The Disgraced Marchioness

by Anne O'Brien

  ‘No. I cannot…’

  ‘Will you at least consider it? For the sake of John, if not for yourself?’

  Sarah sat silently, looking at her son. She ran her fingers over his fair hair, so like her own, her lips curling into a reluctant smile when he looked up into her face and laughed with childish delight, lifting a hand to pat her cheek as if he would have given comfort. She would do anything for the safety and happiness of her child.

  ‘Very well. I think that once again I have no choice.’ She looked up, her eyes now clear and determined, and addressed Lord Henry. ‘I fear that sounds churlish, which was not my intention. I know that I do not deserve your gratitude or your help, rather your condemnation. I have done you and your family a terrible wrong, helping to destroy the good name and integrity of your brother and his true wife.’ She inclined her head towards Eleanor. ‘But for the sake of my son, I will accept your offer, and thank you from the bottom of my heart. I will speak to Mr Hoskins.’

  Henry took possession of one of Sarah’s hands and lifted it in formal recognition of her intent to his lips. ‘You must not blame yourself, ma’am. The wrong was Baxendale’s—and you have now remedied it. My family’s inheritance is no longer in doubt. The guilt is not yours.’

  ‘And you have taken a terrible weight from my mind.’ Eleanor touched the lady’s hand in ready compassion. ‘Your courage has ensured that the future of my son, as well as your own, is safe.’

  If Mr Hoskins was surprised to see his noble Faringdon clients at an hour when they might normally be partaking of a light luncheon, he did not show it, but ushered them into his office. He was unable to disguise his amazement, however, when he was introduced to the young woman who accompanied them. Why should the Baxendale nursemaid and the child at the centre of the controversy be on such terms with the Marchioness of Burford? She apparently was under no duress, but entered his rooms with quiet composure, holding the child tightly against her. He sensed a tension within the little group. But he did not express his speculative interest—instead he found seats for the ladies and fussed over a glass of ratafia for them and a brandy for his lordship. The child seemed content, in the short term, to sit on his nurse’s knee and investigate the contents of the Marchioness’s reticule.

  Hoskins cast a sharp eye over the tall figure of Lord Henry as he took up a position beside the hearth with its smouldering fire. His reacquaintance with his lordship since his return from New York had given the lawyer considerable cause to re-evaluate the man who dominated the small room. If he had chosen to pay a visit at this time of the day, then there must be some pressing need. He remembered a young lad with vivid features, athletic build, and more energy and charm than was good for him. Always into mischief, but with the ability to extricate himself without too much difficulty. Always ready to challenge authority, to kick over the traces, but with a smile to win over those who might condemn him too harshly.

  America had been good for him, Hoskins decided. Somewhere to channel his energies, without the rigid restrictions of birth and privilege to hamper his plans and dreams. Not for everyone, of course, but Lord Henry had done well. Confidence. Authority. Determination. They sat lightly on him, but made an immediate impression. He was still elegantly sophisticated in style and dress, still dramatically handsome, still capable of the effortless charm of his youth, but there was now an edge to him. Not a man to tangle with, as Hoskins had thought on their previous meeting in these very rooms, not a man to cross. From the look on his face at this moment, Hoskins would not have cared to be in Sir Edward’s shoes. And as for the business with Faringdon and Bridges in New York, which his lordship had put temporarily into his hands during his stay in London—he would lay a wager that Mr Henry Faringdon of Faringdon and Bridges would do very well and make a fortune to rival that of his noble family in England.

  ‘Well, my lord.’ Hoskins finally took his own seat behind his desk. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?’ He allowed his gaze to take in the ladies, but then returned his attention to Lord Henry. There was an air of anticipation here that he did not understand. He had no good news for them. There was no doubt in his mind now that Sir Edward Baxendale’s claim was genuine. He frowned, contemplating the wound that he must inevitably inflict on the Marchioness, and wished that it was on an occasion of his own making. But she was here and he supposed that a final statement from him was necessary. It would not lessen the pain by drawing out the situation. ‘I expect that you have come about the inheritance. A most unfortunate business, of course, as I have previously expressed. We have, I believe, to accept the truth of the Baxendale claim.’

  ‘No.’ Lord Henry spoke with quiet certainty, and moved to sit beside the Marchioness. ‘No, we do not. The truth is this. We have undeniable proof, sir, that Baxendale’s proposal that his sister was married to my brother and therefore that her child is heir to the title is nothing but a fraudulent sham.’

  ‘Proof, you say?’ Hoskins’s frown deepened. ‘I have to tell you, my lord, that in my opinion as your lawyer, the legal documents produced by Sir Edward are without question genuine.’

  ‘No, they are not. They are fraudulent. I think that we should begin, sir, by allowing Mrs Russell to explain her presence here today.’

  So Sarah Russell, née Baxendale, laid out before the astonished lawyer the nature of Sir Edward’s scheme and her own part in it. Reluctant at first, with much hesitation, she grew in confidence as the enormity of her brother’s behaviour towards her struck her anew. As she spoke, the persona of family employee and nursemaid dropped away, to be replaced by the quiet dignity and pride of both a lady of gentle birth and the widow of a naval officer.

  Hoskins listened in silence until she had finished.

  ‘I have kept silent when I should have spoken out,’ she stated finally, impressing Hoskins with her admirable composure. The time for tears was past and she would follow her conscience. ‘John is my child, the son of my late husband, Captain John Russell. Octavia is Edward’s wife, not his sister, and she is childless. That is the truth of it, sir.’

  ‘Well.’ Hoskins leaned back in his chair, looking from one to the other. ‘Well! I am speechless!’

  He was rendered even more so when Lord Henry produced and laid before him on the desk the written statement from the Reverend Broughton, which explained further the source of the forged documents.

  ‘So these documents…’ his lordship finally indicated the ostensible proof of marriage and birth that had caused all the heartache in the first place ‘…are worthless.’

  ‘Indeed. You have been busy, my lord. And very clever in your investigation.’ There was more than a hint of admiration in Hoskins’s shrewd eyes as he gathered up the documents.

  ‘Not as clever as we should have been, I fear.’ His lordship gave a rueful smile. ‘We asked the wrong question. Or did not ask enough of them about Baxendale’s family.’

  ‘How so, my lord?’

  ‘When we visited Whitchurch, the people who knew Sir Edward spoke of his sister and a baby, a sister who had lost her husband.’ Eleanor took up the story. ‘We did not ask if he had a wife as well. Since she was never mentioned, we presumed that he was unmarried and so came to the wrong conclusion. We thought the sister was Octavia.’

  ‘I see. We have to thank Mrs Russell for her honesty in this matter. We are much in your debt, ma’am.’ Hoskins inclined his head gravely towards the young woman.

  ‘There would have been no need for the debt if I had been honest from the beginning,’ she replied with shattering honesty, unwilling to accept a lessening of her burden of guilt. ‘I simply hope that I have been able to make restitution, although the pain and grief will always leave its shadow.’

  ‘Nevertheless, ma’am, without your courage, we would be unable to thwart Sir Edward’s plans quite so effectively.’ Lord Henry, who had risen to his feet, bowed in recognition of her admission. He smiled at her, a smile of great charm, hoping to allay her guilt. ‘Do not be so ready t
o take the blame that your brother should bear.’

  She looked up at him, cheeks now a little flushed, in gratitude for his understanding. ‘Thank you, my lord. I hope and pray that you will indeed thwart my brother. I owe it to the memory and integrity of my husband’s name. I have not done well by him, allowing his son to be used in so vile a scheme.’

  ‘We shall unmask Sir Edward.’ Hoskins stated with calm assurance, then glanced at Lord Henry from under his brows. ‘So what is your plan of action now, my lord?’

  ‘We need to see Baxendale. I suggest that you set up a meeting here. He will presume that it is to ratify his sister’s position and the child’s inheritance, and so will come without apprehension or fear of discovery. Then we will lay the evidence before him. I wish to be present. And her ladyship, of course. Mrs Russell if she wishes it.’

  ‘Good.’ Hoskins rubbed his hands together at the prospect of the completion of the unseemly business. ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. Let us finish it as soon as possible.’

  ‘It will be my pleasure, my lord.’

  So tomorrow it would all be over.

  Mrs Russell returned to Faringdon House with her son, to take refuge in the nursery, thus avoiding her brother and his wife, and to decide whether she would wish to be at that meeting. She did not know.

  Eleanor acknowledged the relief that she could finally allow to sweep through her veins, as cold and clean and sparkling as a glass of the finest French champagne. She could hold her head up in public again, although she chided herself for allowing so foolish a situation to matter so much. The rest was far more important. Thomas’s good name would be restored, no longer the subject of barbed gossip and sly innuendo in the clubs and fashionable withdrawing-rooms of the town. And her son… Tom would come into his inheritance in the fullness of time, as was his right.

  Her cup should be full, her happiness complete. So why was there a shadow overlying her sense of achievement? Why was there a constriction, a tightness around her heart? She asked herself the question, her eyes unseeing of her surroundings as they drove home in the barouche, but she knew the answer. It was engraved on her very soul. Hal would leave. Let us finish it as soon as possible, he had said. She would lose him and her heart was sore. And, whatever excuses she could make to herself to explain away her behaviour, she was forced to acknowledge that she had not been honest with him

  Henry watched the Marchioness in silence as she studied her gloved fingers so intently, wrapped in her own thoughts. It was almost done. He had fulfilled his duty as his brother’s trustee and his success was on the verge of completion. The moment should have been sweet indeed. His family was secure and matters could easily be left in Nicholas’s more than competent hands. That was it. His life in New York called to his blood and his imagination—and there was nothing to keep him here. No matter how much he longed to hold Eleanor and celebrate their triumph. The need to touch her as she sat with her face turned from him made his fingers burn. He accepted with the innate honesty so typical of him that the fact that she had rejected him for marriage with his brother no longer mattered, had not mattered for some time. Somewhere over the past days, his anger had drained away. He had loved her then. He loved her now. He would love her to the end of his days.

  Chapter Ten

  As agreed, they waited in Hoskins’s office at eleven o’clock the next morning. Lord Henry, Hoskins and Eleanor. They did not know if Sarah Russell would attend. Perhaps not. It would be an unpleasant interview at best, possibly vicious in its outcome, and they had to accept that she might not feel strong enough to face down her brother, knowing that she was instrumental in his failure to achieve his nefarious goal.

  Eleanor was nervous. But you cannot lose, she told herself. This is merely the final act in the tragedy, to expose the evidence before Sir Edward and thus accomplish his defeat. What possible evidence can he produce to refute the claims of his sister Sarah and Julius Broughton? She worked hard to keep an outward calm as she sat before the fire, resisting the temptation to fuss with her gloves, the strings of her reticule or the carved handle of her parasol. It could be seen, however, that she occasionally found the need to smooth her palms down the skirt of her deep blue muslin gown, and her cheeks and throat, above the delicately ruffed collar of her silk spencer, were more than usually, if becomingly, flushed.

  Lord Henry stood beside her, immaculate and elegant in pale pantaloons, polished Hessians and dark superfine. Eleanor glanced towards him, intimately aware of his supportive presence, and privately considered him more devastatingly attractive than any man had the right to be. But that was not the first impression sensed by any casual onlooker. His face was cold, impassive, his eyes holding the glacial chill of mid-winter, his mouth grimly set. But when the door of the outer office was heard to open, and footsteps entered from the street, he leaned down to touch Eleanor’s shoulder, fleetingly but with warm comfort. She looked up, unable to disguise her nerves as the muted sound of voices could be heard. His expression softened, his smile for her alone.

  ‘We shall win, Nell. Never doubt it.’ His gentle tones, his supreme confidence, warmed her cold blood like the finest brandy.

  Sir Edward arrived to the minute of the hour, bowed into the room by one of Hoskins’s clerks. As he walked in, it was clear from his demeanour that he had come intending to enjoy the final success of his risky enterprise. Immaculately dressed, well groomed, his blue eyes clear and smiling, he oozed confidence in the expectation of enjoying the Faringdon fortune through the enhanced status of his supposed sister. He bowed to Lord Henry and the lawyer with polished grace, his smile expressing magnanimous appreciation that he would win and they would lose and that he could afford to be gracious in victory. Then he turned to Eleanor, who had remained seated, took her hand to bow over it and kiss her fingers. Compassion was clear in every gesture, in the sorrowful expression in his intense gaze. Eleanor found the greatest difficulty in not snatching her hand away from his light grasp. Instead she gritted her teeth and kept her mouth curved in a semblance of a smile and hooded her eyes with downswept lashes. Henry did not even try for a pleasant expression, but regarded Sir Edward with a stony expression worthy of the Medusa. Although he gave the impression of arrogant assurance, he kept his hands clenched at his sides, eyes cold and flat, momentarily sorry that duelling was out of fashion. Or even if pistols at dawn were not an option, he would have liked to spread Sir Edward Baxendale out on the floor with a fist to the jaw.

  Sir Edward, unaware of the latent hostility in the room, took a seat. Lord Henry did not.

  ‘A delicate situation, my lord, my lady.’ He sat with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, supremely at his ease. ‘But I am sure that we are all in agreement that it is time we settled the matter of the Faringdon inheritance. I presume that such is the reason for this meeting?’ He arched a brow towards the lawyer. ‘Then we can get on with our lives and allow the grief of the past weeks to settle.’ So accommodating. So reasonable. Eleanor felt a sudden urge to scream her objections to her husband’s name being so vilified.

  ‘Do you plan to remain in London, sir?’ Hoskins enquired with casual interest, as if nothing were amiss.

  ‘My sister proposes to remain for a week or two at Faringdon House. Then it is her intention to repair to Burford Hall.’ He turned his sympathetic gaze on Eleanor. ‘Have you finally decided on your own destination, ma’am?’

  ‘Not finally, Sir Edward.’

  ‘And I presume that you, my lord, will return to America. So much opportunity there for a man of enterprise such as yourself. And Lord Nicholas?’ His brows rose again in polite but pointed enquiry. ‘I think that Octavia will not wish him to stay on at Burford Hall. Or at least not in a permanent nature. Perhaps to visit eventually… She considers that it would be somewhat…ah, uncomfortable in the circumstances. Until her position in the family has become more generally accepted, you understand. We shall make our own arrangements for the administering of the estate.’

/>   And so all was to be very neatly arranged to Sir Edward’s liking!

  ‘And I will discuss with Hoskins the matter of the annuity for yourself and your son,’ he continued with another sparkling smile in Eleanor’s direction.

  ‘How thoughtful, Sir Edward. I am sure that I should be grateful for your consideration in the circumstances.’

  Hoskins cleared his throat in a little cough to draw attention back to himself. It was time, he decided, to end this cat-and-mouse scene as he bent a fierce stare on Sir Edward. ‘Before we consider all these arrangements, sir, there is one small matter remaining for us to discuss.’ Hoskins glanced up at Lord Henry who had remained silent, allowing the lawyer to take the initiative. His lordship could not guarantee the politeness of his words in the face of Sir Edward’s overweening triumph.

  Sir Edward caught the glance between them and his eyes narrowed in quick suspicion. ‘Is there some problem here that I should be aware of? I cannot imagine what could now hinder the settlement.’

  ‘There is indeed a problem, sir.’ Hoskins lifted three documents from a pile in front of him and spread them on the desk. ‘There is indeed.’

  ‘Then perhaps you would explain—’

  They were interrupted by a light knock on the door. One of the clerks from the outer office opened it to usher a lady into the room. ‘The lady is here, sir. You said to show her in if she came.’ He closed the door behind Mrs Sarah Russell.

  Sir Edward turned his head in some surprise at the interruption, and then froze, the smile leaving his face. ‘What is this?’

  ‘The lady has some part in this discussion, it would seem, sir.’ Hoskins rose to draw the lady into the room. ‘She was kind enough to bring it to my attention yesterday.’

  ‘I do not discuss my family’s business before my servants.’ Sir Edward’s eyes were suddenly as icy as his insolent words, but there was a wariness in the clenching of his hands on the arms of his chair as he thrust himself to his feet.