviously hadn’t waited for Gates to return from having announced him but rather followed him directly to the study. “Lord Gisborn,” he acknowledged as the dark-haired man strode into the room. A quick glance had Joshua blinking. This is Gisborn? he thought, stunned by the sight of a man much younger than he imagined the earl to be. My sister was to have married this man, he remembered suddenly. He would have been my brother-in-law!
Joshua did his best to stand as straight as possible. Since his return from London two months before, he hadn’t had contact with a peer of the realm and wanted to be sure Gisborn could immediately see he wasn’t a cripple.
Gisborn came to a standstill in front of the desk and afforded his host a deep nod. “Your Grace,” he answered, his gaze taking in Joshua’s mask but otherwise normal appearance. “You are looking … well,” he said, a bit of bluster leaving him.
“Despite reports to the contrary, I am quite well, thank you,” Joshua replied, his manner as pleasant as he could make it given the unexpected interruption. “And I trust you are … well?”
Gisborn’s reply was quiet. “I am. Or I was, until I discovered something of mine went missing.” Despite the fact that he addressed a duke, there was a hint of menace in the comment as he regarded Joshua.
Furrowing his brows, Joshua motioned toward the chairs on the side of the study closest to the fireplace. He headed in that direction, wondering why the Earl of Gisborn would think he might know the whereabouts of his missing ‘property.’
Joshua knew, of course, having received Garrett’s long letter explaining what he had found out the day before, but he wondered how the earl knew to come to Wisborough Oaks. “Please, make yourself comfortable,” he replied, waiting for Gisborn to join him and take the proffered wing chair before seating himself. Noticing his butler giving him an apologetic look from the door, Joshua made a motion to indicate drinks would be required. Gates nodded and disappeared.
Joshua returned his attention to Gisborn, noting the earl stood at least a couple of inches taller than him. Despite what must have been a long carriage ride from London, his navy Bath superfine coat was unwrinkled, his cravat looked newly pressed, and his boots, which sported only a bright shine and no tassels, seemed to have been worn only indoors. The scarlet waistcoat and buff doeskin breeches completed the earl’s look; he was wearing the uniform of those who attended Boodles and bought their horses at Tattersall’s, and yet Joshua was fairly certain the man did neither.
Gisborn hesitated, his impatience apparent, but he followed Joshua and reluctantly took the chair.
“Before we proceed, please allow me to express my condolences on the death of your uncle,” Joshua said quietly. “I understand from my own father he was a man of honor and even temper. As a fellow peer, he respected him very much.”
The comments, meant to diffuse Gisborn’s apparent anger, seemed to work. The man stared back at him, his head dipping down a bit. “Thank you. Your Grace.” The honorific was added a bit too late and was quite noticeable to Joshua. “May I say the same for your loss? It was quite an unfortunate accident. I had met your sister, of course,” he said, a flash of pain crossing his face. “Is it true the rest of your family was … lost?” he asked, his voice much softer than wh
en he had entered the room.
Joshua considered the odd comment, bristling at the reference to his family being lost, as if they had died because they had wandered off course at sea. “They died in the fire, yes,” Joshua replied with a nod as he kept his face impassive.
Gates appeared with a decanter of brandy and two snifters, pouring a generous amount for both. As he did so, Joshua turned his attention to his butler. “Thank you, Gates. That will be all,” he said sotto voce, his tone suggesting to Gates he remain just outside the door. He was aware of Gisborn’s steady gaze on him throughout, as if the earl were trying to size up an opponent. Perhaps he wants to call me out, but for what? Charlotte is here of her own accord, with a maid as a chaperone.
With the niceties behind them, Joshua turned his attention to his guest. “Now, what, pray tell, has happened?” he asked before he raised his glass. “You said something about being robbed?”
Gisborn raised his own in return before taking a sip, his hackles up. Damn the man, he thought, realizing Joshua was serving his very best brandy. He took a deep breath. “Not exactly. It seems my … betrothed has gone missing,” he stated, keeping his gaze on Joshua and finding it hard to concentrate when a mask covered nearly half of the duke’s face. “I have reason to believe she may have come here,” he continued, making sure to keep his voice neutral and not adversarial.
Joshua’s eyebrow lifted and there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Betrothed again already, are you?” he responded. “And who is the lucky miss this time?” he wondered, giving the earl his best congratulatory smile. The weight he had been feeling since reading Garrett’s letter suddenly dropped into his stomach—of course, he knew the answer even before Gisborn gave his response, but suddenly it was all so real.
“Lady Charlotte Bingham,” Gisborn replied in a quiet voice. “Your late brother’s betrothed, if I’m to believe the reports.”
Joshua schooled his features into an unreadable expression. “She is betrothed to whomever inherited the title of Duke of Chichester, if I’m to believe the terms of the betrothal made eighteen years ago,” Joshua clarified, his voice as impassive as he could make it. He ignored the fact that his heart rate had nearly doubled, and that he felt a stab of jealousy at the prospect of Gisborn wedding Lady Charlotte—especially when he saw the flash of anger pass across his visitor’s face.
“Are you claiming she is your betrothed?” Gisborn countered, his body suddenly sprung tight, as if he meant to challenge for the chit right there and then.
Remaining very still, Joshua regarded Gisborn for a moment and finally replied. “I suppose I am.” When Gisborn appeared about to lunge at him, he added carefully, “With whom did you make a deal for her hand?” he asked carefully. Joshua made sure that, despite his casual repose in his chair, he would be able to stand quickly should he need to defend himself against a frontal attack.
“Lord Ellsworth, of course!” Gisborn retorted, an angry eyebrow arching so his countenance took on a look of malice.
Joshua took a deep breath, realizing almost immediately there could be no satisfactory end to this discussion. “The almost late Lord Ellsworth?” he replied, his own visible eyebrow lifting in challenge. He rested his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his fingers in front of this face. “Do you have anything in writing to that effect? Or a contract for the dowry?” He chided himself when he considered he didn’t have anything to substantiate his own claim, nor did he even know the exact terms of the agreement between his father and the Earl of Ellsworth. But Gisborn didn’t know that.
“A gentlemen’s agreement, which is all that is necessary in a case such as this,” Gisborn responded, suddenly on the defensive. “And title to some property. I was willing to forgo a monetary settlement in exchange for one of Ellsworth’s estates in Oxfordshire.”
An alarm was going off in Joshua’s head. Gisborn had agreed to a marriage to a lady of the ton without benefit of at least several thousand pounds, so he was either smitten with the lady or the estate in Oxfordshire was particularly valuable. “Pardon me for asking, but … do you … have you made Lady Charlotte’s acquaintance?”
Gisborn gave Joshua a glance that included an arched eyebrow. “Of course! I met Lady Charlotte when we were both quite young. Her family’s estate is adjacent to the lands I recently inherited,” he replied, his suspicion still evident. “The estate for which I now hold title.”
Damn! What had Edward Bingham been thinking to give the earl title to his property even before the marriage had taken place? “Do you feel affection for Lady Charlotte?” Joshua wondered aloud. She hadn’t mentioned the earl’s name when he had asked about other possible arrangements for her hand. In fact, she had said she didn’t know. Her father would have informed her of his arrangement. Wouldn’t he?
Gisborn glowered at Joshua before lowering his eyes. “My feelings for the lady are not your concern, Duke.” He looked up sharply then, anger in his eyes. “Have you … ruined her?” he asked then, his boldness once again apparent. “I swear, if you have so much as …”
“I have not, Gisborn, and you would do well to rein in that temper,” Joshua warned, his body once again ready to react if necessary.
The air seemed to go out of the man as he regarded the duke. “I beg pardon. I … I have been worried sick since discovering she was no longer in London. She should be with her mother. She should be at her father’s bedside. Word has it he is not expected to live long.”
“And if that is the case, she would be wise not to marry for at least six months,” Joshua interrupted, reminding the earl a mourning period would be expected of her if her father passed away before she wed.
Gisborn inhaled, finally nodding in agreement as he did so. “She is here then?”
Joshua considered how to respond. He would have to admit she was, of course, but how could he account for her presence at Wisborough Oaks?
Perhaps telling the truth was easier than he might have thought.
“Indeed, she is. But I imagine she will wish to remain here for at least a few weeks, in order to complete her … project,” he said carefully, motioning toward the footman who stood just inside the door. “Let Lady Charlotte know her presence is requested,” he called out.
Gisborn was nearly out of his chair. “Project?” he questioned, his expression indicating he either didn’t trust Joshua or he was taking exception to whatever ‘project’ the duke had conjured in his response.
“Yes,” Joshua nodded, settling himself back into his chair. “She has been kind enough to offer her impeccable taste and decorating skills to my household. As you can imagine, an entire wing of Wisborough Oaks has had to be rebuilt since the fire.”
Furrowing his brow, Gisborn gave Joshua a look that betrayed his suspicion. “I was unaware Lady Charlotte had such … skills,” he responded slowly, wondering if the duke was trying to trick him.
Expecting the suspicion, Joshua managed a teasing smile. “Lady Charlotte has many skills. She has been training to be a duchess her entire life, after all,” he said lightly, knowing the comment would incite another flash of anger in the earl. He wasn’t disappointed. But before Gisborn could reply with a challenge, there was a light knock on the door. “Come in,” Joshua called out, rising to his feet as he said so.
Another footman opened the door, and Lady Charlotte, unaware she had been summoned, entered carrying a bundle of fabric swatches. There was surprise in her eyes when she realized Joshua wasn’t at his desk but rather near the fireplace with a man she didn’t immediately recognize. Joshua was already standing, and the other man, apparently caught off guard by her arrival, was quickly getting to his feet. “Oh, pardon me, Your Grace. I didn’t know you had a caller.” She curtsied and turned to go, as if she thought their meeting was private.
“Your presence is requested, Lady Charlotte,” Joshua called out, schooling his features so Gisborn wouldn’t notice his look of adoration.
Charlo
tte looked positively stunning just standing there as she regarded them. He had already seen her in the pale green sprigged muslin gown she wore now. She had taken his breath away when she arrived for breakfast very early that morning, smiling brightly as she entered the breakfast parlor, curtseying to his awkward bow—he had stood so quickly, his chair nearly toppled backwards—and then she quickly moved to his side so she could kiss him on the cheek before she made her way to the chair adjacent to his. He had been so very stunned, he could only manage a “Good morning” as she took her seat.
“It’s an absolutely glorious day,” she had said, apparently unaware gray clouds were threatening from the south, and then she wondered if perhaps they could go for a ride later?
He had felt heat wash over his face and his loins tighten, stunned by her kiss and very aware of the light, fresh scent wafting around him as she moved to take a seat.
A thought struck him then, of what his life would be like with her in it now that he had decided he would marry her. Every morning would be this bright, he realized. She was like sunshine embodied, breezing into the room as if she could control the interior weather, her smile providing light and her scent the very air he breathed. “Your back wouldn’t hurt you too much?” he had replied, his brow furrowing a bit as he regarded her, remembering her as she stood naked in the copper tub with the bright red gash across her back but otherwise looking like a Venus rising from the ocean. Charlotte was directing a footman as to what she wanted on her breakfast plate, completely unaware of how aroused she had made him in just the half-minute she had been in the room.
“My maid put a new bandage on it this morning, and I felt very little pain,” she had countered, giving the footman a nod as he placed a full plate of eggs, ham and toast in front of her. “And it will do you good to get out for a bit,” she had added, reaching out a hand to touch his sleeve. He had agreed to the ride then, not feeling the least bit henpecked by her comment. And then he had asked about her project. She spoke of the rooms for which decisions had been made and where painting was underway, her expression making it clear she rather doubted he was even interested. He was attentive, though, expressing satisfaction that apricot would be the primary color for the downstairs salon since the vicar’s sister seemed partial to the color.
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