The woman, while unpredictable and ever irrational, would not be so bold as to seek him out here.
Marcus wished he’d said something, anything, to defend Aloria before she fled. Instead, he’d kept his mouth shut, adding insult to injury by appearing to agree or at least not challenge Gwen’s affronts.
Before he could question Myers about his visitor, the servant had disappeared to parts unknown, Marcus’s coat in tow.
Entering the study, Marcus did not recognize the fellow standing before the far bookshelf, inspecting the spines of Canterbourne’s oldest books. He was dressed in a dark brown suit, but even from where Marcus stood, he saw that the elbows were worn and the cuff of his pants stained from travel. His discarded hat and satchel sat by Canterbourne’s desk.
Marcus hadn’t made a sound, but he knew when the man sensed his presence in the room for he slid the book back into its spot, adjusted another that was slightly off, and turned toward Marcus.
“The Duke of Wolfeton, I presume?” The man’s cultured tone indicated he hadn’t been sent on behalf of one of Wolfeton’s estates. “Of course, it is you, you look much like your late father.”
Anyone who knew Marcus beyond an acquaintance knew it was in his or her best interest not to mention the previous Duke of Wolfeton in Marcus’s presence. His days in London had afforded him a bit of distance from the situation facing him at home—but it appeared his troubles had, indeed, caught up to him before he was ready.
“What can I do for you, Mr.—“
“Smith, Mr. Smith,” the man chimed in.
“Mr. Smith. To what do I owe your visit?” Marcus asked. “I do not believe we are acquainted.”
“Ah, yes. You are quite the difficult man to track down.” Mr. Smith shuffled back to his satchel, released the clasp, and retrieved a large folder of papers. Marcus was sure they mirrored the many stacks currently residing on his desk at Wolfeton Hall. “I am Lord Sothary’s solicitor.”
“I don’t believe I’ve made the acquaintance of Lord Sothary either.” The name didn’t spark any memory with Marcus, but that meant naught; his father had begged, borrowed, and wagered funds with every gaming hell and loan lord in England proper.
“Lord Sothary has not been fortunate enough to meet you, as of yet.” Smith held the papers to Marcus. When he didn’t accept the large bundle, the man sat them on the edge of Canterbourne’s desk. “These will explain everything, but suffice it to say he and your father were well acquainted and partnered on several business ventures—many not as successful.”
Not as successful when compared to what, he wanted to ask.
“Well, now that I have completed my responsibilities, I will take my leave.” Mr. Smith collected his hat and re-latched his satchel before turning to Marcus, his hand outstretched. “I do apologize for my surprise visit, but as I said, it was quite a task finding you. Good day.”
Leery, Marcus shook his proffered hand then watched the man depart.
Most collectors did not greet him with any type of warmth, nor afforded him any respect.
They made their demands for payment…informed Marcus of the consequences of non-payment…and eyed anything of value as they departed.
Mr. Smith had done none of that.
What in the bloody hell is going on, Marcus wondered.
The door had barely shut behind Mr. Smith when Marcus snatched the file from the corner of Daniel’s immaculate desk. Written in bold, neat script was his last name, Adair, with his father’s first name crossed out and replaced with Marcus. The black lettering had faded with time, his name being the darkest; the edges of the folder were tattered from use. The gathered pages weighed more than the responsibilities hovering over his head for the last couple of years.
His eyes never leaving the papers before him, Marcus took the few steps around the desk and sat heavily in Canterbourne’s massive, high-backed chair, setting the folder before him.
Somehow, he knew whatever lie within would change his future; and he only prayed it was for the better; because he hadn’t anything else to give, nowhere left to go for help. He’d determined when he left Lady Garland that if Aloria would have him for her husband, he’d never ask her for help with his financial woes; he’d deny her dowry, or at least set it aside for their children’s use—and would never go to Lord Garland for access to his cargo ships. There were no other means for Marcus to convince her that his intentions were pure and came from his heart, not his empty pockets.
With a deep breath, Marcus flipped open the first page and what greeted him pushed all the air from his lungs, leaving him struggling to pull in another breath but without the sense of how to accomplish it. His mind swam as the words on the page sank in.
He now owned three ships in a fleet of nine, all managed by Lord Sothary’s man of business.
All debt incurred from the purchase of said fleet had been satisfied.
Marcus shuffled the pages, finding the sheet signed and dated by The Governor and Company of the Bank of England, showing that, indeed, Lord Sothary and his two silent partners, were paid in full on the note taken five years prior.
His father’s initial investment of five thousand pounds now resided in an account to be used as Marcus saw fit. For a man without a feathering to his name, it was an exorbitant amount of coin; surely enough to pay the salaries of his servants and the crew of three ships until goods could be brought into port and sold.
The minutes passed as Marcus read every document in the folder, going back several times to make sure he understood everything.
A loud chime echoed down the hall and into the study he sat in, striking six times before going silent once more.
With a newfound assurance, Marcus stood as he closed the folder and slipped it under his arm. He had much to accomplish and not enough time to do it in.
The Canterbourne butler met him at the bottom of the stairs. “My lord. Can I be of service to you?”
“Have a bath drawn.” Marcus slapped the servant on the back in good spirit. “And a carriage brought ‘round.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Oh, and rouse Canterbourne,” Marcus laughed at the butler’s startled expression. It was highly unlikely that any servant within Daniel’s home would last long if they went about rousing the lord. “Let him know it was I who sent you. Tell him to prepare for an eventful evening.”
Chapter Thirteen
Aloria took in her new pink dress in the looking glass. It was of the fashion she preferred, high-waisted with a modest neckline to ensure adequate coverage of her bosom. While she was aging, she hadn’t yet reached the majority when it was acceptable for her charms to be on display. She’d discarded the sash that accompanied the dress in favor of an ebony tie.
She wore her simple brown walking boots to complete her outfit. There was no telling how much walking she and Delilah would do while at the play. Her friend was noted to spend the whole performance moving between acquaintances chatting about town life, recent gatherings, and her upcoming nuptials.
It was no secret Aloria envied her friend’s natural way of socializing; speaking with random people regarding mundane topics as if she were invested in each one—which, she likely was.
The pink dress—along with a matching ribbon—had appeared on her bed while she’d been out visiting Delilah.
She’d thought she soothed her mother’s concerns about Marcus and any attachment her parents believed she and the duke shared.
But with the dress came the knowledge that they still worried about her. Or more to the point, they sensed someone had hurt her.
Glancing at the clock on her mantle, she snatched her drawstring purse from her bed and headed downstairs to await Lady Delilah and her parents. She looked forward to the distraction of attending the outdoor theatre; there was more than enough activity to keep her mind from wandering to Marcus. It had taken all of her efforts to pay attention to Delilah and her aimless ramblings about Lord Canterbourne’s townhouse décor, which she insisted
she must change once she became his marchioness.
If Delilah noticed Aloria’s preoccupation, she’d been polite enough not to mention it.
A knock sounded at the door as Aloria reached the foyer.
“Please, let them know I will be right out.”
The butler nodded before turning to the door.
Aloria moved quickly down the hall to the drawing room her mother favored. She’d begged Lady Garland to accompany them this evening, but her mother still insisted she was under the weather and a night in the frigid London air would cause her more harm than good.
The door stood open and she spied her mother curled up on her favorite lounge with a book in hand. She’d been told as a child that the ultimate escape could normally be found within the pages of a book—and Aloria agreed.
Beatrice appeared so at peace that Aloria was hesitant to disturb her, instead marveling at the youthfulness of her face.
But she never left the house without saying goodbye to one or both of her parents—and at the moment, her mother was the lesser of two evils. She was unlikely to bring up the subject of the duke and his many calls over the last day.
“Mother.”
Startled, Beatrice looked up from her book, a smile lighting her face. “Oh, my dear, sweet child.” Her gaze traveled from Aloria’s face, to her feet, and back again. “Lovely, the black sash is a marvelous touch, but don’t let your father see. He will think his years of showering you with pink were not to your liking.”
Aloria agreed to remove the sash before returning home this evening, in case Lord Garland waited up for her.
With a quick kiss to her mother’s head and a warning to get some rest, Aloria left.
The carriage ride was uneventful, and traffic was light for this time of day. Lady Delilah’s parents kept to themselves and allowed the girls to chat.
Aloria took in her friend’s regal attire. Ever since Delilah’s betrothal, she’d taken to wearing form-fitting dresses that cascaded to the floor about her feet. No more high-waisted, pastel gowns for her. And her décolletage inched lower and lower by the day.
It was as if Delilah had gone from being Aloria’s childhood friend to a grand lady of the ton overnight, leaving behind her childish interests in favor of refined living.
Aloria hoped one day it would be her going from high-waist pastels to boldly colored, flowing silk…but it wouldn’t be today or even this season. Or likely ever since Aloria’s large frame would be unsuited for such a dress.
“Aloria, my dear?” Delilah’s mother, Lady Davendore asked. “Is your mother well? I have not seen her about lately.”
“Oh, yes, she has been spending much time reading.”
“Ah, I greeted her the other evening in the receiving line, but after that,” Lady Davendore snapped her finger before continuing, “she disappeared into thin air. I hadn’t had the chance to commend her on the success of the evening or invite her for tea.”
Aloria was always tentative to discuss her mother’s less than sociable nature with others, but like her and Delilah, Lady Davendore and her mother had been friends for longer than she’d been alive—and more to the point, Delilah’s mother knew Beatrice wouldn’t accept the invite.
Lady Davendore would certainly be impressed to know that Aloria had organized the evening herself, though she’d allowed her mother to believe she’d had a hand in things.
“I will give her your best regards, my lady.”
“Oh, take in the crowd,” Delilah cried with glee, her face pressed awkwardly against the windowpane. “I do believe I’ve spotted Lord Canterbourne. He is ever the gentleman.”
Aloria sincerely hoped Lord Canterbourne was not awaiting their arrival, Marcus would not be far behind.
Thankfully, Lady Davendore saved her. “Now, Delilah, you cannot spend every waking moment with Lord Canterbourne, thinking about Lord Canterbourne, or chasing after Lord Canterbourne. It is simply not done—and may cause him to distance himself from you.”
Aloria trusted, for her friend’s sake, Canterbourne wouldn’t do that.
“But mother,” she wailed. “We are in love and are to be wed.”
Both Lord and Lady Davendore shook their heads in unison as if they’d long ago given up harnessing their daughter’s overactive sensibilities.
“Drat! That was not him anyhow.” Delilah leaned back from the window and crossed her arms about her chest, wrinkling the fine silk. “I do hope this line does not last long. We will never make it to our box before the play starts.” Which meant, her friend did not like missing out on time spent preening in front of the madrones of high society, seeking favor with the future Marchioness Canterbourne.
“Never fear, girl,” Lord Davendore spoke for the first time. “The evening is long and the crowds aplenty.” Which meant, she had a large number of people to annoy that wouldn’t be him.
As promised, the line of carriages moved swiftly. Before long, they were walking amongst the hundreds of people. They trailed several paces behind Delilah’s parents as they moved through the crowd; only stopping briefly to congratulate Miss Everden, a friend of Aloria’s, on her recent betrothal.
“I do believe you will make a wonderful bride,” Aloria confessed, eyeing Delilah at her side, who clearly waited for Everden to address her betrothal. “You both will have beautiful nuptials and families to follow.”
“Oh, I do believe that is true,” Everden said before excusing herself when her mother signaled their need to find their seats. “Do excuse me. It was lovely to see you, Aloria—and you as well, Delilah,” she added almost as an afterthought.
Next, they encountered Mr. and Mrs. Jakeston, along with Ellington, Mrs. Jakeston’s young sister. The trio looked uneasy and wary, as they’d only recently wed and were finding it difficult to acclimate to London society, or so she’d heard from some dowager duchess or other while having tea with Delilah and Lady Davendore.
“Mrs. Jakeston, very nice to see you again.” Aloria took the woman’s hands within her own. “And Ellington, you are lovely this eve. You know my dear friend, Delilah.” She released the woman’s hands and grabbed Delilah’s arms, pulling her forward.
Her friend mumbled a greeting, but her attention was focused elsewhere, scanning the crowd.
“How many times must I insist you call me Ruby,” Mrs. Jakeston insisted. “I wasn’t aware the theatre drew such a large crowd.” She turned to her sister and continued. “Ellington, remember Lady Aloria?”
Unfortunately, the fiery redhead next to her was also distracted, her tall frame allowing her to look above many heads, avoiding participation in the conversation.
Aloria pledged to herself that she would not be envious of every woman’s height. There was no point in cursing her short, rounded stature.
“I cannot thank you and your dear, sweet mother enough for working so diligently sewing all those quilts for the children’s beds,” Mrs. Jakeston gushed. She and her friend, Lady Haversham, ran an orphanage for injured children. Aloria and her mother had visited several times and they both enjoyed making the children special gifts.
“It is our sincere joy, Ruby.” It was the one place her mother never argued about visiting. Aloria smiled. “We are preparing another special delivery—this time scarves!”
“Oh, how lovely! Is that not wonderful, Ellie?” Again, the tall girl ignored her sister.
Aloria stared between the sisters—the disconnect filling the space, the silence louder than the commotion of a thousand people, deafening even though they stood within a horde of folks. In her unease, Aloria felt the velvet sash around her waist, complementing the pink of her dress perfectly—and she thought of giving Ruby something pink to let her know that her own family issues would work themselves out. Ellington would eventually see her older sister for the person she was—a caring, loving sibling.
Aloria’s fingers continued to rub the black material about her waist. She’d initially felt shameful when her mother had pointed out the disregard of her fa
ther’s gift, given with the thought of love. But now, Aloria knew she didn’t need his reassurance any longer.
Lord Garland had sought to assure his only daughter that, though the Duke had lied and misled her, all would work out for the best because he and Lady Garland would always be there for her. But, a time would have to come when Aloria needed to refuse their favors and heal on her own; even if only to prove to herself that it were possible.
The silence had stretched out awkwardly between the parties, partly because Delilah and Ellington were focused on searching the crowd, and partly because Ruby stared at her, as if she knew Aloria was working through something on her own.
“Mrs. Jakeston?” Aloria tentatively asked.
The woman smiled at her question, but didn’t speak.
“Do you think the girls at Lady Haversham’s orphanage are fond of pink?” The moment the words left her lips, Aloria knew it was what she wanted—and what her parents’ had hoped for, at least one day. “I have many dolls, trinkets, shawls…all in the loveliest shade of pink.”
“And you have no use for them?” Ruby’s eyebrow rose in question.
“No, I have long outgrown them, but only recently realized they would be better suited to another; someone who would truly appreciate their beauty.” There was no going back on her gift—and Aloria had no wish to change her mind. The many trinkets and tokens had been given from a place of love and caring, and she wanted to do the same for another. Gone were the days when a pretty hair ribbon or fancy doll would mask the hurtful words or actions of others.
Aloria longed to be strong enough to meet others head on; hear their words, see their actions, and learn to accept them without support. The day would come when Lord and Lady Garland would not be there to protect her anymore.
“We would be happy to accept your donation,” Ruby nodded her thanks. “That is, when you are ready.”
“Yes, I will instruct my housekeeper to have the lot of it packed and ready within a few days.”
The Siege of Lady Aloria_World of de Wolfe Pack Page 8
